It starts as most things between handsome boys and shy girls do - with a crush. I'm walking to AP Latin. The crowds in the corridors are booming with excited pubescents hurrying along in bright lavender bomber jackets. It's basketball season, and everyone's beaming for the match this afternoon. I'm not. Obviously. I rarely ever beam. It's not a word to be associated with me. I snark at most. And I'm snarking up a storm currently. People keep bumping into me. Smelling too much like teenagers and cheap cosmetics for my liking. I have to wait for the crowds to disperse in order to make it to the classroom or risk squirming between the clicks. The nerds don't mind with the crowds. They sort of form a line and just march out in sync. I'm almost jealous. By the time I make it to class, I'm five minutes late, and Mrs Peters is looking at me with clear disapproval. "Basil," she greets. "Do you have a late slip?" The class barely looks my way. They have a blackboard of pre-written nouns to jot down, and I'm just a few extra writing minutes for them. I'm about to make an excuse. My tongue is already curling with the words when Adrian walks in behind me. I know him. Everybody knows him. He's in the top social circle at school. Best friends with the board of director's son, the student council president, the basketball team's captain. He has a lot of well-known, rich best friends. Though he, himself, is neither rich nor overbearing. He's vice captain of the debate team. His parents own a bakery, I like their donuts. He's handsome but in an elegant, aquiline way. Not really the buff blonde Adonis type the girls here prefer. He knows me too. I see his eyes blink in recognition as he stops just short of tumbling into me. His bag is hung over his shoulder, as he sways, it swats into my side a little. "Sorry Basil," he says to me casually, moving forward to greet Mrs Peters and plead for forgiveness. I blink at his back. "Sorry I'm late. The basketball team's got banners blocking our way from the entry all the way to the pools." He smiles disarmingly, and though she's still frowning, she waves us both to our seats. I'm a bit peeved. I'm sure I would've gotten scolded, even with an elegant excuse, but mostly, I'm just curious. Adrian Winters knows my name. Why. I ignore the soft heat on my cheeks and take a seat at the back of the class. Adrian's had a seat saved for him by Melissa Drake, head cheerleader. I watch him. I can't help but. Even as I scribble out my notes, my eyes keep drifting over the width of his shoulders and the soft edges of his spine under his cashmere top. I know I'm a bit strange. It's rude to stare, as my nan would say, but it's a nasty habit I've never grown out of. I can't quite stop myself anymore. I'm a watcher. I watch people. I have little else to do. I don't really have friends. Everyone at Blackthorn High has a colorful inner life. It's a cesspool for drama and scandal. I've avoided all that carnage and as a consequence I'm left alone. I don't mind it very much. It's fun being an observer. A fly on the wall picking apart the stories that drift along the gossip spread. I'm sure most people have seen me. Could summon up a vague picture of me if given a description, or perhaps recall the first syllable of my name. I've worked with some on group projects. Others, I've had run of the mill incidents with. Bumping into them. Borrowing a pencil. Offering some gum. There's being aware of my prescence, and there's knowing me. No one knows me. Not with any form of familiarity. So it's odd that Adrian Winters, who runs with the golden league of peers, looks at me as though he knows my face and calls my name as though he's said it before. As though we've interacted. It rubs me in an odd way. Not in a bad way. I doubt anyone could be upset getting attention from Adrian. He's sweeter than most. Kinder. He tugs at the loose hair at the back of his neck when taking notes in Latin class. It's cut shorter at the back, with all his curls on top. It's not terrible to be noticed, now and again - but it's strange that it's happened in the first place. A bit like an itch that I don't know how to scratch. Latin class passes dully. The two girls ahead of me are talking about who they're going to take to the game tonight. My eyes still drift over to Adrian, his dark brown curls that lay tidy and coiffed on him. His jeans are cuffed neatly at the ankles. I glance up at the clock. Twenty minutes left. I glance back at him. His head has turned. He's sat right at the front of the class but his eyes are on me. Chocolate brown and curious. He smiles, a barely there thing. Just the tilt of his lips. He looks away. I don't. I couldn't. He's caught me. It seems Adrian Winters is a watcher too...it sets my teeth on edge. Not the fact that he looked at me. But that he looked away so quickly. It makes me feel antsy, stupid. Like another teenage dirtbag caught in my hormones. Which, fair. I am one. But still. It's just an overall upsetting feeling to be at this point in my existence. To want a beautiful boy for no other reason but that he looked at you a bit too much and his lips quirked and your eyes couldn't look away from him. Like most calamities...it starts with a crush. And how many terrible things could be avoided if humanity was void of things such as illogical yearning. Romeo and Juliet wouldn't of died. Anne Boleyn would still have her head. I wouldn't be sat at this stupid basketball game. In this stupid bomber jacket looking out at shiny wooden floors and trying to catch a glance at a lean boy with brown curls on the other side of the stands. He's sitting next to Melissa Drake again. She'd finished her cheer performance before the game had started and then headed up to sit with him, still in her purple skirt with her white pompoms at her feet. Her blonde hair is loose around her shoulders. He smiles at her and turns back to the game. I sip at my grape slushie, pulling my hood up over my head. He's an odd one. No normal seventeen year old looks at Melissa Drake in her cheerleading outfit and then looks away less than second after. Inanimate objects sway in her direction. He does give her attention. He leans into her space. Smiles. Laughs. But it's all a bit too cold. I want to be upset about it. I find him cute and the greedy part of my brain that's laid claim on him is telling me to be jealous, to want to fight for him. Which is madness honestly. Practically hilarious considering I wouldn't stand an inch of a chance, but I can't even focus on the greedy feeling churning in my tummy because he's just so...confusing. I can't help but feel that there's something off about how he acts around her. Maybe they have bad blood behind the scenes. Or maybe they're exes and the news just never made its way into the public. I doubt it though. Melissa's known for wearing broken hearts like trophies. She's the queen bee of queen bees. The feature of every man's wet dream and nightmare combined. Like a sexy, cheerleading Freddy Krueger. It would be admirable, honestly, if she didn't absolutely terrify me. There's a loud beeping as the Blackthorn boys score. One of them is hanging off the opposition's hoop hollering. The stands break into screams and yells. It's like there's a fire and they're all about to die. I stay seated. My gaze trails away from the sweaty jocks hugging it out and back up to the stands. Melissa has made her way down and is joining her friends in a very synchronized, acrobatic dance while singing some commerative jingle. My eyes flick away from her. Adrian is sat in his seat, one leg crossed over the other. He's clapping, a bright smile on his face as he looks down at the team. I wonder why he's not standing. Why hasn't he run down like some of the other teammates' friends? The cheers continue around us, getting louder and louder. But Adrian simply sits. He stops clapping. Hands falling onto his lap. His smile slips off like silk on skin, like it was