Hi there, this is a short story i wrote for a contest in university. Let me know if you like it! Where was I? I felt like I was in some sort of limbo. As I looked around, the clouds whooshed past in the sky but time felt still. I couldn’t feel the wind on my face, I couldn’t hear the birds sing. Everything just felt wrong. I walked along the road that I was on, scraping my feet as I usually did without seeing the dust rise. The fields that surrounded the road were void of any vegetation, they were just grey. Do you remember when you were younger, before colour televisions were a thing and every program was black and white? Well I felt like I was in one of those television programs. I walked along the road farther when I distinguished a human silhouette in the far off distance. Maybe this person could help me, tell me something about where I am. I quickened my pace, walking faster and faster, trying to catch up to this unknown person who was slowly treading off into the distance. As I got closer I managed to make out what he was wearing. From the back it looked like a black suit, and black shoes that had been properly cared for, shined morning and evening with shoe polish. He held a long dark cane in his left hand with his hand firmly clasped around the knob, and as I glanced at his hand I noticed a jeweled ring on his left index finger. I called out to him but to no avail, he wouldn’t turn around or even answer me. I was starting to feel uneasy. As I reached out to grab his shoulder, my hand suddenly froze. The man stopped and turned around slowly. He was wearing a white shirt, recently ironed and a jet black tie. His dark hair was sleeked back, in a sort of 70’s style and he looked to be about in his late 60’s, early seventies as he had quite a few wrinkles in his pale face. I didn’t know this man, but his presence felt strangely familiar. Before I could even open my mouth to talk, he interjected. \- “You must have a lot of questions, come on now, ask away. I don’t have all day you know.” Who was this person? Where was I? I had so many questions to ask, so many that I couldn’t even blurt them out. \- “Come on now, spit it out.” \- “Who-, Where-, What- ? Where am I?” \- “We don’t really have a name for it, it’s gone by so many different names over the years, I guess you could call it purgatory.” \- “Am I dead?” \- “Well yes and no, technically yes, but also technically no. We’re talking now, so how can you be dead?” \- “I guess, I didn’t really think of that...” The man stuck his hand in his hair and sleeked it back. I had so many questions to ask him, how would I ever have the time? \- “Would you like to play a game of scrabble?” asked the man. \- “A game of Scrabble? I guess, it’s been a while since I’ve played though.” \- “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you.” \- “Do you mind if I ask you some questions during our game?” \- “Of course not, ask away.” As we sat down at the table and chairs beside us, the thought did pop into my head of asking where they came from, but I guess that wasn’t really one of the more important questions. \- “So, who are you?” I asked. \- “My name? Well, it depends really on who you ask. I’d have to say my favourite has always been Mors.” \- “Mors? I’ve never heard that name before.” \- “Yes, it is quite an old name. The ancient romans used to use it quite frequently. I do admire their culture.” \- “So where are you from?” His eyes squinted at me. \- “I don’t see why you seem so interested in me when we should really be talking about you shouldn’t we? What you should be asking is why am I here, and why are you here? \- “There’s only the two of us here though, if I don’t ask about you then I have to ask about me.” \- “Afraid of what you mind find if you start asking questions about yourself?” \- “”Why would I be afraid of asking questions about myself?” \- “I see your point. Here’s your tiles, let’s play.” I picked seven tiles from the black velvet bag that Mors held out for me, I was pretty lucky and on my first draw I got a blank tile. I really hadn’t played in a while, but the tiles seemed to spell out words right in front of my eyes. I could see the words right in front of me. Mors politely invited me to make the first move, and I obliged. I put down my tiles and spelt out the word SLICED. I tried to hide my smile whilst passing on the double word tile. \- “I guess that gives you 18 points.” \- “Are you still so sure that you’re going to win?” \- “Maybe not, but I’m sure we will see. This will be a fun game.” He shuffled his tiles in front of him, then picked them up one by one slowly in his hands. He places them down one by one and spelt out the word SUNDER. Unlucky, that only gives him 14 points. We both plunged out hands back into the bag to pick our next letters. \- “So why are you here then?” \- “I’m a traveler. I like taking a stroll along the long and windy path and helping lost people like you.” \- “And playing scrabble helps me how?” \- “Do you not find it comforting to play a game with a stranger? I thought you liked playing games with people?” Mors squinted a bit whilst looking at me, as if he was staring into my soul. He seemed to know me better than I even knew myself. I brushed off his last remark and continued with my questions. \- “So if I’m in purgatory, that means I’m dead. Is there any way I can get my life back? Be resuscitated or something?” \- “I’m not really the best person to ask for being brought back to life you know. You’d be better getting on your knees and praying to the big man upstairs.” \- “You mean God?” \- “Yes, but eventually even God will need help to choose the path he needs.” \- “God will die?’ \- “Everything dies one day you know.” \- “How is it that I’m all alone with you? Am I important? Are you here to kill me?” \- “You seem to have an inflated self of importance you know, the world does not revolve around you. I’m only here to help, as I said. Whether you’re important or not really doesn’t matter to me.” \- “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come across as rude.” \- “It’s okay. What do you say we raise the stakes a bit, hmm? What do you say to a little wager?” \- “Sure, it’s not like I have anything to lose anyway.” \- “If you win, I’ll help you go back to your life, back to when you were a child knowing what you know now and let you reflect on your life choices and make better decisions.” \- “Okay, and what about if you win?” Mors leaned in close to my face and I could feel his breath across my cheeks as he spoke. \- “Then you go where I tell you and let me help the next lost soul that wanders these barrens.” \- “Okay, it’s a deal.” And so the game had finally really begun. We played slowly, nearly overthinking each tile put onto the board. I had to win, I had the choice of a lifetime, to go back to when I was young and relive my life differently. My mind went back to when I was younger, back to when I was a child in school. I always used to like school when I was younger, which surprised my parents and a lot of my family. It used to be so much fun, running around in the playground, going to class and learning to read, write, and spell... I remember there was this kid in my class when I was around seven or eight years old, no one really liked him. Most people left him alone, apart from me. I used to torment him. I bullied him relentlessly, sticking his head in the toilet and flushing it, punching him. I don’t know why I did it, I mean, I’m sure there was a reason. No one liked him, it was funny, and everybody laughed. That doesn’t make me a bad person though. My daydreaming was interrupted by the clinking of scrabble pieces in front of me. \- “Daydreaming are we? Remembering the path that brought you here?” \- “Yes, I mean, I was just remembering when I was at school and how much fun I had.” \- “I wouldn’t really call that fun now, would you?” \- “Does that make me a bad person?” \- “That depends what you mean. A bad person could be anyone. If you squish a bug are you a bad person? If you murder someone are you a bad person? It all depends on the context. I can’t really tell you if you’re a bad person, I’m sure you’ll make that decision yourself.” \- “I mean, I had the choice of tormenting that kid. And I took it. Looking back it probably wasn’t the best thing to do.” \- “Well maybe if you win you can go back and live your life differently, hmm?” \- “Yeah, maybe....” \- “Here’s my second word, RAZOR.” That word, it stung. Why would the word razor hit me so hard? How did Mors seem to know so much about my life? Did he know all the bad things I did? Was he here to punish me? Why was my mind wandering so much? Different memories kept coming and fading, different choices I made in my life that changed me for better, or maybe for worse. Were my decisions what lead me to where I was now? Should I regret what I had done? I wasn’t that bad of a person. I didn’t mean to do a lot of things. My hands trembled in front of me and spelt out the word BLOOD. \- “Free will is a tricky thing, isn’t it? But if you believe in God, do you believe you have free will, or is it all part of His plan?” \- “Will me believing have any consequences on what happens after? \- “Well I can’t really spoil it for you now, can I? But if you don’t believe in Him, why would He believe in you?” \- “Are you always going to act so philosophical when answering my questions?” \- “Let’s talk about something else, I’m sure you have a lot of other things to ask” \- “Is this chance a one-time thing? What happens if I die again, do I get to play another game with you and go back again?” \- “You may come back here, you may not. If you’re here it means that they’re not sure of where you go.” \- “So this is my only chance to redeem myself then.” \- “I guess you could say that” My scrabble skills had started to fail me, my words were getting shorter and shorter, WRIST, CAR, BABY, and never double or triple points. Mors was starting to pull ahead. I couldn’t think properly, my mind keeps wandering all the time. I kept remembering things about my life. Why were these words coming out? Every single one of my words hit me like a truck. I felt like I had been run over. Why were these memories coming back to haunt me? Was I a bad person? I never meant to hurt anyone. How did I become this person? Was I born like this? If I actually manage to win this game, what will I change? How will I relive my life differently? \- “Time is ticking you know...” \- “I forfeit.” \- “You forfeit? Are you sure? Then you know what happens next.” \- “I can never go back. Do I get to go to heaven?” \- “Come on now, you know very well it doesn’t work like that for you. This game isn’t the only thing you forfeited is it? Hmm? You know what happens when you forfeit.” I looked down at my wrists and saw the scars. Tears welled in my eyes as I understood what Mors meant. I never had the choice. It was all a sick game. The words, the idle chit chat. It was punishment. My choice had already been made long ago. Whatever I did now would not change what I had done in my life. Everything I did, the people I tormented, the lives I ruined, I made those choices by myself. There was no one else to blame but me. I got up off my chair and started slowly walking. I didn’t deserve to go to the garden, I had already made my choice a long time ago, before I had even gotten here. I was a terrible person, I didn’t deserve to go up to the clouds with the others. I made my choices and even if I could go back, I wouldn’t change them. Deep down, I’m a fucked up person. I have to pay for my sins. “I can’t even count the times I’ve played this game with the newly deceased. I’ve played them from the beginning. Could you imagine? Me, letting them go back to their old life and reliving it? No. It always has and always will end the same way, we’ll play a few rounds and the questions will keep coming. Then the reasons will come apparent. People forget how vile they are. Every single one thought they had a chance to beat me, but their free will was just an illusion. The dice are already set in stone, the game has already finished. I always win.” And with that, Mors got up off his chair, picked up his cane and continued walking down the dusty road, looking for the next lost person, singing to himself.