never there. No one's looking at him, besides me. Everyone else is focused on the winning team down below. He frowns. A bored, cold expression falling over his polite features. His gaze travels around, it's not open curiosity. He looks annoyed. At the stands. At the people. Our eyes meet. His expression doesn't change but he squints at me and tilts his head as if he doesn't understand why we're staring at each other when everyone else is focused on celebrating. I don't look away. Neither does he. He raises two fingers to his temple and mimics a gunshot. He smiles, almost meanly at me. I slurp at my slushie, enjoying the show. *** Distance makes the heart grow fonder. That's how the saying goes. I argue, that distance makes obsession burn brighter. The heart is an innocent thing, I'm sure it takes pleasure in pining away at a far-off lover. Obsession, on the other hand, is a beast. And beasts grow feral. Hungry. They grow desperate. These are all thoughts that parade around in me during the weekend. Now that I've gotten a taste of Adrian, of his soft fake smiles and unadultered attention, I want more. I want everything. It's very problematic, considering we don't run in the same social circles. Well, I don't run in any social circles, but never mind that. It's maddening. I truly can't stop thinking about him. He comes up in the randomest of moments. During a family lunch. While I'm napping under an orange tree, trying to enjoy the sun. While I'm washing my hair. While I'm trying to fall asleep, at night, in bed...It's all very stressful and crazy. I wrote his name down as an answer in one of my English comprehension tests. He's even an impediment on my grades. He's driving me to the brink of insanity. But I feel as though mild insanity is a normal part of the teenage girl experience. This ugly abyss in my mind that grieves for beautiful things I can't stake a claim on. I might consider therapy. I am considering it, as my legs take me into my driver's seat and through the roads leading onto Maple Lane. I'm seriously considering it. Because Adrian Winters lives on Maple Lane. Number 12. The front of his house is pastel pink, with a cupcake drawn on the sign above. His parents bakery - the Sugar Fairy. It's cute, kitchy. A bit ominous looking at 2 AM with no other cars in the road. Thank God, my car's fairly inconspicious. A little silver Atos, I'd inherited from my older sister when she'd upgraded. I park in front of number 11, the lattice fencing gives me sight into Adrian's backyard where there's a rusty old swing. White paint is peeling from the bricks and I can clearly make out the large windows that line the top floor of the house. There's only one light on. The middle window. I can just make out the faint silhouette of navy sheets on a double bed and a large dark cupboard, there's a glowing lamp near the window, probably atop the desk. This is stalking, I realise very quickly. It's not so much reaching insanity as it is very insane and probably mildly illegal, but I'm already here. It'd be a waste of petrol to just drive back. And the prices went up recently. I promise myself to look into the therapy as I settle into my seat, turning on the heat. In the dash to my car, I'd brought along my algebra homework and a bag of chips. Apparently my subconscious had known I was in it for the long run. I get started on the homework, making it a fair way until my eyes dart up to the window again. The light's still on but I haven't seen anyone, even while I was tracing the corners of the room. Which got my mind to wondering what teenage boys did, up at 2AM, with their bedroom lights still on. Which led to a whole other branch of unhealthy thoughts. Of which I send my serious apologies to Adrian for. But then the mystery was solved, when he stumbled to his desk. Shirtless. Tits out. Well, not tits exactly. But an exquisite chest. Supple. His hair was dripping. Little drip, drops onto his collarbones. My mouth went dry, must be the chips. Salt and vinegar. I chucked the empty bag alongside my homework to the back seat and leaned forward over the steering wheel. He truly was very handsome. Lovely. His cheeks were flush, probably from the heat of shower. His hair was a shade darker than usual, like melted chocolate. I sat there very long, just staring. My eyes wandered to my dashboard clock. Why was he showering at 2 AM? I threw my head harshly against my steering wheel, my forehead aching. Oh. Teenage boys. Right. I slumped down in my seat, eyes catching the metal shine of my phone. The morality vs immorality of taking a picture shot through my mind like flash paper. Like a forest fire. It would be very very wrong. Harassment. Perversion. I took a picture. I took several. The disgust with myself being smothered by the greedy little monster who was happy with these stored memories and moments of him. He drifted off eventually, my eyes sad to see him go but consoled by the arches of his bare shoulders and the unmarked, creamy skin of his waist. While he was gone, I looked up numbers for therapists in the area. He was gone long enough for me to jot down a few in my notes. Then a half an hour passed, my homework was finished, my chips only crumbs. And I was growing ansty. The greedy little monster growing curious. The light was still on. Another half an hour passed, and the small sane part of me argued that it really was time to be getting home - that he'd probably fallen asleep with the lights on. But the sane part of me was a liar. I could see the edges of his bed and I caught no glimpses of pale feet or ruffled sheets. Tommorow was Sunday, I was free to sleep in. I chewed on the tip of my pencil, eyes trained on the window. The garage door swung open with a cloud creak and I jumped in shock. The top of my head hitting my visor. I hissed rubbing at the skin as light flooded into the road. The door stood open for a few moments but there was no rumble of an engine. My Atos was parked in the shadows of Number 11 but I still flinched lower in my seat as a figure left the house. It was Adrian. His face was obscurred but I could tell by his height, by the width of his shoulders and the size of his steps. He'd changed into a dark gray hoodie with black sweats and sneakers. He stood at the entryway, staring off into the woodland clearing on the other side of the road. A part of me was worried he'd spot me. A part of me wanted him too. Both parts were quickly silenced by the ominous pool of dread that washed over me as I witnessed him go back into the garage and return, dragging an object rolled up in several black bags and tied with rings of duct tape. The object was clearly very heavy as he could barely lift it. He struggled to lift it and instead started dragging it by one of its tapered ends over the road and into the clearing. I let go of the breath I'd been holding and immediately, a large swell of nausea filled me. I could spot feet poking out the end of the wrapping and one cold, blue hand. He hoisted it up over his shoulder and a white cheerleading pompom dotted with red fell to the ground. I grabbed at the chips packet and breathed in the vinegar scent, letting it sooth the urge to boke all over the seats. He dragged the body deep into the forest line on the other side of the road. His figure, dissappearing into the trees and shadows. He came back fifteen minutes later, legs muddy and a thin layer of sweat covering his brow. His face was visible from this side. Pale. Nervous. His eyes were wide, hands shaking by his sides. He picked up the pompom. His breaths were heavy. He ran into the garage and came back out with a shovel. My eyes went wide. Just as he reached the treeline, he turned back, his eyes tracing frantically across the road and falling onto mine. He saw me, tilting his head curiously to the one side. His mouth pulled downwards, eyes glazing with coldness. His lips mouthed around one word, "Basil?" My heart fell flat against my ribcage. He saw me.


You’re in line at the grocery store. An old sickly man is uncomfortably close to you, not more than 5 1/2 feet away. You think about turning to tell him to back off but worry that you might breathe in his air in the space between your words.  You think better of it and scoot a few inches forward. The lady in front of you shoots an annoyed glance in your direction. Well... you’re pretty confident it’s a lady, and that it was a glance, the hazmat suit makes it hard to tell.  You scoot back half the distance as a compromise. The line moves forward. you purchase your groceries, suspiciously eyeing the fingerprint residue on the debit pin pad. You decide to run it as credit. The cashier hands you a pen to sign and compliments your smile. You blush and say tha.... oh my god you're touching your face. Why are you touching your face?! It’s probably nothing.  The cashier is staring at you in horror. It’s not nothing, you’ve been compromised. Gavin Newsom and Andrew Cuomo suddenly bursts through the door with a team of pandemic police. They put you in a glass box and ship you to a local zoo that’s been converted to a holding area.  Welcome to quarantine  Ok, this is probably fine right? I'm in the care of professionals, they are looking out for my best and the public good. A worker comes out into the room. he's wearing all white and carrying a... watering can? You squint. Yeah, that's what it is. He starts to pour water over the tops of your glass celled brethren. You look up. Holes.  The worker is nearing closer now, methodically watering each box. Everyone looks confused, and people start to shout and ask questions. "Why are we here?" "Why don't we have beds?!" The thought hadn't struck you, but it was now poignantly odd that someone should be quarantined in a standing glass box.  Another oddity catches your attention. The shouts are subsiding. But only the ones furthest away, like a trailing silence. You watch and listen as the silence closes in on you. The worker is watering your neighbor now. You see for the first time that it's not quite water at all. It mists as much as it pours. It fills his cell and his body slackens, a faint smile on at the corner of his mouth.  Your turn. The worker looks at you, his gaze is detached. He raising his arms and the can with it. Your nose fills with sweet, then sour, and every iteration between. Your skin blazes with sensation as if your nerve ending were being trailed through cotton. And finally, a deep, comforting slumber engulfs you. You fall into nothing.  Awake. You look around blurry-eyed. The boxes are gone, replaced with smears of green and yellow. Your eyes widen and force shut in an attempt to restore your vision. It only makes it worse. You go to rub your eyes but your hand never reaches them. you look to the side. You only see leaves. You look down, more leaves. Your vision darkens as you lose the ability to crane your neck.  Your vision returns, but not in the same way. You feel the light as much as you see it. Your thoughts become simple. Warm light. Grow tall. Reach more light. Nice smile.


The address I had been given led me to an old building on Mission Street. On the walls of the entryway I saw the names of the different businesses that occupied the place. The names included a firm called The Introduction and another called This Narrative. I saw the one I was looking for, the one my friend had scribbled down for me: This is It!. According to the directory, This is It! was on the third floor. As I was halfway up the stairs, I walked by what appeared to be an old closet with the door half-open. Lights, colored lights, were coming from somewhere inside. I could not resist taking a peek. I walked in and as I turned in around the door, I saw two people admiring a strange sculpture. They were both wearing goggles. One of the figures was wearing a lab coat. The other had on an outfit that reminded me of a spacesuit. It was wrinkly and shiny and reflected the colored light around the room. The room itself was full of other sculptures, contorted, geometric pieces and other things that looked like large chunks of glass. The two figures both turned their heads toward me as I walked in. “Amazing, isn’t it?” one of them asked me. “Um, what is?” I replied. “You see,” he explained, “or perhaps you don’t see. In any case, when we percieve things, be they objects or animals or sculptures, what we see or perceive is not really the object itself but all that lies between us and the object.” “I don’t understand” I said. “Well, for example the intervening air or the light, the physical and also psychological preconceptions that you might have. Thus, to change an object you don’t have to change the object itself, you just have to change how it is perceived.” “I’m sorry,” I explained, ”I really have to go.” I walked out of the room and continued up the stairs. Arriving at the third floor, I reached an office door that had a piece of paper taped to the door. The paper said “Yes, This is It!” so I assumed that, yes, it was. Before I could knock, the door swung open and a man came out. He asked me if I was thirsty. “No, I am not, thank you.” “What did you think of what you saw downstairs?”, he inquired. “What do you mean?” “The room with the colored lights. You peeked in, of course. Everybody peeks in.” “What was going on in there?”, I asked. “I have no idea,” he said. “I think they are artists.” We both stared at each other for a bit after that. It was an uncomfortable moment. He was looking at me but not expecting me to say anything. He was looking at me the way one might gaze at a painting, studying me. I realized that he was not going to say anything more so I spoke up. “I’m here to see you. A friend recommended you. You see, I lost my dog. I was out walking her and let her off the leash just for a moment and next thing I knew she had disappeared! I don’t know what to do. She was my companion. It has been awfully lonely in this city and now here I am losing my dog! My friend said that you find dogs, that you can help me.” “Sure, lets go!” he said and started leaping down the stairs. What could I do? I chased after him. At the bottom of the stairs he was waiting for me. “Where was it that you lost her?” “Oh. Nearby here. The corner of Valencia and 20 th .” We walked over there together. This time he walked slowly down the street, looking all around, the way that tourists do in a new city, appearing somewhat astonished and also in a mood to be astonished, eager to be amused. “You know,” he said suddenly,” I usually don’t do dogs.” “What do you do, exactly?” It only now occurred to me to ask. “I am a finder. But I usually deal in, well, more metaphysical things. People ask me to find them not their lost love, but a new love. Or, to find them a new favorite pastime, or to help them see differently, though I’d have to take some time to explain to you what I mean. In most cases, I help people find what is already there.” “And how do you do all that?” “Ooh, I really want a taco!” he burst out suddenly and then ran right into a taqueria. I followed him, of course. The smell of the grill had wafted into the street and I had to admit that I too was starting to get a bit hungry. I ordered a taco too and sat down with him at a table where he was already slurping down an agua fresca. He was staring at a framed picture on the wall of the taqueria. It was a large painting of a rotisserie, nothing else. But the rotissier looked just like the one that they had in the taqueria itself. “I love that painting” he said “It is clearly done lovingly. It makes you appreciate what a wonderful thing a rotisserie is, you know. Clearly, the painting has been hanging here for years. The grease stains on it match the wall quite well.” I merely nodded. “You know” he told me, “there is a guy at the table in the corner that keeps glancing at you. He is either trying to figure out how to mug you or maybe he is interested in you.” I turned around and there was someone there. I knew him. He lived in another