The sound of a bottle breaking brings the party back into focus. I must have been daydreaming again. But is it even daydreaming if it's at night? God, I’m hopeless. "Sarah, go talk to a boy," my friend says. "What's the point." "So you can fall in loooove!" Cynthia means well, but she’s a romance addict. "I don't want to fall in love, Cynthia," I sigh. "C’mon. You can't fuck a bass, Sarah!" "Sure I can." Cynthia gives me a scary look. "Ughhh, you're hopeless!" she says and storms off into the mess of people crowded in the tight apartment. I giggle and sip my beer. It’s too easy to tick her off. But this party is kinda boring. Ughh, I’m getting tired of hearing 100 gecs. I wanna go home and listen to some Paul Chambers or something. I’ll smoke a spliff first though. I put my beer down on the small table I’m leaning on and make my way through the sea of sweaty animals to smoke out on the fire escape. I crawl through the window and breath in the crisp fall city air. I take out the spliff I rolled at home and light that bitch. It warms me up. I sit down and look at the cars below. “Sup.” A bit startled, I turn to my right. A boy is sitting at the end of the fire escape with his legs dangling off the side, smoking a cig. He’s tapping his left hand rhythmically. “Oh, hey.” Ughhh, curse you, Cynthia! I’m not gonna meet any boy tonight. “What are you smoking?” he asks. “A spliff.” “What’s in it?” “Blue American Spirit tobacco and Gorilla Glue.” “I always seem to end up with Gorilla Glue,” he sighs, “I can’t tell if it’s any good.” “It ain’t bad.” “Hmmm.” He takes a drag from his cig and plays with his long, black hair. His eyes have a bored look to them. “What are you smoking?” I ask. “Camel blues.” “Can I cop one?” “If you let me hit your spliff then sure,” he says. What am I doing right now! I should just go home and practice bass. My upright needs me. But instead, he hands me a camel blue and I trade my spliff. I smoke the camel blue and he starts humming the bass hook at the start of So What. “You like Kind of Blue?” I say. “Yeah,” his smiles, “I know it’s cliche but it’s what got me into jazz. I listened to that album a lot in my cringy middle school days. It’s forever stuck in my brain, ya know.” “Me too. Paul Chambers is so fucking great. That album is what led me to start playing upright.” “Jimmy Cobb is like that for me,” He says. His eyes brighten a little. I can’t help but smile. He’s so fucking cute. *Errrr!* I won’t fall in love. I won’t fall in love... “So, you play drums then I guess?” I ask. “Yeah.” Stop it, Sarah! STOP! “Hey, we should jam sometime!” he says. “Oh, yeah. That... that would be great!” I’m blushing. It’s all over. I’m in love with this boy.


Back in '08, me and my friend both got jobs as scrapers. We'd get a call, get an address, and drive on over there to scrape off whatever needed scraping. We'd be scraping off old stickers off of car windows, mucked on poop off of sidewalks, berry splatter off of siding... you name it, we scraped it. We learned quick that you can scrape off just about anything with a 3" metal scraper and a little hard work. Summer was going great and business was booming as we scraped our way across the tri-county area. Hell, we were making nearly $10 a scrape job which was pretty decent considering we could scrape up the plastered-on messes of ten to fifteen houses in an afternoon. Word started to get out about how well we scraped up and how quick we scraped out. Soon we started getting some calls for some scrape jobs way out of the tri-county area, but the guy offered $12 a scrape and promised there'd be at least 30 scrapes for us to scrape. It was like an hour and half drive and me and my buddy's scraping hands were itching for some quality scraping. The whole time I was driving, he was twirling his scraper with his gnarled, scrape-hardened fingers and just staring blankly ahead as our back-country road gave way to a single lane gravel path. I would have given up and turned around thinking we must have been going the wrong way, but then I saw an absolutely humongous farm house just scraping the horizon. My buddy gave me a scrape on the thigh, and I gunned it. We both had such huge smiles on our faces, our scraped white teeth glistening in the afternoon sun. We parked the car pretty much right at the front door since there's no real driveway and got a good look at the outside of this guy. Paint peeling everywhere, windows gunked to the frames with bird turd, moldies and oldies creeping in every crack and cranny. It was a scraper's wet dream! It was maybe even a scraper's wet daydream judging my how my buddy was acting. His eyes darted all over the exterior as his idly scraped what little hair he had left off of his forearm. It was hard not to imagine what kind of amazing scrapes needed scraping on the inside with how many scrape jobs we were eyeballing on the outside. I rang the doorbell with my scraper and the door swung open before the ding finished donging. No one was there, but we heard a voice upstairs tell us that the whole house needs a good scrape down. And he really emphasized the “whole” part. Money was no object, just scrape as much as we could scrape. So that's exactly what we did. Without hesitation, I'm on the ground scraping up the peeling linoleum tiles. My buddies on the walls scraping of the wall paper. These scrapes jobs were pretty stubborn, and we had to sharpen our scrapers more than a few times. Chips of tiles, flecks of paint, ribbons of wall papers, shreds of veneer, speckles of plaster and glue, nothing was safe from our scraping and we were so focused that we didn't realize twelve hours had passed and we were barely out of the foyer. We scraped and rescraped and overscraped and superscraped through the night until all we there was nothing but bare concrete foundation and drywall. The massive piles of scrapings covered the floor and as I shuffled through them like fallen leaves, I told my buddy that I'll be back with the vacuum. He nodded, but never looked up and never stopped scraping. Out in the cool breeze of another great summer night, I snapped out of my scrape frenzy and started to realize how weird it was that some guy we never saw just had us scrape up his whole first floor down to the bare bones without ever checking up on us or even really telling us what to scrape. We just went at it. I grabbed the vacuum and tried to tally the number of scrape jobs in my head. I licked my chops looking at everything that needed a good scraping outside. There was going to be a lot of cash coming our way. With my vacuum armed and ready, I plowed through the door hoping that my buddy had scraped everything into one central pile to make things easier for me, but instead he was nowhere to be found. Upstairs, I heard the very distinct sound of scraping and then giggling. Did this guy really think he could start scraping upstairs without me? I decided to let me have his fun while I vacuumed up. Over the speckly sound of the vacuum sucking up our pile of scrapings, I heard some louder giggling and some moaning. I turned off the vacuum to listen closer, but it stopped. As soon as I turned the vacuum back on, I heard the laughing and moaning again. I had to go upstairs and check it out. Scraping is fun and all, hell it was my life that summer, but I never once heard him be that jubilant when scraping. As I'm walking up the creaking stairs, I'm seeing a trail of scrapes along the way. It was nothing major, just a small scrape here, a peel back there, but it made for a trail leading into one of the rooms upstairs, the same room where the moaning was coming from. All the way upstairs now, the moaning and laughing and giggling was nonstop. What could my buddy have possibly been scraping that was so much fun? Finally, I get to the door and scrape it open with my scraper. Inside my buddy has his shirt scraped off and he's sitting on the back of some guy, maybe the owner of the house. The guy was the one moaning with pleasure. He was moaning and giggling because my buddy is scraping his back. Now, everyone loves a good back scraping, so I chalk it up to some sort of little extra side gig my buddy was lucky enough to secure, but then I see him scrape and pull a long ribbon of skin up and above his shoulder. The man moaned with delight, almost howling. Then I saw more back-long ribbons of skin on the floor in a bloody heap. My buddy doesn't even turn to look at me, he just digs his scraper in again as the man giggles with ticklish delight. I hear the skin loosen and peel like the rind of massive orange. I backed away slowly thinking that if I just leave them to it, we can collect our cash and leave without ever discussing this scrape job again. I wouldn't have even cared if he got a little extra skin scraper money on the side. That's when I noticed that the walls were covered in flesh ribbons like those, hanging and long since dried like thousands of old belts. From the corner of the room, I heard another giggle. It was a man or woman. I couldn't tell because this laughing person had no skin whatsoever. It had been scraped off and made part of the skin belt collection. The person gestured over to me and mimed a scraping motion along their back where it seemed fresh, but very thin skin had started to grow back. They looked so weak, so frail, so exposed. This person kept beckoning me and giggling while my buddy scraped off another ribbon of the moaning man's skin and tossed it wetly into the pile. I dropped my scraper and it scraped right into the blood-soaked floorboards. My buddy stopped scraping, the moaning man stopped moaning and the giggling person stopped giggling. They all looked at me like I was the weirdo, like I wasn't doing my job. My buddy wiped his sweaty brow with his blood drenched hand. He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. Looking down at the man's raw back and then back up to me, he said, "Well uhm, these guys are paying my $50 dollars a ribbon, so uhh..." He wiggled his scraper, "What do you think?" Out from the shadows of the back room, several more people with varying degrees of skin coverage shambled into the light coming from the hallway. They all just looked at me with wanting eyes. Hey, $50 is $50.