apartment in the same building. We had greeted each other a couple times but I cannot say I knew him. Nevertheless, we looked at each other when I turned around and I gave him a weak wave. He waved back. The finder - I didn’t even know his name - yelled out “Hey! Come join us!” My neighbor came over as requested and the finder-guy said “Hi! We are looking for her dog.” This of course started a conversation among us, about my dog, about the taqueria and we all introduced ourselves. The conversation had been loud enough that it became one of those conversations that dominates a room. The other tables were either single people downing their burritos or a quiet couple or two, all amused by the conversation at our table. “I think I saw the dog!” a girl at a nearby table volunteered. She went on to explain that she was certain she saw the dog around Valencia and 21st, heading rapidly North. By the time we left the taqueria, we had become a small group. It was a Saturday afternoon, it was a sunny day and many of the people in the taqueria had something of a loose agenda for that day. We all walked toward Valencia and 21 st and when we stopped, I began to explain what had happened. The finder-man then piped up “You know, if I was a dog, I’d head West. There are better smells coming from that direction. From just the few moments we have been standing here, it is clear to me that dog traffic is naturally heading in that direction” We only made it a block before we all stopped for ice cream. Ice cream cones in hand, the group continued westwards, heading in the direction of Dolores Park. “This is Dog Central!” the finder-person spoke up,” this is where I would go to if I were a dog.” We all generally agreed that indeed the impulses of a dog would be likely to lead them here, but despite splitting up and looking all around the park, we failed to find my dog. I asked the finder what he had planned now. He stated that he had no plans. His plan, as it were, was to stay here at the park because it had a great playground and fields for playing soccer and he loved soccer and he had no urge to be anywhere else. He soon joined in a pick-up soccer game and the last I saw of him was of him doing a remarkable head shot into the goal as his team-mates cheered him on. Some of the other members of our impromptu group also began to scatter. Some went home, others went off to meet their friends. A small group of us remained, however, including the neighbor I had met at the taqueria. With no other ideas, we also decided to stay in the park a bit longer. The summer day had become a warm summer night. Someone had brought a blanket and we all sat and watched the warm sky slowly fade, the cluster of buildings of downtown San Francisco looking like the Emerald city from the Wizard of Oz. As darkness descended, we shared stories about who we were and what we are all doing here in this city, until we were just a group of disembodied voices, a campfire setting but without a campfire. As the nighttime cold came in, my neighbor asked if we all wanted to go to his place. We could continue chatting there. He had some drinks and snacks too. We all agreed, and headed out together towards the apartment house. We walked back across the same streets. But now, the streets had changed as people that had been out on a sunny day were retreating inside. Bars that had been closed earlier were now alive with people and colored lights. When we arrived at our apartment house, at my home, my dog was waiting for us there on the front stoop.


I told Bryan that I was a Seer , living in a world filled with half-humans and half-supers. That was the world we lived in. Perhaps we always had, and until a few years ago, it became common and acceptable to allow us “Supers” to peacefully exist within our society, without fear of segregation. But the biases and judgments were still there, despite the High Court’s rulings. New York wasn’t as bad though, compared to smaller towns. I was thankful to be born and raised here with my “special abilities,” since so many others around the world were still being persecuted, mainly in the shadows. I looked around and I could see them, all of the people with their “abilities,” whether they were Supers or not. As a Seer , that was my gift. I don’t know where it came from or why I had it but I did. Like all Supers , I was born with it. I had often seen too many Seers using their special abilities for a life of crime. That wasn't me. I didn’t use my abilities to manipulate or use mind control like others did. I was no hero though. I was just a regular 22-year-old trying to start a career and live a normal life, hopefully with a family one day. Bryan was the love of my life. We'd only been dating for a year but when you know, you know. Bryan was ordinary, I could see straight through him. I always wore my special glasses around him. I didn’t want to use my abilities to ruin the fun of getting to know him. I wanted to be surprised; I wanted to learn about him from experience. When we met, I didn’t have my glasses on. I had tried to run away but it didn’t work. Now, here we were, one year later, young and in love. I'd always been terrified to tell Bryan who I was. Some Supers get worse reps than others, and Seers were one of those. Fortunately, I had a wonderful “Special Abilities” doctor who had me prescribed a pair of “Power-Inhibitor” glasses, so that I could be like everyone else. When I took my rose-colored glasses off, I could see the world completely different, the way it could be. It was beautiful and it was perfect, but it wasn’t real. It could be, but it wasn’t the reality of the world we lived in. Not every Seer had that ability. In fact, I was the only one that I knew of that could do that. It was nice but I felt like I was living a lie that way. The people that I saw with my “seeing” eyes were all better versions of themselves and everyone was happy. No one was evil because everyone had learned how to overcome the darkness. I could see people like they were meant to be, all of them living up to their potential. Admittedly, it was pleasant to live in this fantasy world where there was no pain or suffering. Everyone got along and made the world better. It made me sad to put the glasses on and see that wasn’t in fact, the reality we lived in. Who was I to tell people that they could be better, that they weren’t being the people they were meant to? They'd know I was some type of Seer and I could be bullied or worse. But Bryan had to know. If we were going to get married, he deserved to know the truth. I was terrified of how he'd react. He seemed more progressive, especially as a New Yorker, but who could ever really know? Yesterday was a long-time coming. This is what happened. I texted Bryan in the morning. “Good morning, sweet boy. Coffee at our spot in one hour?” Bryan and I had made a tradition of getting coffee at our favorite, local joint as many Saturday mornings as we could. This would be no normal Saturday morning though. “See you in an hour, babe!” He responded. I got there a little earlier to try and go over what I'd say to him. I sat and stared out the window, overcome with fear. What would he think of me? Would he accept me? Would he walk away? Would he be scared? Scared of a future with someone like me? “Hello, sweet darling!” Bryan gave me his usual, warm smile. I stood up and hugged him, but not before taking a deep breath and trying to exhale my nerves. Could he tell I was shaking? We sat down, and just like Bryan, not even having power, he still managed to sense something was off. “Babe, you okay? You seem nervous.” “Yeah, I’m fine.” I was already lying. “Actually, no I’m not. Could we take a walk?” We left the coffee shop and headed out onto the busy streets towards Central Park. “Babe, you’re scaring me,” he said, “what’s going on?” “You know how obsessed I am about always wearing my favorite glasses?” I asked, trying to cut straight to the point. “Yeah?” “Well, it’s not just that they’re my favorite