The canvas remains nestled on the easel. No image bestowed. No story to tell. Dust gathers around the square edges. The paints are all dry, nothing left of them to use. What used to be vibrant greens, yellows, oranges, and reds have turned to a dull cracked paste. Leroy hates this room; he hates it with every atom of his being. Why he hates it? He does not know. There are pieces of him he cannot access. Memories, stories, and his past have all fleeted him now. He is left to be consumed only by his raw emotions, never knowing their explanation. He hates this room, he hates the dried-up paints, and he especially hates the canvas. It mocks him with what it lacks, mirroring his own inadequacy. The emptiness is too unbearable to have to be reminded of it. Yet, as much as he hates this room, being within these four walls--he is drawn here. He feels it calling to him, and he always goes--miserably. It is in this room, the room he utterly despises, and cannot escape that he feels something else for the very first time. Hope. He hears the family before he even sees them. The sound of children laughing excites him, he moves to the window and sees them. A mother, with radiant red hair, carrying a small black cat close to her chest. A father with a taped-up cardboard box, wideset shoulders, and dark curly hair... and lastly, the children. A boy and a younger girl. They tussle over the key ring giggling, arguing about who will help unlock the front door. A front door that has remained locked since Leroy has been here. The older boy is gentle with his sister, he half plays to wrestle for the keys not trying to apply to much force to accidentally yank them out of his sister’s hands. He pretends to give his best effort, and in the end the young girl wins. She waits for her mother to join her on the front porch, to help her insert and turn the key. With a click, and a heavy creek the family enter and pass the threshold, unlocking their way into Leroy’s home. The mother’s hair is ties back on the nape of her neck. She is kneeling in front of the flower bed, disrupting the soil, and carefully placing each tiny flower in place. She gathers the dirt and forms a tiny mound, packing it atop the roots. Solidifying the stem in place. As she pushes down a glimpse of silver is seen swaying around her neck, a small red pendant at the end. Amelia , Leroy thinks as electricity flows through him. Amelia, where are you? Where did you go? The sensation is overpowering, and Leroy can no longer bare to look at the woman who mockingly plants her flowers the same colors his beloved paints used to be. One thing becomes certain for Leroy, he needs to find her--and quickly. The fire warms the room as her face reflects the light bouncing from the flames. “Tilt your head towards me...good now tuck your chin down just so slightly,” Leroy instructs her. She does exactly as he says, shooting him a flirtatious glance with her eyes. The way she looks at him he will never take for granted, and after tonight, Leroy will have captured her on this canvas forever. “How much longer must I sit for you? So much work and no play?” Amelia chirps at him. He has the shade of her skin down perfectly on the canvas, he added depth and highlights to make her features look as if she were not a basic portrait, but the radiance of beauty that sits before him now. Her eyes are the last thing he needs to perfect, they are so exquisite it will be hard to match their complexity on the canvas. “Your eyes dear, they are a gift from God. My gift cannot carry them the way they deserve, though I will try. A little bit longer, and then we can play.” He smirks back at her. She playfully rolls her eyes and sighs. Leroy’s attention is drawn to the light catching on her silver necklace, a locket that has remained in its place since Leroy presented it to her last month. A promise for more to come. A promise for an escape. The father has been going through Leroy’s room today while the cat sits in the doorway eyes locked onto Leroy. Leroy hides in the corner, not to disturb him or cause a scene, the glaring cat unnerves him. The cat knows he’s there. Leroy watches as the father picks through the dusty books on the shelf, inspects the old fireplace for birds’ nest, and contemplates what to do with the remaining art materials. The father scratches his head inspecting the paints and the canvases, Leroy longs for him to get rid of them, to throw them into the empty box he has brought with him. Urges him with is mind to dismantle the last blank canvas leaving Leroy to enjoy this room more peacefully without it. Instead, the father seems interested in the debacle. He inspects the canvas, its material worn thin. He lightly picks it up from its resting place on the easel and turns it over. His thumb runs along the dusty edge, he can tell this was hand crafted. The canvas pulled taught along the wooden edges. The father stops, his thumb rubs the small wooden corner of the canvas, a burned inscription remains. The father speaks the name aloud: Leroy Chambers. The meadow was brighter that day, thanks to the unforgiving sunlight and clear skies. Amelia lay on a blanket in the grass, Leroy prompt up on this elbow alongside her. Their hands reaching for each other, their fingertips dancing together. Leroy grabbed her left hand, and gently slipped on a small golden band, his mother’s before, Amelia’s now. He could feel Amelia’s entire body stop, for just the slightest second. Her eyes met his, and then looked down at the band upon her ring finger. A testament of love, a promise and commitment for the rest of their days. Marriage, holy matrimony, till death do they part. “Yes, I love you Leroy Chambers,” she whispers, reaching up from her spot to kiss him. A kiss of wanting and need, he was going to save her. He just promised her that. A glass breaks in the kitchen, the little girl begins to cry. The mother is soothing, the father shouting. The mother now shouts at the father. The children’s feet start pattering up the staircase. Quickly, swiftly. The door slams and Leroy turns to see the children, red faced and winded. The boy looks around, panicked. He rushes his sister to hide in the corner, the door behind them creeks open. The mother enters, cooing and shushing. The children run to her; they jump into her arms. They kiss her face, they haven’t noticed it yet, but Leroy has. He’s seen that mark before. A kiss that bites deeper. Amelia’s face is burdened with her truth. She attempted to hide it from Leroy, but he knew the second he laid eyes on her. The soft bruise that has kissed her left eye, the purple color brightening the deep green of her iris. Leroy sweeps a stand of her hair that has fallen in front of her face, and places it delicately behind her ear. He takes her face in his hands, lightly, not to startle her. “We leave tonight,” He insists. She doesn’t say anything, she doesn’t have to. She nods. After dusk, they pack little belongings and make their way out of the house and through the garden. He is finally able to promise Amelia what he has been promising all along, a life free from her abuser. Her husband and Leroy’s employer. A man of many respects of fine wine and artwork but lacks that affection towards his beloved wife. A man that does not deserve Amelia, a man that Leroy has fantasized killing on more than one occasion but is satisfied in making Amelia safe. In making her happy. Tonight, it will all set in motion. He will set it right for her. They make it to the garden gate before they hear the dogs barking, they hear the shouting. “Run!” She urges him, and together they run past the gate and into the meadow. They run as hard as they are able. Until the groundskeeper blocks their path. It isn’t long until they are cornered. Guns risen. Pleads shouted. Triggers pulled. Dead weight hitting the ground. Leroy’s face turns towards Amelia’s, she lay there lifeless mirroring him. Her eyes, so exquisite but lifeless, fixated onto him. Leroy finds the urge to paint today, he didn’t even know he had these urges left in him. The paints are cracked, the canvas dusty but he does what he can. He swishes and swirls, he mixes and molds. The radiant red hair comes to life, but the eyes, the eyes don’t belong to the mother, their Amelia’s. When the portrait is finished, what is left to stare back at him is the face of defiance. The face of love, compassion, and courage. The face of a mother, seeking asylum for herself and her children from their father. The father ironically enters the room after Leroy has finished his new prized piece. He stops when he sees the canvas full of life now. He’s confused. Skeptical. He approaches the piece, and Leroy can sense his fear. He is afraid of this woman in the portrait, not because he is afraid of his wife, but because this woman would leave him. She would forget him in a fortnight. He knows she has this power, he has done everything to subdue this in her, to harvest this force from her. There’s a shift movement behind the father, a chill that breaks both his and Leroy’s attention. They are not alone here, there is another force present. That force makes their presence known, it grabs the father through the chest and strangles his heart. His eyes pulse with fear, confusion, and then utter agony, until his body goes limp and there’s a crashing of dead weight falling to the floor. The force makes their way to Leroy now, he is not afraid. He is open and willing, beckoning his fate. Formless, it slides its way to him, unfolding and revealing their identity. Leroy’s world stops. Amelia , he breathes.


“Hey dad, what’s up?” “I wanted to talk about your sister.” He was speaking fast, and I could almost smell the alcohol on his breath through the phone-line. “Oh, okay. What’s happened?” A dozen different scenarios raced through my head, but he sounded angry not upset. She’d done something, not had something happen to her. “Stop telling her to get a blood test. Her baby will be fine.” “But- isn’t it worth checking? If she’s a carrier for sickle cell-” “She isn’t. Your mother wasn’t a carrier, and neither am I.” All I could hear was the static of the line. “But... then how could I have been a carrier?” All the tests, all the checks, all the worry I'd had when I first fell pregnant came rushing back at that moment, followed by a void. It had to have come from somewhere. “What... what do you mean dad?” “Your father was the carrier. Not me. I- Goodbye.” All I was left with was the bleep of him hanging up and my world crumbling around me. The rest of that day passed in a haze. I went through the motions and did everything that was required, but I couldn’t think straight. Every time I stopped my thoughts drifted to the conversation, to the few minutes that utterly destroyed my life. My phone rang more than once from my sister, but I refused to answer it. What would I say? What was there to say? It was two days later before I was starting to process what had happened. I’d dropped Jacob off at nursery and had a few hours to kill. The plan had been to find a coffee shop, somewhere neutral where I could gather my thoughts. Before I knew it though my feet had brought me to the graveyard, and I was stood in front of Mum’s gravestone. “Hey Mum.” For a time I just stood there, breathing in the cool air, wishing it could blow everything away. Reading the dates on Mum’s headstone I couldn’t help but remember her wedding anniversary to Dad- no. Not Dad. To David. They’d celebrated their thirtieth wedding anniversary just before she’d died four years ago. I’d only turned thirty last year. “What happened Mum? Why... why am I here?” For my whole life Mum had been my touchstone, the person I’d most aspired to be like. She’d always been so strong and so fiercely independent, even while the cancer tore through her body. And now... “Why didn’t you tell me?” That was what haunted me the most. Mum had known she was dying, and she still hadn’t confessed. Was that when she’d confessed to Dad- to David? I racked my brain trying to remember how he’d acted throughout her illness, but he’d never been anything but supportive of me. He’d never had a favourite, he’d never shown any preference between me and Sara. If he’d taken one of us out for our birthday, he was always sure to make sure the other one got the same treatment on her birthday. And yet... The tone of his voice during that conversation still haunted me. It was so cold, so heartless. He was a good man, who I’d only ever seen getting angry, properly swearing-whenever-they’re-mentioned kind of angry, at two people in my whole life. He’d always gone above and beyond to help his friends, and got annoyed when people quoted the Bible at him while he did so. “We should help me because we’re kind, not because we’re scared of judgement,” he’d say. But he'd judged me. That was what his voice held that day; judgement. I hadn’t known that a crime had been done, and yet my very existence was a grievous sin against him that he blamed me for. I didn’t know what I was expecting to happen at Mum’s grave. Understanding ideally, acceptance perhaps, forgiveness maybe, though what for I couldn’t be sure. What I wasn’t expecting was for my fath- for David to turn up. “Oh,” he said when he saw me. “Hi. What are you doing?” He gestured at the grave with the bunch of flowers he was carrying. “I’ve been up here every day since... since that call.” I’d been too distracted to even notice the fresh flowers on her grave, and that sent a pang of guilt through me. What else had I neglected these past few days? There was an awkward silence between us for a while, until at last he asked if he could join me. “I should be going now anyway. I need to get Jacob from nursery.” I started to walk away, keeping my eyes down as I did. “Stay a while?” he asked when I was a few rows away. “Please?” As I looked at the man stood before my mother’s grave, it wasn’t the man who’d raised me. It was the man who’d stood there four years ago grieving the loss of the woman he loved. It was the man who’d never quite been the same since, no matter how brave a face he put on for his family. How could I say no to him? Side by side we stood, each of us lost in our own thoughts, both wishing a sign or some fresh words of wisdom would appear on the headstone. All it said though was ‘A mother and a wife, much loved by everyone, now safe with our Lord’. Nothing pertinent to the dilemma she’d left us in. “How-” David started, though he had to cough and swallow a few times before he could finish. “How’ve you been?” “I don’t know. I... I thought I knew her. I didn’t think she’d do something like to me. To us. I didn’t think she’d have let it gone unsaid either.” “She thought about telling you. At the end, when she knew her time was coming.” “So you did know? Before then?” “I’ve always know. Since before you were born.” “But-” That made both of them liars. They’d raised me and Sara as sisters, yet we were nothing but half-sisters. Half-sisters? Does that really change anything? “She told me not long after it happened. It was rough, I’m not going to lie about that. But I loved her, and she loved me. She made her peace with God, and together we got through it.” “And you kept me? Treated me as your own?” I watched his profile as he thought, and for the first time I noticed how deep the lines were around his eyes. “I thought it would be different with Sara. That I’d feel something more for her, some deeper connection with her. But do you know what? It wasn’t. I felt the same affection for both of you, even though I knew you weren’t my flesh and blood. You weren’t my child, but you were my daughter.” After so many days of loneliness that was too much. Before I knew what was happening I was in torrents of tears, bawling more than I had the day of funeral. But he was there, hugging me close as if nothing had happened. “I’m sorry,” he said when the worst of my tears were over. “I’d forgiven her all those years ago, but having it brought up again... it gave me a fresh chance to be angry at you. But that wasn’t fair. You have nothing to be forgiven for.” The words I’m sorry died on my lips. Mum wouldn’t have wanted that. You don’t apologise if you’re not sorry, and I had nothing to be sorry for. “I really should go and get Jacob now,” I said when I at last pulled free of him, laughing as I wiped the tears away. “Come on then. I’ll come with you.” With a last nod to Mum we headed out. I could tell he wanted to say something, but I let David- Dad- get to it in his own time. “Do you want to find him? Your real father?” “No. You’re my real father.” I hoped that my grin hide the nervous excitement in my stomach. Despite what I’d said, I still found myself pulling out Mum’s old journals that night. She’d been careful about keeping records of her life, documenting major events and family struggles. I’d flicked past my wedding and Sara’s graduation, back to our high school days. Each page I turned made my fingers shake a little more, yet I was drawn on by something irresistible. It was like seeing the jaws of a shark, but needing to see how far back the teeth went. That journal started with Sara’s birth, so I dug out the older one and for a moment just held it in my hands. My mother had never gotten around to telling me herself; the words in this book were the closest I would ever get to knowing why she’d betrayed her husband and hidden the truth from me. The closest I’d get to knowing how much she regretted me. Before I knew it the book was open. The pages had been worn thin and were soft with age. Words in her careful cursive script flicked by, the odd one jumping out at me. Home. Born. Love. Forgive. Hurt. I couldn’t separate a single page any more, my fingers too uncoordinated to do anything other than fumble the book. With a shuddering breath I slammed the book shut and rested my forehead against. No. I couldn’t do this, not yet. The pain was still too fresh, too raw. And the fact I could talk to Dad about it, but not Mum? What if it changed how I saw him? I didn’t think I could bear that. There was one thing I needed to know though, and I was afraid it would break David's heart if I asked him. I just hoped that I wouldn’t learn too much else at the same time. The page I wanted was easy to find. It was the one stained with tears, the edges still crinkled after all these years. The writing here was faded even worse than in the rest of the diary, which was both a help and a hindrance. My eyes skimmed across the words as I tried to keep my mind blank to the pain that was conveyed on the page. Somewhere here there had to be- Andrew Tucker. I stared at the name to ingrain it into my mind then shut the book firmly and packed it away again. All I’d wanted was his name, but now I knew it I didn’t feel any urge to pursue it further. Could he be a better father than David had been? Maybe, but it was far too late in all our lives to find out. Knowing him now wouldn’t change the past I’d had, but it could damage my future. All I’d needed was the knowledge that I could look him up if I ever wanted to. While she’d taken the affair to the grave, she hadn’t taken his name with her as well.


“What do you mean, you dared Barrie to go in the South Woods?” I was trying to keep my anger out of my voice. The little boy in front of me was digging his foot into the dirt. “Tell me what happened. Right now, Burton!” “I didn’t think he’d actually do it.” Burton’s grey eyes were wide. “He was bragging about how brave his is and how he could do anything! He was calling me a scardy cat because I wouldn’t go climb trees with him! So, I told him that he still wasn’t brave enough to go into the South Woods!” I sighed, “And so my headstrong little brother ran into the woods?” Barton nodded, tears rolling down his face, “Don’t be angry, Lexine! Don’t tell my mama!” "That depends on if Barrie is hurt." I told him "Now get out of here!" and he ran off, tears still running down his cheeks. What to do, what to do? I can't go to the elders. There are horrible consequences for going into the South Forest. A couple of years ago, a few kids had snuck into the Woods. The survivor that made it out was forbidden from ever marrying or having children. Should I tell our parents? No, Father would go straight to the elders out of fear. He wouldn't care about the fines. He would only want the help of the Warriors in retrieving his only son. There was only one thing to do. It was obvious that it was up to me to go in after him. Bloody hell. I am going to beat some sense into that boy once I get my hands on him. I would need a weapon, without thinking it over more, I ran to the blacksmith’s smithy. "Zachery!" I called out as I approached, "I need a weapon!" The blacksmith's apprentice, Zachery looked at me wide eyed "But...but 'Lex Why? I can get in major trouble for giving you one!" “It’s Barrie, he has gone into the South Woods! I need to go in and get him! Just a knife, please! I am begging you!" Zachery paused and then nodded "I can only give you a knife." He said as he pulled out a small dagger, studded with blue gems. "This was one of my projects. I can't promise it will last very long but it will be good for a good blow or two," I gave him a bear hug and then ran off without another word. Well at last I was armed now. What was Barrie thinking going into the South Woods? Damn, that boy. Shortly enough I was at the border of the village and the South Woods. I paused there, pacing back and forth. The fear was running through me. How many stories have I been told of these woods? The monsters? Can I really go in there and find my pesky little brother? I took a deep breath. I needed to do this, I dove into the forest before I could think any more about the danger or anything else. I started through the wood, the first few feet were a tangled mess of branches and briars. Looking for signs of Barrie's passing through the underbrush, I started down a path that was twisty and lined with giant mushrooms. The mushrooms were huge, almost reaching my waist. It was getting dark, as I went down the path. I was praying I would find Barrie before it got too dark to see. The sun was low on the horizon when I finally found fresh signs that Barrie had passed through. It looked like he had been running, there were broken branches and smooshed mushrooms showing his frantic run down the path. Something must have spooked him. “Barrie!” I called, but, the overgrowth was so thick my voice barely carried. Before I could try calling again there was a massive roar from behind me. I spun around, behind me hidden in the dark forest was a shadow, easily two or three times my size. A scream froze in my throat, and I took off in the other direction of the giant shadow. The ground was shaking as the shadow followed me in my panicked run. The path twisted around a large tree, and up ahead there was rock wall. I desperately scanned the wall, hoping against hope that there was some escape. Under one of the boulders, I saw a small dark cave. I had no time to think about it, whatever was in that cave could not be as bad as whatever was shaking the ground behind me. The cave entrance was very tight, I had to get down on my hands and knees to squeeze into the dark. The rocks were tearing at my clothes as I passed. Once I was clear of the entrance, I entered into a cramped cave. In one of the corners of the cave, I saw a small bundle. Muffled sobs were coming from it. With my heart in my throat, I called out “Barrie?” Before I could even react, the bundle was up and rocketing into me. Barrie’s blonde hair was a mess and his face was dirty. He wrapped his arms around me and shoved his face into my shoulder. I pulled him close and let him cry, trying to comfort him. After a little while, he pulled himself away from me. “I am sorry ‘Lex. Don’t be mad at me, don’t tell mama.” His blue eyes were large, and his tears had cleaned streaks down his dirty cheeks. I smiled down at him, relived he was ok. “There is no reason to tell, you are ok.” There was another roar from outside, shaking the cave. Some rocks fell from the ceiling, I leaned over Barrie to protect him from the falling stones. Barrie started to cry again. How many times had we been warned to stay out of the South Woods? By how many people? Why didn’t we listen? Maybe I should have told the elders? What could I do? I don’t even have any idea how to use the knife I borrowed. How could I bring myself and my little brother back to the village safely? Barrie was shaking in my arms, with every noise of the forest he let out a whimper. “‘Lex, is the monster coming back?” His little voice was shaking. I pulled him closer, “I don’t know.” I was trying and failing to keep my own fear out of my voice. What the monster was, let alone find a weak point to take it down with my puny knife. It was way too dark to tell anything about it. Staying still in the cave seemed like the only possible option at this point. It was almost pitch black in the cave by the time the noises from outside the cave started to fade. I crept to the opening of the cave and listened closely. The moon was full, thank god, it gave us some light to see by. Other than the faint noises from the nighttime insects, everything was quiet. I took a deep breath and made a decision. “Barrie, we are going home.” He backed up shaking his head, “The monster is out there!” I pulled the knife from my pocket, the moon light shined