glasses.” “Okay...” “You know how more and more people are coming out as Supers ?” “I do.” “What do you think about all that?” “I don’t see what this has to do with anything...” “Please, just answer the question,” I begged. “Okay, sure...well, I think it’s great actually. Is this really what you want to talk about? I didn’t think you were into these kinds of things?” “Let’s sit down.” I pointed to a patch of grass on a hill in the middle of the park. Bryan put his arm around me and leaned in and whispered in my ear. “I love you, sweetie, and if you are suddenly into Social Justice issues, we can talk about it.” I let out a deep breath of air, as I was reminded of how sweet and understanding Bryan was. Surely, this wouldn’t be so bad right? Bryan laughed, “Wait, I got it. You want to run for District leader in our Zone?” He laughed, knowing he was off. “Bryan,” I said, seriously. “Yes, love? I’m sorry. Go ahead...you were saying?” I turned and looked at Bryan and saw his father. That made me more nervous. I'd seen Bryan without my glasses on and knew he was nothing like his father but that still didn’t change the fact that I knew what kind of man his dad was. His dad was a political figure who was formerly a Prosecutor. He had put away many Supers . Now, he was all over TV advertising for his Campaigns, being well-known to promise harsh “punishments” for rule-breaking Supers . It was obvious he didn’t trust people like me and he would target our kind as a potential leader. I hadn’t taken my glasses off to read Bryan’s dad. I didn’t want to know. I usually only saw the best in people that way, and what their future could be like, but it didn’t guarantee that it would. I didn’t want to believe the best in Bryan’s dad only to be let down and put myself in danger. I wanted to live in “reality.” I had seen Bryan as he could be when I first met him. I tried to forget about it so I could be pleasantly surprised getting to know him. I still found elements of surprise in the details but I always knew in the back of my mind that Bryan was the type I was attracted to. He was meant to lead people gently, patiently, and kindly. He could potentially be well-respected and loved by many, yet he wouldn’t let that go to his head. He was a man wise beyond his years with a heart just as big to match it. I had experienced that getting to know him over the past year and believed that he could actually fully become the man I saw when I met him. He was not far from totally being that guy already. It was hard to not love him. It was also hard to imagine that his own father was so different than he was. They were both leaders, but his father, by force and intimidation. His father was trying so hard to undo all the good work that was done on behalf of people like me, by the local representatives in my city, a city generally known as a safe-place for Supers . If his father succeeded, it could be a sad day. “Rosie? Hello? Anyone home?” Bryan snapped me back to reality. “Oh sorry, I was just, lost in my head a little.” “What’s going on Sweet Rose? What did you want to talk about?” I let out a sigh, it was now or never. “You said you believed all the work being done on behalf of the Supers was good? Why do you say that? What about your father?” Bryan sighed. “You know how I feel about my father, Rose. I love him, man I have to, but damn if I don’t disagree with everything he stands for. He puts people in a box, Rosie. He does. He doesn’t seem to understand the times we live in and that Supers shouldn’t have to hide in the shadows anymore. It’s a new day.” I smiled. I knew Bryan would get it. But what about when I told him that I was one of them? “Bryan, I have to tell you something...” “Okay, I’m here.” He squeezed my hand. “It’s just that. It’s just that...” I took my glasses off to make a point and right when I did, a huge gust of the North-wind suddenly swept by and took my glasses with it. “No!!” I exclaimed and jumped up to run after them. I took off with Bryan behind me. “Rosie! Rosie, wait! How can you run so fast?! Come back! Wait for me!!” One advantage of being a Super was that we sometimes could do other things a little better than most too, like running, at least for me. Bryan was still on my tail though, a runner in College. My glasses teased me as they blew off down the streets of New York and up under a car where I lost them. I fell down on the sidewalk feeling defeated and discouraged. Great, what was I going to do now? I would have to wait at least a few days before I could order and receive a new pair. A few days of seeing the world as a peachy, wonderful place where people were much better than they really were, seemed like too much of a farce for me. I didn’t know if I could handle it and how could I even look at Bryan? I would read him instantly and know the man he was fully destined to be. Bryan caught up to me and fell down on the sidewalk next to me, panting and out of breath. “Wow, Rose! Where did you learn to run like that?!!!! I thought I was the runner!!!!” I couldn’t look at him. I buried my face in my hands and began to weep. I didn’t want to be like this. I wanted this power gone. Now! Somebody help me! Anybody. I wept uncontrollably. “Sweet Rosie!” Bryan rubbed my back. “It’s okay, they were just glasses. You can always get another pair.” “No, no Bryan! You don’t understand!” I lifted my head up to face him but kept my eyes clenched tightly shut. He slightly laughed, “Why are you closing your eyes? Am I now suddenly too awful to look at?” Quite the opposite, I thought. “No, Bryan, it’s not that. I’m a Super !” I blurted out. “Okay?! And not just that, but a Seer . If I look at you, I can read you.” I buried my face back in my hands and started crying hysterically. Bryan pulled me closer to him. “Aww...Rosie! What?! You’re serious?! Don’t be ashamed. That’s SO cool Rose. And I don’t care if you read me. But the glasses, they must’ve prevented you from seeing things, yes?!” I nodded, still keeping my head buried but listening intently to the words he was speaking. “Rose. I love you.” He said, leaning down talking directly in my ear. “I don’t care if you are a Super , let alone a Seer. Who cares? But I do think it’s really cool. You have powers Rose. How many people can say that?!” He was trying so hard. “It’s okay if you look at me Rosie, I’m not afraid of what you might see. I have nothing to hide.” I squinted my eyes at him, before quickly shutting them all the way again. “I can’t Bryan. I’ll know the man you could be. I will see you perfectly, not as who you are now but who you could be. It won’t be real. I don’t want to believe you’re something you’re not. I like you, love you, just as you are.” “Wow, that’s cool Rose. But listen, I know. I know you love me for me. But I want to know. I want to know the man I could be. What if this gift that you have, what if it’s not to hide, but to help people? I want to know more, Rosie. Please.” I slowly began to open my eyes. I didn’t look at him though. “Are you sure?” “Positive.” “It’s just that I can see the world and the people in it as a better place, all rainbows and unicorns, you know? It’s not real. It’s just an illusion, just how it could be, how people, each person, could be. It’s a perfect world I see, but not this one.” Bryan grabbed my arm. “That’s just it Rosie! Listen, unlike my dad, I believe the world needs Supers , like you, who have tremendous gifts to offer. They aren’t powers to be restricted. They aren’t accidents. We might not be able to explain or understand it, but it’s amazing. What if this can help the world become the place you see? What if you see so that you can tell people who they really are?” I loved Bryan. I loved Bryan for this very reason. I didn’t have to read him to know the kind of guy he was and was becoming. He was the best. He might not be able to look at people and immediately see the best in them, but he always saw and believed the best in me, without special abilities. And that to me, was special. He was the real Super here.