off the blue jewels. “I will keep us save. I just need you to be your brave self.” He sniffled “I am not brave. I thought I was. But I’m not.” I knelt in front of him, “True bravery is doing something even though you are scared. You must have been scared to come into the South Woods, but you did it. I just need you to be brave a little longer.” He nodded, rubbing his tears away. “I will try ‘Lex.” I hugged him tight and turned to the entrance. I squeezed myself back out of the cave and listened again. I still heard nothing. “Come on, Barrie.” I whispered back into the cave. He came out of the cave, the moon light showing the terrified look on his face. I grabbed his hand and clutched my knife in the other. We slowly made our way down to the path, the dark was making it hard to keep up a quick pace. We both kept tripping over roots and loose rocks. When we got back to the mushroom lined path, to my amazement, the giant mushrooms were starting to have a bright blue light coming from them. The glow was illuminating the path, and making our travel so much easier. In the blue glow, we hurried along. We were so close to the edge of the forest when the ground started shaking again. I could hear a loud growl, coming from behind the mushrooms. The blue light was glinting off a pair of large eyes that were deep in the wood. The monster let loose a massive roar and Barrie screamed, and pulled away from me, in an attempt to dart into the forest on the other side. Suddenly, the mushroom’s glowing light grew, I could see the eyes retreating further from the path, as the glow spread. Then a small green glowing creature came out of the nearest mushroom. “Stay calm children.” It said. Barrie hid behind me, scared. He let out another small whimper. “The creature will not dare enter my path in the night.” It continued. “Stay in my light and all will be well.” “Who...who are you?” I stammered It chuckled “I am many things. Most call me the Spirit of the Forest. Now go, the creature is cunning and there is a gap between my forest path and the edge of the woods. Now hurry!” Barrie and I fled down the way. Before I knew it, we were at the end of the mushroom path. The green glowing creature was still right beside us. “Hurry, children.” It said. “The creature is coming.” I had no clue how to thank the spirit, so I just picked up Barrie and ran. I could feel the change in the air as I left the path. The air felt evil. Another terrifying howl shook the woods. It was right behind us. I ran faster, hoping to get to the edge of the forest. I felt something swipe by my leg. An agonizing flash of pain through me, I stumbled and dropped Barrie. I could see the forest edge. “Run!” I screamed at Barrie, “Just run!” He backed up with a uncertain look on his face, but finally turned and ran out of the woods. Relived that my brother was safe, I dragged myself up against a tree and drew my knife. The moon glinted off the blue stones. I sat there, breathing hard, listening for the creature. My leg was in agony, it would give out before I could excape. This is it, I am going to die here. Suddenly, Barrie was back at my side. “Lean on me, sister.” He whimpered, putting my arm over his shoulder. “We both need to be brave now. I can’t leave you.” He wasn’t going to give me a choice here. I was leaning on him heavily as we made our way out of the wood. I could hear the creature breathing, but for some reason, it was not approaching. It felt like forever, but soon we were out of the forest. Barrie set me down on the village side of the fence. We sat there, breathing hard, when the green glow appeared again. “Good job children.” It said. “Little boy, your bravery saved your sister and kept the creature at bay. It feeds on, and is attracted to fear. While bravery chases it away.” I gave Barrie a hug. “See, I told you that you were brave.” He gave me a small smile. The creature glowed, and the pain in my leg faded. “I have healed your wounds.” It continued. “Please do not come back to these woods. The here danger is all too real.” We both nodded, “Thank you, Spirit of the Wood.” I said gravely. The spirit faded, without responding. I stood up and took Barrie’s hand “Let’s go home.” He looked up at me, “What are we going to tell mama and father, as to why we are out so late?” After what we had been through, that was a fear, I could totally manage. THE END


The sea is something to admire from a distance so they tell us. I watch from a fence on a hill about 50 feet away. Images surround me of what lies below. Creatures that can breathe underwater and die on land. Sounds more like aliens than something we eat. The sun shimmers across it, guards standing around. Nobody really knows the origin of the job to protect the ocean. Nobody really questions it. One day I find a guard just off from his position. A hole in the fence. The cameras will catch me but I have enough time to run and see for myself the creatures alive that lay underneath and not just cooked beyond recognition. I take speed and alarms go off around me. A few gunshots go off, whether they were warning shots I don't know the sirens drown out anything around me. I get closer and closer as the guards gain on me. Until finally.. I look into the depths of an empty blue void. I lean down and touch the surface. It electrocutes me. My hand spasms back in shock as the guards grab me and inject me with something that makes me fall asleep. I wake up in a cell surrounded by other prisoners. The institution is not a normal holding cell, more of a place to keep secrets by the "higher" ones. I realise I won't be leaving this place. Whatever food they claim to serve us from the deep below isn't what they claim. The fact a whole society believes something can live underwater is baffling enough, but to think not everyone questions it is somehow worse. The food is probably to control us or keep us relaxed enough not to check it out. Some of us are immune. Tests will go on here to find something that can affect us just as well as the ones who aren't immune. Log entry #3 out... Not that anyone will get this.. At least number 1 and 2 should.


[Contains sensitive description] They’d blindfolded me, tied a silk scarf over my eyes and promised to return. I was left alone in nothing but darkness, nothing but the black shadows of an unknown whereabouts. And, after the first few days, I had felt strong. I knew I could continue. A resilience had grown in me - a deep resilience which relied on nothing. Without my visual awareness, I had mostly lost the use of my hands and legs, too. But I’d kept the blindfold on voluntarily, veering up against the darkness and trying to claim it as my own. By the second week, the weariness had begun to creep in. A day arrived when, screaming into the void, I had grappled with the scarf and tore it from my head. It grazed behind my ears, taking up skin, but I was free. I examined the house around me, found that its windows were boarded-up and its doors locked tight. I flicked the light switches and saw that there was no electricity, no light. It was just me, a box full of non-perishable food and absolute silence. Nevertheless, with my eyes free, I laughed, I sang, I jogged. I bounded around the house, finally able to move without tripping up. Everything was still shadows, but I’d become a cat: nocturnal and able to navigate in the absence of light. I didn’t know if it were AM or PM because my circadian rhythm had now centralised on constant darkness. That’s when the madness began to fester. I knew that there were animals with no eyes, evolved over millions of years to suit the dark tunnels and night skies that they call home, but I was no animal. At least, not at first. The third week was marked by a childish giggling. I’d shut down all the neurological pathways that had been constructed in my experience of adulthood - those of responsibly and morality, moulded and polished by the norms of life in the light. I began to piss wherever I wanted around the house instead of using the toilet and twitched whenever I felt a dust mote get too close. The hours no longer moved in cycles of twenty-four; rather, my days and nights had become marked by two-hour intervals of waking and napping. Even with free eyes, my sight diminished until eventually I was looking at the house through a very small, black ring. I lost my ability to smell, and then to taste. The dried seaweed in the box was the only thing that had any substance to it, even though usually I detested seafood. Everything else turned to bland mush in my cheeks. Week four was the worst. My tongue felt like bark because I’d chewed on it too much and, in my mind, fantastic shapes and colours formed to entertain me: large, wafting shapes like the shadows of whales in water, only kaleidoscopic and insane. I spent hours at a time sitting and watching them float by, biting at my throbbing tongue and peeling the wood off the floor. I was kind of happy. There was a moment - maybe a few - when I was so enthralled, I pissed myself then and there, no longer able to remove myself from the lightshow that was going on inside my head. Physically, I was in pain. Piercing migraines bore through me like giant drills carving into a mountain of granite. I no longer wanted to move and so the blood had gone cold and stiff in my extremities, my bones ached and my muscles had become locked, rigid. I ground my teeth so hard they turned to chalky stumps in my mouth, exposing nerves which shocked me like lightning bolts. I didn’t recognise my own voice when I started screaming; I just heard the wailing going on and on like a siren. After a while, I wondered if I was in a war, if the house was going to be bombed. Eventually, I fell quiet. Then I noticed the sound of my own sobs, but it wasn’t my voice. It was the voice of a tiny man at the end of time who wore a little trilby hat and played the piano. He was a 2D cartoon, drawn in black and white, but as he smiled at me, I felt how visceral and alive he really was, surrounded by the swirling redness of my mother’s womb. On the last day, a key turned in the door. As the cogs clicked and changed inside the lock, my mind envisioned a full cycle of the moon as if using an ancient method to assess time. I squirmed like an animal feeling the call of migration shaking through its bones. It had been a month. The test was over. I stood up, my wobbling knees, numb beneath me, sending me straight back onto the floor. I tried again, managing to anchor myself to the wall. I heard voices, but I didn’t speak English anymore. “Adam, how you doing?” A man appeared and I could see in the dullness that he was looking at me with sympathy. I let out a strange sound, something animal-like or monster-like. As two other men filtered in, the first man sighed in sorrow. “It’ll be over in a moment. Well done.” I heard shuffling behind me and slowly turned to see what the other men were doing. “It’s five o’clock, Adam. Sunrise. You ready?” I let out the sound again and held myself against the wall, facing them. I saw a crowbar raise above one of the men’s heads. “Do it.” There were a few moments, then, that turned in on themselves. Like a liquid universe being flipped in a pan, those moments washed through me with both an overwhelming sense of ordinariness and a suffocating absurdity. I watched the black figures of those men smash the walls of my new reality to pieces, and I did not want to do anything about it. I neither possessed the sense of justice and righteousness of a man, nor the instinctual dash of survival that defines an animal. I simply looked at them. The men pulled the boards off the window. Sunlight poured in from outside, splitting my head in half as it entered my grossly-enlarged pupils. Its rays set my soul on fire and burned everything I’d ever known right out of my brain, scorching my nervous system and cleansing me new. I didn’t scream, although the pain was beyond words. I didn’t look away. This is what I was here for. This is what I needed to know. I witnessed the birth and death of the universe a billion times over in the seconds that ticked by in that cataclysmic sunlight. I felt an iron grip secure my mouth shut, probably to stop the screams that I couldn’t hear, as I disappeared into the blinding whiteness of god, like a drop disappearing into the ocean and like an emerging germ saying goodbye to its seed. “Thank you” I said at last, in English, to the men who held me up. They smiled like angels. This was an ancient initiation rite of the Illuminati, designed to bring on an intense, psychedelic experience with nothing but the use of nature and determination. I had passed the test. I had conquered life. I had moved into the sublime.