It was a hot July afternoon, and Matthew hated the sun. The heat swelled around the village like a balloon, trapping unaware victims in a haze and turning skin a blistering red with the suns prickly touch. Plus, the sharp rays had cut through the gap in his curtains that morning and left him feeling particularly annoyed for since then. What he, however, hated even more than the sun, was the newspaper sitting at his door when he emerged to brave the beating heat. It crinkled in the faint warm breeze and had all the use of a beaten doormat. He snatched it up from the ground only because it sullied the appearance of his porch and scowled at the note stapled to the top. ‘Free copy, from us to you!’ How ironic, considering this weekend’s task. “I am not falling for your schemes to get me to subscribe.” He muttered, enjoying the satisfying dull thud of the paper hitting the bottom of his outdoor bin. His sense of self-appreciation at his disregard of useless money schemes was quickly put out by the squeeze of the heat around his body, and at the sight of an elderly figure tottering down the road. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He groaned, before picking up his pace to get around her before she could notice him. As he got closer, just as he guessed, he could tell the woman was his neighbour, Mrs Palmer, whom he avoided like the plague. The woman could speak for the whole country, though she was both half deaf and visually impaired, so his hopes were usually high of sneaking past her unnoticed. Matthew crossed to the other side of the street and found something very interesting to look at in the opposite direction. “Matthew?” Her slow waddle stopped as she squinted at him from across the street. “Matthew dear, is that you?” The sense of guilt from ignoring her was overpowering, so he reluctantly turned and gave her a forced smile. “Mrs Palmer, I didn’t see you there!” He said through gritted teeth, though continued desperately before she could start talking, “Terribly sorry, but I’m too busy to stop and talk today. You see, I have this assignment to write a...” He trailed off and sighed when he noticed she wasn’t listening, rather focusing on uselessly tugging her walking stick from where it was wedged in a grate. “What have I done wrong? ” He complained quietly, before conceding and walking back across the street. Wondering how she got about her day-to-day life and how on earth she’d managed to jam her walking stick in such a small grate, Matthew gave it one hard yank and freed it. “Oh, thank you!” She said, startled by the sudden movement that rocked her. “Did I tell you, Richard told me he might stop by on Sunday?” Mrs Palmer offered him a crooked smile, unaware of Matthew’s disdain for her money hungry son. “Hmm, right.” It took all his willpower not to roll his eyes and remind her of Richard’s behaviour; he did not feel like repeating the same long conversation again. “Come on Mrs Palmer, let’s get you to the village.” He took her arm gently and guided her down the street, though she only tottered slightly faster than before. He knew, however, that nobody else would come to help her because she had nothing to give in return. Arriving at the small coffee shop an hour later than he intended, Matthew ordered a black coffee and went to sit in his usual booth. The employees knew him as a regular, and now knew to recognise the air of frustration in his manner and to leave him in peace when he came with a tricky assignment. Opening his laptop, he typed the title of his task onto an empty document. Gratitude Journal. Matthew sat back and forced himself not to dwell on the stupidity of the weekend assignment he’d been given at the last minute. He frowned, almost certain the task came from his colleague Emma who was an insufferable optimist and often fell out with Matthew over trivial matters, such as his hatred for motivational speakers. What did he have to be thankful about? He had begrudgingly stopped off at a market stall with Mrs Palmer on the way, at which he had bought an apple that he now held in his hand. I suppose I am thankful I have this apple. He thought to himself, then hovered his hands over the keyboard before sighing in frustration. Writing about an apple seemed beyond useless, especially as he scowled to think of how the vendor would probably have laughed at him for the mere idea of it, while at the same time pocketing Matthew’s money with glee. The man had had some pitiful story about how his apples were a product of hard work and resilience, nudging his Tupperware container full of pennies towards them with an eager gleam in his eyes. Matthew shook his head with a frown, and put the apple down, suddenly overcome by a disappointment in himself for giving out his change to the man. After an entire afternoon spent with the sun in his eyes from a broken blind, and a frustratingly slow pace of typing a sentence only to delete it, he was left with a blank document by the end of the day. Shutting his laptop, he dabbed his brow with a tissue and wished his assignment was of the opposite nature, so he could find inspiration from his dislike of sticky heat. The walk home was slow and tiring, the sinking sun still managing to make his clothes uncomfortably damp with sweat. He would try again tomorrow. It was Saturday, and the heat had only worsened. By the time Matthew stepped out of his house just after lunch time, it had gotten so bad that the strap on his laptop case immediately became hot and chafed against his hand. The grass was yellowing, and the sun glared down in disapproval at the village blurred in the distance from thick rolls of heat. He made his way down the street all the same, though almost turned back when he saw Mrs Palmer almost in the exact same place she was stood yesterday. In fact, it looked as though her walking stick was again wedged in the same grate on the path. Needing a moment to compose himself from the growing exasperation he felt, Matthew headed over to her, reminding himself how nobody would ever help her because it did not benefit them. “Mrs Palmer.” He sighed, “How have you managed this again?” She blinked at him, confused, before the recognition lit up her face. “Oh, Matthew!” She gasped, “I-I don’t know...” Furrowing her brows, she gave the stick a weak pull before looking at him helplessly. He took it from her and again yanked it out of the grate. “Now, I have that same assignment to complete, so I really don’t have time to-” “What?” She interrupted, “Assignment? Where?” “My assignment. About... gratitude.” He almost spat the word out, still apprehensive of his task. “Ahh, that shouldn’t be hard!” She smiled, “There are lots of things to be thankful about!” Matthew stared at her, giving her old, faded clothes and chipped walking stick a tight smile, and resisted from asking what those things could possibly be for her, though she seemed to read the question on his face. “Don’t give me that look! I’m not completely blind you know; I can still tell what you’re thinking.” She looked beyond him thoughtfully, “Richard! He said he might pop by tomorrow, that’s something to be thankful about.” “Oh, Mrs Pearson.” Matthew sighed, avoiding her eyes. “You never learn.” “He’s coming, you’ll see.” She gave him an odd slow wink and began to totter back down the street with a hesitant Matthew in tow. The coffee shop was much busier than yesterday, though Matthew was almost pleased to find his usual booth unoccupied, until he registered the spill of what he hoped was apple juice over one of the seats. Mumbling about how his assignment could not possibly be made any more difficult, he sat in the clean side of the booth and got back to his work. About an hour into his failing attempts of forming a first paragraph, a large family seeped in through the doors, which appeared to almost burst at the seams with the sheer volume of people. At the head of the group stood a middle-aged woman in a yellow summer dress, whose face was rosy from the heat outside. She spoke loudly, so Matthew caught the end of her conversation. “...so I said well, I think it’s great! Might be uncomfortable but gets the kids outside!” She laughed a hearty laugh, and Matthew assumed she was speaking about the weather. He watched as she sauntered over to a barista, who blushed deeply at the revealing neckline of her dress as she spoke to him sweetly. Matthew scoffed and shook his head. More like the weather is great for you to show some skin and get a free coffee voucher . Sure enough, the barista passed her one over the counter, grinning ridiculously wide and looking slightly disappointed when she walked away. She had such a smug expression on her face, the kind that Matthew detested, especially as he sat with less and less to write from the people around him. Feeling particularly hot and bothered, Matthew spent another unsuccessful afternoon staring at a blank page and struggling to muster something positive to say about anything around him. He stayed until the sun bobbed down in its orange sea and hid behind the clouds. On his walk home, the heat remained like a musty smell in an old room. Sunday. And the assignment was due in the next day. Matthew had struggled to sleep, racking his brain to no avail for a single idea to write about gratitude. The heat was still almost unbearable, which he was hit with as he trudged outside with much less hope than the previous two days. Matthew had never been unable to complete an assignment, and the thought was weighing down on him just as much as the heat. Turning the corner, he was anticipating Mrs Palmer’s presence, and there she was. The only difference today was that she was looking straight at him and gave a little wave when she saw him looking back. Beginning to accept this as part of his routine, Matthew dragged himself over to her and braced himself to tear her walking stick out of a grate again. It was, however, surprisingly not stuck today, and he gave her a puzzled look, wondering why she had waved him over. “Richard couldn’t make it.” She smiled sadly. “What a surprise.” He muttered sarcastically. “No, no, he said he could try next weekend instead!” She said with a sense of triumph that pushed Matthew’s tired brain over the edge. “Mrs Palmer, your son hasn’t come to see you in years.” He said, frustrated. “Because he’s not interested in taking money from you anymore since you barely have any to give.” “He still calls me occasionally.” She protested. “He calls you to keep his conscience clean Mrs Palmer. People only care when they get something in return.” She was silent for a long time, looking at the ground. Just as Matthew began to feel he’d been a little harsh, she spoke again. “I think I’m going to head home.” “Mrs Palmer-” “No, I don’t fancy the village today.” She attempted a smile, before leaving in the opposite direction and leaving Matthew with a heavy feeling of guilt. Walking through the village alone felt much different, and Matthew decided if he saw Mrs Pearson again on his way to work tomorrow, he would apologise for being so blunt. A young child busking on the street distracted his thoughts, as he paused to watch her play the violin slowly, as the crowds gave affectionate ‘aww’s. She wore dirty clothes that were several sizes too big for her, and a sign on cardboard was propped up beside her claiming she would appreciate any donations. A small tin can was already half full of pennies and notes. Matthew looked over the scene sceptically, not failing to notice the pristine condition of the violin and what looked like a branded purse wedged behind the sign. He knew exactly what he was looking at, especially as he spotted two people who were obviously the girls parents hovering at the edge of the crowd, eyeing anyone holding a purse or rummaging in their bag with a gleam in their eyes. It’s like I’m being teased for this stupid assignment, he thought. Not sparing the parents a disapproving stare, Matthew headed back on course towards the coffee shop, for what was likely to be another very unproductive day. Monday had come by extraordinarily fast, and Matthew dressed slowly, feeling very apprehensive of his day ahead. Stepping out the door with the burdening knowledge that he carried a laptop with nothing to show but his empty document, he dreaded the smug look on Emma’s face when she found out her assignment had defeated him. “Cue Mrs Palmer...” He murmured as he walked onto the next street. But today, she was not there. Matthew could not help but feel to blame and felt a crushing regret from stamping on her hopes of seeing her son, even if he had known all along that the guy wouldn’t show up. Deciding to go the long way to work though the village, Matthew hoped he’d bump into her on the way. The streets were much quieter without the hustle and bustle of the weekend, and by the time Matthew was walking past his usual coffee shop he’d lost hope of catching up to Mrs Palmer. Feeling even more defeated, he glanced inside and was met with a surprise. Mrs Palmer was sat inside, surrounded by people. Matthew’s curiosity took the wheel as he opened the door to the light jangle of the bell and stepped inside. The group looked over at the sound, and he was shocked by what he saw. Richard raised his eyes to meet Matthew’s, and the regret in them was almost overpowering as he held his mother’s hand that crinkled like old leather in his own. But what was more surprising still was the three people stood around their table. The vendor held a small crate of apples wrapped in a rich purple ribbon tied in a bow, and his eyes were soft as he placed it on the table with a smile. The woman in the yellow dress had her hand on Mrs Palmer’s shoulder, and a wobbly smile hung on her face; her free coffee voucher lay reflecting the sun on the table. And the little girl with the violin, who had a bright smile on her face as she raised her arms to place a full tin can of money beside the apples. “Thank you.” Mrs Palmer said, as she looked at each of them in turn with a grateful smile on her face and tears lining her eyes. All of a sudden, it was as though Matthew had been struck hard in the chest with realisation. He glanced down at the laptop still clutched in his hand and drifted over to his usual booth. Sitting down, he cast a gaze outside the window. The sun was no longer angry but seemed to smile at him from in the sky, casting a gentle cloak of golden warmth across the town. It was the same sun, in the same town, at the same time, but everything had changed. For beauty can be found in any place, he thought, if you just know how to look. Matthew opened his laptop. And began to write.