“Good job, Katy! One gold star for you. You can use it to get something in the Learning and Motivation store.” Dr. Biff Skinner, my psychology professor. He’s pretty funny and makes the class experience enjoyable, even when the material is boring and dry. He’s one of my favorite professors, but he’s the only one that I want to fuck. And I have a plan. I went to his office later that day. His door was open and he was on his computer. I stood and watched him for a few seconds before I knocked. He looked up, smiled, and welcomed me in. I walked in and shut the door behind me. He looked a little surprised that the door was shut, but didn’t say anything about it. “What can I do for you, Katy?” Dr. Skinner said. “I’d like to redeem my gold star, Dr. Skinner.” I said with a grin. “Let me guess, you want an ‘A’ on your next exam?” he replied jokingly. With as much courage as I could muster, I replied, “No. What I want is for you to bend me over your desk and fuck me from behind.” He seemed a bit startled, but quickly recovered and said with a devious smile on his face, “Well now, you’ll need more than one gold star in order to get that.” “And just what would I have to do to earn enough gold stars?” He stood up from behind his desk, looked me in the eyes, and unzipped his pants. “This would be a start.” I walked over to him, got down on my knees, and took his cock out of his pants. I started licking up, down, and all around his cock and balls, allowing the tip to go in my mouth every few licks. When his cock was covered in my saliva, I slid him all the way into my mouth, letting my tongue play with the underside of his cock as he was thrusting in and out. My hands went to his balls, massaging them and rubbing his taint while he was thrusting and moaning. His hands were bunched in my hair, guiding his cock into my mouth. He was moaning that he was cumming, so I sucked harder. He shot his load into my mouth and it slid down my throat. I swallowed it all, stood up, wiped my mouth, and asked him with a wink, “Did that earn me enough gold stars?” “Oh God, did it ever!” He replied breathlessly. He pushed me over his desk, pulling my shirt off in the process. I wasn’t wearing a bra, so I was naked from the waist up. He pulled my panties down in one fell swoop, pushed my skirt up, and thrust into me hard. I moaned so loud I was sure someone would hear me. He thrust into me harder, holding my waist to keep me steady. It only took five more thrusts and I was gone. I came so hard that I shivered. He came again seconds later. I lay breathing hard on his desk for a few seconds, trying to catch my breath. When I got up, he looked at me and whispered with a smile on his face, “Good job. One gold star.” I put my shirt back on, pulled my skirt down, leaving my panties on the floor of his office as a little remembrance for him. I winked at him, opened his office door, and walked out with his cum running down my legs. As I passed the student aid, she openly stared at me, so I knew that she had heard at least part of what happened in there. I put my finger up to my mouth to tell her to keep quiet and walked out of the building. I can’t wait to earn some more gold stars.


Love was stored inside an egg. Charlie remembered his father saying that. Not once or twice, but many times in multiple ways, and always with a bright smile. Charlie liked remembering his father smiling. If someone cooks you an egg, they love you. Simple as that. That was the core of his father’s argument. That eggs could embody all love the way Paul described it to the Corinthians - patient and kind, giving away all it had without arrogance or resentment. Eggs were resourceful, unobtrusive, a tiny mass of potential. If there were eggs, there was something to eat. No matter how bare the cabinets or how many times a store trip had been forgotten, eggs could be breakfast, lunch, dinner. If you love someone, Lee, make them eggs. It’s impossible for someone to make eggs for you and not know they love you with their whole heart. They’ll fall in love right then. His father would say things like that and Charlie, ever attentive, would listen. In his softest pajamas on weekend mornings, he would sit cross-legged in a kitchen chair to watch him make breakfast for the family, nodding along with whatever he said. Charlie had thought they were silly and strange, but decided to store the missives away anyway. They weren’t cryptic or unknowable, but he knew even then he was missing something. Something his mother, his father, and soon enough his sister understood; some small detail, a scant speck of knowledge that would crack open the meaning for him. You can’t know an egg until it’s broken, lad. Don’t look at me like that. Yes, I know, your dad’s going on and on again, but you’ll thank me someday. When you’re older and you’ve tried it, you’ll know I’m right and you’ll thank me. And I’ll be happy for you. The meaning behind Patrick Noether's words cracked open on a February morning, cold and miserable. Charlie had all but sleep-walked through the weeks prior, aimless in his days and fidgety at night. He didn’t know what to do with himself without the daily cycle of lunch and dinner service, to the point where begging his way back into Maison Sabourin's kitchen started to sound like a good idea. He knew it wasn’t, the same way applying to another restaurant or working at Casa Inés under Ezra was a bad idea. He knew he had time, that he didn’t need to rush to the next thing, but he could feel himself sliding into complacency. Every option felt at once too much and like ten steps backwards. Simon dragged him out for drinks or dinner, easing up when Charlie asked for space. He didn’t need to be babysat anymore. He and Linnea had a standing lunch date on Wednesdays where she asked his opinion on her articles and he gave her book recommendations for her weekly library trips. In return, she sent him embarrassing childhood photos of Ezra. He saved every single one. Holly would text him on the nights she was at Casa Inés overseeing service, occasionally talking him into coming out for a drink at happy hour, claiming her own desperate boredom. Ezra, for his part, had all but officially moved into Charlie's apartment. He held him until they fell asleep, after Inés' closed for the night and Ezra had showered dinner service sweat off of himself. He roused him most mornings with hot coffee, breakfast, and Lily canine needs all taken care of. Charlie repaid him with kisses and moaned praise; with tongue and teeth and soft fingers in tangled red hair. Ezra's cooking stocked his fridge so long as Charlie had ingredients in the house - when he had time to turn out full meals on top of everything else he did in the day, Charlie didn’t know but he couldn’t convince Ezra to stop. More books inexplicably showed up on Charlie's shelves, his coffee table, the dresser in his bedroom. Ezra kissed him in his worst moods, pulled him higher when he was at his best. He bothered Charlie about eating and drinking, about taking his pills and remembering his therapy appointments. All with love. So much love. It was a rare morning where Charlie woke before Ezra. He couldn’t remember sleeping so well in his life, and attributed it to Ezra. As if the weight of Ezra's arm slung over his midsection was the cure to insomnia he’d been looking for. But, that morning, he rose first to Ezra's mussed up hair and long lashes spread over his cheeks, face slack and open in sleep. Grey morning light sifted through the windows, the radiators leaving a warm-toaster smell in the air. Charlie was over-warm, laying there under Ezra's warmth, two blankets, and the heating heavy in the air, but he soaked it all in. He’d have to get up soon enough and wanted to take it with him. He stared at the ceiling for long minutes, watching the slight shift with drowsy eyes. He felt content. If not outright happy, then something very close to it. He inhaled slowly, exhaled slower, pretending he could feel it in his lungs, filling him up with every breath. Ezra was asleep and his mind was clear. Charlie basked in the sensation, deciding it was worth savoring as long as he could. Lily’s collar jingling and paws treading the floorboards in front of his bedroom door ended the moment's peace. Charlie pressed a kiss to Ezra's forehead, sliding out from under the covers before the chill could reach Ezra's bare back. He tugged a sweater over his head, snagged a pair of socks Holly had gifted him after her most recent trip to Norway. He shushed Lily’s happy whines as he stepped into the hallway, reaching down to scratch her ears before sending the dog running to the door. He tugged on a coat, hat, and boots. Lily sat politely as her lead was clipped onto her collar, tail wagging eagerly. It wasn’t until they were outside that Charlie realized it was snowing. A good snow too. Thick fluffy flakes drifting merrily in the air like the opening of a cheesy holiday movie. As Lily sniffed each tree, Charlie took it all in. He let his eyes wander over the fresh white laying on the sidewalks, the street, and trees. It was yet untouched by tires or plows or the churn of humanity that turned it into slush. He tilted his head back, watching the flames high up in the air float, imagining he was in the bubble of a snow globe. It drifted and swung, caught on the cuffs of his coat, the top of his hat and Lily's golden tail. It was beautiful, that blanket of white, the hush it brought down, the icy openness it brought to Charlie's lungs. Charlie lingered in it, walking his and Lily's usual route slower. For the first time in weeks, Charlie felt himself. Nothing dragged. Nothing ached. Whatever had been so hard at work inside him, knitting himself back together, had come to rest. It was finally at rest. Charlie sat on the floor as he dried Lily off. Despite being damp, he let the dog curl up in his lap, put wet front paws up his chest. Cold nose pressed to his cheek and wet tongue caught his ear before Lily found Charlie's thumb, holding it in her mouth like a baby. Charlie scooped her up like that, wrapped in a towel and sucking his thumb in imitation of the day he brought her home. He buried his face in Lily's fur as he started the water boiling for the French press. Once Lily was fed, Charlie stretched and watched the snow out the window. Collecting on the sill, turning the fire escape white and bright. Without thinking, he pulled down plates and found a pan. He pulled sausage out of the fridge and beat eggs while it browned. He filled the French press and made toast. He cooked the eggs in the sausage bits until they were pillowy and soft, sipped black coffee as he found butter for the toast and finished Ezra's coffee with milk and sugar. “Morning, gorgeous,” Ezra yawned, appearing in the kitchen behind him. He ran fingers through his curls. His glasses slipped down his nose and he all but melted as he embraced Charlie from behind. “Morning, Ez,” Charlie replied. He made up plates and dug for forks, dropping a bit of sausage in Lily’s bowl. “How’d you sleep?” “Really well. Missed waking up to you.” “And I you. But Lily has needs too.” Charlie turned in Ezra's arms to kiss him. “I made coffee.” Ezra hummed quietly, picking up the mug and inhaling deeply. “Fuck, I love you. I was going to try and go over to Greenhouse, grab our favorites. But you beat me to it.” “I might have saved you some disappointment, love,” Charlie said, heart swelling. They’d made a point to say it, reminder and affection both. Charlie thought the flushed feeling would wear off, but it hadn’t. Hearing Ezra say it, saying it himself as much as he liked, still left him flustered and doe-eyed. “Look outside.” But Ezra didn’t look outside. Alertness engulfed him and his eyes hit Charlie full force, taking him in. “You made breakfast.” Charlie blinked. “I did. Yes.” “You...” Ezra stared, awe dawning on his features. “You cooked.” “Well, I, erm...” Charlie took a sip of his coffee. “I suppose I wanted to. It was snowing and I-.” “You wanted to.” “I-. Yes.” Ezra grinned sleepily and pulled him back into a sturdy hug. “I’m really glad, Lee. That makes me happy.” Charlie flushed to his ears, returning the embrace just as fiercely. “Hush. You’re just glad I saved you a trip out into the snow.” “You got me, baby. Just want to avoid winter. Definitely not proud of my boyfriend cooking again.” “I’ll never be able to shake the Carolinas out of you,” Charlie snickered. He tucked his head to Ezra’s head, pressing cheek to soft and warm as he watched the snow out the window again. The countertop bit into the small of his back, but Ezra’s bedsheet smell soothed over it. He exhaled slowly, a question nagging at him. “Are you really?” “Really what?” “P-proud of me?” Ezra’s hand circled gently over his back, scratching lightly along his spine. “Yeah, Lee. I really am.” Charlie swallowed. “And... if I told you I-. I think I know what I want to do?” “Do you?” Ezra pulled away, studying Charlie's face like a cookbook. He was trying to keep his face calm, but all Charlie could see was the thin veil of neutrality keeping Ezra's enthusiasm in check. When he nodded, Ezra's expression split open, gorgeous and furiously happy. “Then I’d be over the goddamned moon and would badger you with questions until I got every fucking detail out of you. I’d be so, so fucking happy for you, Lee.” “Oh.” Charlie exhaled. The relief was nearly palpable - smooth to the touch and smelling like toast and sausage. Charlie leaned into it. He leaned into Ezra. “Then I suppose I should get my notebooks.” “Notebooks?” “For the details you apparently require. If you’re going to give me the third degree, darling, I want to come prepared.” “Notebooks. Okay. Notebooks .” Charlie could hear the proverbial gears in Ezra's brain whirring about as he processed his excitement, his curiosity. If it were possible, he came back up grinning brighter. “Alright. Get the notebooks, sweetheart. We’re going to eat breakfast and you’re going to tell me everything.” Charlie grinned back. The whole room seemed lighter, and Charlie was sure it wasn’t just the snow’s doing. “Couch or table?” “Couch. Duh. It is a snow day.” “So it is.”


Violet had been staring at her dressing room wall for a little over an hour contemplating her uncertain future. All of the theatrics had become so ordinary to her to now. She finally became numb to all of the excitement. Her heart had grown cold, the light within her had gone out. Everything seemed just a little darker now... "Are you almost ready Violet?" Violet's mother asked "I'm coming... I just needed a minute" said Violet. With only a few minutes left till the show started, Violet rushed through the empty halls and down the winding stairs. After she grabbed her whip she ran to find her place on the crowded stage. Violet felt a small sense of relief when she was once again next to her closest friend Misha (who just happens to be a lion). Although Misha couldn't speak, he always knew just what to say to Violet. The time had come for the show to start. Just like clockwork Violet's father snapped his fingers to start the show. Within just a few moments the strings of lights were lit, The clowns began to laugh, the band began to play, the monkeys clapped their hands, the elephants took their stance, the lions began to roar and the curtains were parted to reveal this grand façade ... After hours of entertaining, the show had come to it's end. When the crowd finally left, the real work began. The Arden's went through their same routine. The same one they had followed day after day and year after year ever since Violet was born 18 years ago. The Arden's were an unusual family. There was Violet's father Jenson, her mother Rose, her older brother Silas, her younger sister Sawyer and then of course Violet who was the middle child. Each and every one of the Arden's had a gift! Jenson is a natural leader and thrives under pressure. He was in the military before starting the circus. So it doesn't come as a surprise that he is the ringleader. Rose is full of beauty and grace. She went to school for ballet but became an aerialist when she was expelled for day dreaming during rehearsal. Silas loves to make people laugh and is practically a comedian. He is the leading clown. Sawyer has a love for flying and has been training to be a trapeze artist since she was 3. She is now 8 and has almost mastered the art. Violet is fearless and tends to prefer animals over humans. She is the lion tamer and cares for the other animals as well. Everyone had their place. Or at least it seemed that way... "Bye handsome. I'll see you in the morning Misha!" Violet whispered to Misha as he drifted to sleep. Violet made her way back inside the stadium. She knew she had to tell them tonight. She had been holding this secret in for too long. After wandering around the stadium for a few minutes she finally found the rest of her family doing what they always do after a show. They were gathered around a fire while their father played the violin and their mother told them stories from when she was younger. It was a picture perfect moment. What a shame it had to end. "Mom, Dad. Can I speak to you alone?" Violet asked in an awfully serious voice. "Sure honey! Silas, Sawyer will you give us a moment?" her mother answered. "What's on your mind?" her father asked. " I don't really even know how to say this... I, I just don't think I want this life any more. I don't think it's right for me." Violet said. "Oh honey, is this about last weeks show? You didn't make that big of a mistake. No one even saw you fall!" her mother said in an effort to comfort Violet. "No. No. This isn't about that... I just want to explore other options outside of the circus. I know it's the family business but I am just not as into it as Silas or Sawyer." Violet said. "My dear. If you want to take a break because you're tired just tell us. How about we go on a family vacation next week? We don't have any more shows until next month. That will get you out of this funk that you're in." her father said. " I am not tired and I am not in a funk. I just don't want to do this anymore." Violet said with tears in her eyes. " We don't understand what you're saying Violet. Can you be a little clearer?" her mother asked. " I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE! I DON'T WANT TO BE IN THE CIRCUS MY WHOLE LIFE! I HAVE DREAMS AND AMBITIONS. I KNOW THE CIRCUS IS YOUR DREAM BUT IT ISN'T MINE AND I CAN'T KEEP PUTTING MY LIFE ON HOLD FOR YOU. IS THAT CLEAR ENOUGH?" Violet yelled. In shock of their daughter's outrage Violet's parents fell silent. Not another word was spoken the entire night. The Arden's just watched the fire as the flames grew dimmer and dimmer till the coals were all that was left. Violet woke up early the next morning to find all of her belongings packed in suitcases and next to them was 2 envelopes. The first envelope contained a letter that read " Dear Violet, We couldn't have asked for a better daughter. You have filled our lives with joy from the moment we laid eyes on you. To us you will always be our little girl. But we see now that you have grown into a very beautiful and strong woman. We're sorry. We should have noticed sooner. We should have listened to you. While we would love for you to stay with us forever , we know it wouldn't be fair to you. Your father and I have talked things over and have come to a decision. We want you to have as full a life as possible. Even if that means letting you go. You will find all of your belongings packed and ready for your next adventure. There is also a 2nd envelope which contains enough money for you to travel to whatever corner of the earth you wish to and you'll still have enough to buy a ticket home if that is what you wish. We have taken your sister and brother out for the day. We figured it would be easier this way. We know you tend to be very selfless, so we didn't want your decision to be altered by one of Silas' jokes or Sawyer's puppy eyes. We wish you the best my dear. We will always be here for you whenever you wish to return. Now go ahead. Chase after your dream. And when you finally catch it, don't ever let it go. Love, Mom & Dad" With tears rolling down her cheeks, she picked up her things and headed down to the train station. Turning her back on the only life she had ever known.


The House was bigger than my own, by far. I knew at once I didn’t like it, even from the back seat of my dad’s tiny car. I grimaced at its high chimneys and wild garden. There was something deeply foreboding about it, something that my father was either refusing to see or hadn’t noticed. At this moment he was fiddling around with something in the glove compartment. After a moment of silence, he turned in his seat to face me. “Well? What do you think?” I turned back to The House, noticing that the large, front door had a brass knocker in the shape of a dragons head. “I don’t like it,” I replied, simply. “I knew you would say that, but you’ll learn to love it.” He couldn’t keep the hope out of his voice. “It’ll be...easier. There’ll be lots of other kids, just like you.” *Just like me? Hardly.* I twisted a strand of my curly, brown hair around my fingers. “It’s too big,” was all I could think of. My father laughed softly. “Yes, your mother thought so too. But you’ll get used to it, she knows that deep down.” We fell into an awkward silence. I knew he, like me, was thinking of the horrible incident this morning, when my mother had grabbed me just as I was heading out the door, and screamed that she didn’t want me to go anymore, she didn’t want the family to split up at a time like this. I gazed back out of the window, watching two younger girls come skipping round the corner. When they got closer to The House they sped up considerably, breaking into a run and only stopping when they reached the opposite corner. “This place is too conspicuous,” I complained. “It stands out a mile.” “Mm-hm?” He’d gone back to fiddling in the glove compartment. I tutted loudly and he looked up again. “Here. From your mother.” He passed me a small package, containing several sheets of fancy writing paper and three different coloured pens. “I think she wants you to write to her,” he said with a smile. “She obviously doesn’t trust the phone lines.” I smiled lightly, trying to look grateful but not really feeling it. “Well come on,” he opened his car door and prepared to exit. “Let’s get it over with.” *Easy for you to say*. I reluctantly followed lead, making as much a fuss as I could. My father got my cases from the boot, promising to bring the rest of my stuff over the next few days. “We don’t want to make it too obvious you’re going away for long,” he’d explained. The tall, iron gates that locked out trespassers from the grounds were ajar. A bronze plaque on the gate read: **The House.** **Miss Goldie.** I rolled my eyes. *The House? Such an original name.* “Do you want me to come in with you? Or...” he had paused in the middle of the path. “I think I’d rather go in myself, then I won’t feel worse about leaving,” I decided. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings but couldn’t think of any other way to put it. He seemed to understand though. He passed me my cases and gave me an awkward hug, negotiating around the cases in my hands. “Good luck,” he said, “and...and I’ll see you soon. Ok?” I nodded, not really believing in what he was saying. He stood for one more moment then gave me one last hug and left. I waited until the drone of the car engine faded before I turned to the door. I had to put down my cases, to reach up and use the dragons head. I waited a couple of minutes before someone came to the door. It opened a millimetre wide and a suspicious eye peered out from inside. “Who’s that?” said the person belonging to the eye. “It’s Caree. Caree Simmis.” The door slammed shut then was opened wide again by a large, smiling woman. She had wild, red hair and a friendly, ’mother-goose’ kind of face. She pulled me, swiftly, inside, closing the door carefully behind her. “Welcome, welcome,” she muttered, leading me to a large sitting room. It’s decor was the exact opposite of the outside appearance. It reminded me of a grandmothers house, not my own grandmothers but someone’s. She sat me down on a comfy, chintz armchair. “Tea, water, juice? I’m afraid I don’t have any coffee, no one likes it here.” “I’m ok thanks.” “Was your journey alright? You found the place ok?” “Yeah it was fine.” “I was so worried that you where turning up during the day, usually they come at night. It’s more discreet.” I felt foolish at that. It hadn’t occurred to me that turning up at night was an option. I tugged at my suitcase to distract me from my embarrassment. “Oh, your cases,” said the woman, noticing the fidgeting. “I’ll get Michelle to take them up to your room. We’ve had to put you on the top floor I’m afraid. The bottom’s full, due to popular demand, you see.” She stood and called upstairs. A moment later, a tall, gangly teenager appeared at the door. She too had red hair, that was obviously untamed. Unlike the woman though, she had hers lay loose around her shoulders. She was really quite pretty. “Could you take Caree’s cases up to her room please? And warn the rabble that dinner will be on the table in a wee while. Oh,” she turned back to me, “I’m Miss Goldie, but some of the kids like to call me Auntie Goldie. I don’t mind it if you do.” I nodded, adamant that I would avoid calling this woman ’auntie’ at all costs. The tall girl had lifted my cases and had now turned to Miss Goldie. “Shall I take her up with me?” “Why not? It would certainly save me from climbing all those stairs,” she stood and beckoned that I follow. “You can go up to your room and get settled just now. I’ll introduce you properly at dinner.” I forced a smile and followed the tall girl out of the room and up the tall flight of stairs. “I’m Michelle by the way,” she said. “Caree,” I replied, hating my name. “Yeah, I know. You wouldn’t believe the fuss Miss Goldie’s been making over you. I’ve heard nothing but your name for two weeks.” I blushed. “Don’t think you’re anything special, though,” she laughed. “She makes that much fuss over all the new kids. Saying that, you’re not really a kid are you? You must be, what? Fourteen? Fifteen?” “I’m sixteen, seventeen in January.” “I’m eighteen. Just turned it last month.” “Right.” We continued to climb the stairs. On the third floor, we passed a green door that was slightly ajar. A small face was peering through the crack, watching us pass with very little discretion. On noticing this too, Michelle kicked the door closed with her foot causing the person on the other side to cry out in outrage. “Oh shurrup!” Michelle snapped, continuing on the ascent. “Shouldn’t be spying any way!” “Wasn’t spying!” came the angry voice of a small, freckled, slightly tanned boy, with very short, blonde hair and a strong glare; he had stepped outside of his room by this point. “You were too! Now go do something useful! Go help Auntie Goldie with the dinner, will you!” The small boy glowered at her then glanced at me. His eyes grew wider. “Who’s that?” he asked, openly pointing at myself. “New girl,” Michelle called from the landing, “And it’s rude to point!” I forced a smile at the boy, who continued to stare, then hurried after Michelle. She had already reached the top floor, and was waiting at the brown door on the right hand side. There were only two rooms on this floor, mine and whoever occupied the second on the left hand side. That door was painted pitch black. “That’s Colin’s room,” Michelle said, watching me. “But you can meet him later, come on!” She pushed open my door and I entered my new bedroom. It was very small, much smaller than my old room. There was a dingy bed, pushed up against the wall under the window. A small wardrobe stood against the right wall and there was a writing desk against the left. A bare light bulb hung from the ceiling and Michelle flipped the switch, casting a dull, orangey light into the dusty room. The floorboards lay bare and the old wallpaper was peeling at places. There were no curtains on the window. Michelle dumped my suitcases on the dusty floor and strode to the bed, flinging herself onto the creaky mattress and surveying the room for herself. “So? What do you think?” I let my eyes sweep over the dull features of my tiny room. I shrugged. “It’s ok.” “Ok?” “Well yeah...I mean, it’s great.” Michelle eyed me suspiciously before exhaling. “Look, I know this place isn’t exactly luxury living, but Miss Goldie tries her best, you know? You can do up the room how you like it. Most of the rest of them already have. And you can bring in furniture from home and stuff. You’ll be fine. They all are, when they get settled.” She gave me a reassuring smile which I did not return. I was feeling lousy at her mention of ’stuff from home’. I may have lived in quite a small house, but my room was much more welcoming than this. However, I knew better than to begrudge Miss Goldie’s help so I ran a hand across the desk and nodded. “This is pretty cool. I’ve always wanted someplace I can write.” “Great.” Michelle rose form the bed and crossed back to the doorway. She stood just inside it, leaning against the frame, her arms crossed. And there she stood, watching my every move as I unpacked all my meagre belongings. Because of the spontaneous decision to move to The House, I had only been able to pack essentials, with the promise that my parents would bring more later in the week. I hung my clothes in the wardrobe, which still looked pathetically bare. I then placed my photo’s and writing presents from my mother on the writing desk. Then, I moved onto my books and hygienic products ect. Michelle then found it apt to quiz me on all my possessions. “Where did you get this?” she asked, holding up a seashell alarm clock that I had just placed on the writing desk. “It was my grandmothers. I took it from her house when she died.” “Why?” I frowned, feeling annoyed. “Because I wanted it. Something to remember her by, I guess.” Michelle replaced the item without further comment. “And what about this?” She examined the front cover of one of the first books I had unpacked and thrown, unceremoniously, into a drawer of the desk. “It’s a book,” I replied. “I can see that! But why Narnia? Isn’t that, like, a little kiddie book?” “I don’t know. I like it anyway.” Michelle raised her eyebrows then threw the book back into the drawer. I finished unpacking the last suitcase and stowed it, on top of the others, at the bottom of the wardrobe. Michelle had moved away from the door frame and was gazing at each of my photos. “Is this you?” she asked with a smile, bending to look at a particularly embarrassing photo of myself with my grandparents. “Yep, that’s me. Stupid picture, I know but...” I let my voice trail away. I had always hated that my mother framed the photo of naked, baby me with my grandparents all laughing in the background as I pulled my nappy onto my head and grinned into the camera. But when I was packing to leave it felt strange to leave it behind. “Why do you have this picture if you find it stupid?” Michelle asked, picking up a different one. “It’s the only photo I have of my grandparents.” “Are they all dead?” I nodded, realising that Michelle’s sharpness and no-nonsense tones were going to really irritate me during my stay. I yawned, pointedly, hoping it would be enough to get her to leave. “Can I ask,” she began moving towards the door again, “what do you have?” I opened my mouth to reply but couldn’t form the words. I knew exactly what she was referring to, but still found it an awkward subject all the same. “Gene Z3,” I joked, wondering if it would be enough. Not so. Michelle rolled her eyes and glared at me. “Yeah but...what’s wrong with you?” I glared back at her. I was definitely not becoming friends with this girl. I had half a mind to ask her to leave, but just answering would be as equally affective. “Sight,” I replied. “I’m a Seer...or at least in that category.” “So...you can see the future and...” “Not...really. I can see the present...things that are happening just now. And I can’t really turn it on and off. It comes randomly, you know? Like a sneeze or-” I stopped talking abruptly, sensing that she had already lost interest. Her eyebrows had gotten narrower and narrower as I had spoke. “So, what’s your...thing?” I asked, hoping to make her feel as uncomfortable as I was. As it was, she just shrugged and examined the thumbnail on her right hand. “I don’t have one. No one in my family does.” “Oh...” I tried to refrain from further questioning but doubted she would have done the same. “No one does? Then how come you-” “Miss Goldie’s my aunt. I came to help her at The House cause I thought it’s be easier than a summer job. I dropped out of school last year and became a full time worker. Guess I’ve gotten attached to this place.” I nodded, then feeling that I may as well keep going, “And Miss Goldie...she isn’t...?” “I just said no one in my family has the Gene, didn’t I?” I nodded again and a tense silence unfolded. I was glad that Michelle broke it. “Well, I’d better get going. Miss Goldie’ll need help with the dinner. It should be ready pretty soon so I’ll let you know. You share a bathroom with the third floor gang...located on the third floor. It’s the bright blue door.” and with that she was gone, slamming the door behind her. She didn’t seem too angry but I could tell I’d touched a nerve. Well so what? I thought. Serves her right for snooping in my business. As I turned back to the room I felt an overwhelming surge of loneliness sweep over me. My eyes began to water and an all too familiar lump rose in my throat. Before I could stop it, tears were streaming from my eyes blurring my vision and blocking my nose. I simply stood there, ashamed of this sudden well of emotion and not sure that I should stop it. Taking deep breaths, I furiously wiped the tears from my eyes, strode to my new writing desk and flung myself into the chair. It was only when I sat down that I noticed the tiny, square mirror, propped up against the wall behind the desk. I pulled the mirror towards me, wiped off the dust using my sleeve and examined my reflection. The skin around my brown eyes had gone red with the tears, even more visible on my pale skin. I sighed, heavily, and tried to relax myself. I didn’t want to have to meet the rest of the house looking like this. I turned my attention to my hair, which I had left loose and sighed again. It had been straight this morning but my aggravation seemed to have made it frizz slightly. It was also tangled now, as easily as it happened and curly at the sides. There was no point trying to fix it. I pulled it up into a loose ponytail, with a bauble from around my wrist and prepared to check it in the mirror. I didn’t have time to even move my hand though, when a scream from downstairs made me almost fall out of my chair. “DINNER YOU LOT! HURRY IT UP!” I recognised Michelle’s voice and felt my stomach congeal with nerves. I waited until the clatter of footsteps on the stairs below me faded away, then I rose from the chair and prepared myself to meet the rest of the freaks.