### Gossip Central: The Hottest Scoop in Starlet City **Headline:** Love, Lies, and Longing: The Scandals Rocking Starlet City Dear readers, hold onto your hats and clutch your pearls because today's edition of Gossip Central is sizzling with the latest juicy tidbits from the glamorous yet tumultuous lives of our beloved celebrities. Grab your coffee (or maybe something stronger), and let's dive into the chaos, heartbreak, and drama that make Starlet City the talk of the town. **1. Star-Crossed Love Affairs:** It seems that Cupid's arrows have been striking with questionable aim lately. Our sources have confirmed that the dashing heartthrob, **Ethan Rivers**, and the sultry songstress, **Bella Monroe**, were spotted sharing an intimate dinner at Le Rêve, the swankiest restaurant in town. While Ethan is technically single after his high-profile breakup with supermodel **Victoria Lane**, Bella is still very much linked to her on-again, off-again beau, rocker **Jaxon Storm**. Eyewitnesses reported steamy glances and even a discreet kiss! Could this be the beginning of a new power couple, or just another chapter in Bella's tumultuous love life? **2. Betrayals and Backstabbing:** In a shocking turn of events, our inside informants reveal that **Tessa Hart**, the darling of daytime TV, has been betrayed by her closest confidante. Tessa's best friend and stylist, **Mila Bennett**, has been leaking details of Tessa's personal life to the press for months. This bombshell came to light after a series of particularly personal stories surfaced, each eerily detailed and undeniably true. Tessa is reportedly devastated and has severed all ties with Mila. Trust is a fragile thing in the world of fame, and Tessa's heartbreak is a harsh reminder of the cost of celebrity. **3. The Great Escape:** In a dramatic twist worthy of the big screen, action star **Derek Steele** has vanished from the public eye following a messy divorce and custody battle with ex-wife, actress **Chloe Kensington**. Rumor has it that Derek has fled to a secluded island to escape the relentless paparazzi and rebuild his life away from the spotlight. Sources close to Derek claim he is focusing on his mental health and reconnecting with nature. Meanwhile, Chloe is left to navigate single motherhood and a challenging career without Derek’s support. Will Derek make a triumphant return, or is this the end of his Hollywood saga? **4. Rising Stars and Fallen Idols:** Not all news is scandalous, darlings! Our very own **Lila Rose**, the sweet and talented breakout star, has landed a lead role in the upcoming blockbuster, *Celestial*. This role could catapult her to A-list status, and we're all eagerly watching her rise. However, not everyone is thrilled about Lila’s success. Her former mentor, veteran actress **Vivian Blackwood**, has been vocal about her disapproval, calling Lila “ungrateful” for allegedly ditching her after finding fame. A classic case of jealousy, or does Vivian have a point? Either way, we can't wait to see Lila shine on the silver screen. **5. Scandalous Reunions:** Fans of the once-popular band, **Eclipse**, are in for a treat as whispers of a reunion tour circulate. Frontman **Ryan Knight** and guitarist **Liam Hayes** were spotted together at a secret recording session, sparking hopes of new music and possibly a tour. This news comes despite their infamous fallout years ago, which led to the band's breakup. Can Ryan and Liam put aside their differences for the sake of their fans, or is this just a fleeting moment of nostalgia? **6. Hidden Addictions:** The seemingly perfect life of reality TV queen **Sophie Sterling** is crumbling as reports of her secret battle with addiction come to light. Insiders have revealed that Sophie has been struggling with substance abuse for years, hidden behind her glamorous facade. She has checked into a rehab facility under an alias to avoid media attention. This revelation is a stark contrast to the image Sophie has always portrayed. Her fans are left in shock, hoping for her swift recovery and return to the spotlight, clean and stronger than ever. **7. Fashion Faux Pas:** The annual Starlet City Gala, known for its dazzling display of fashion, was not without its blunders this year. The usually impeccable **Fiona Frost**, renowned for her chic and sophisticated style, made headlines for all the wrong reasons. Her choice of a bold, avant-garde gown was met with mixed reviews, some calling it a masterpiece, others a disaster. Fashion critics and fans alike were divided, and Fiona's risky choice has certainly stirred the pot. Love it or hate it, Fiona remains the talk of the town. **8. Business Ventures Gone Awry:** It appears that not all that glitters is gold in the business world of Starlet City. Entrepreneur and former child star **Jasper King** has seen his latest venture, a high-end vegan restaurant, fall into financial turmoil. Despite the star-studded opening and rave initial reviews, the restaurant has been plagued by management issues and declining sales. Insiders say Jasper is scrambling to keep the business afloat, even considering selling off personal assets. Can Jasper turn things around, or will this be another failed project in his portfolio? **9. Secret Babies and Hidden Relationships:** The rumor mill is buzzing with whispers that actress **Grace Delaney** has been hiding a secret baby! Grace, known for her private nature, has kept a low profile recently, leading to speculation about her mysterious disappearance from the public eye. Sources suggest that she gave birth in secret and has been focusing on motherhood away from the prying eyes of the media. The identity of the father remains unknown, but rumors point to a high-profile director she was linked to last year. Will Grace confirm the news, or will this remain one of Starlet City's greatest mysteries? **10. Redemption and Comebacks:** In a heartwarming twist, comedian **Max Turner**, who faced a career downfall due to a scandal two years ago, is making a remarkable comeback. Max has been performing at small comedy clubs, rebuilding his reputation and winning back the hearts of fans. His sincerity and raw talent are shining through, proving that everyone loves a good redemption story. Max’s journey from disgrace to grace is a testament to resilience and the forgiving nature of the entertainment industry. There you have it, dear readers--today's hottest scoops and scandals straight from Starlet City. As always, we'll be keeping our eyes and ears open for more gossip, intrigue, and sensational stories to keep you entertained. Stay tuned, because in this city, there's never a dull moment! Until next time, Gossip Central ✨


When I was eleven, for a reason completely unbeknownst to me my family moved to Apopka, Florida. We lived there for one year, and then moved back to Minnesota within forty miles of Moorhead where we had lived previously. Obviously, some adult crisis or other had precipitated this bewildering experience. Whatever the problem was, Florida would surely fix it. How fitting that in the wake of my own adult crisis, I should accompany my parents on a vacation to the “Sunshine State”. When we arrived in Florida we picked up our modest rental sedan and navigated our way to my parents’ friends’ house, Dean and Cathy. As I walked into their house, the first thing I took notice of was a bottle of tequila tucked away in the corner of the kitchen. There it sat alone, unacknowledged by anyone but me, my crisis. The bottle resided in that spot for the duration of our stay, no one pulled it out, no drinks flowed. I could not tell if this was coincidental or if it was because our hosts had been made aware of my recent teetotalism, my move back into my parent’s house, my loss of my Trader Joes job, and my abandonment of my lease on my hipster coffeehouse apartment, nor did I care. Dean and Cathy had a daughter named Danielle. Danielle had been friends with my older sister fourteen years prior. Danielle was younger than my sister, she was a little chubby, she was kind of homely looking, and I believe she liked my sister more than my sister liked her. Time had been kind to Danielle as she had shed the weight and grown into her features, though her body looked as if it would easily regain the weight. This fact was also apparent by looking at her mother. We had rented a crummy townhome for the week. My bedroom lay directly beneath my parents’ bedroom, and my bed lay directly beneath my parents’ bed. That night as I lay awake, I could hear my parents above me, doing the very thing that brought me into this world twenty five years ago. In a moment like this, one turns inward "Twenty five years into this life and this is where I am?" Most of our time in the “Sunshine State” was spent indoors. Going outside would result in being broiled alive by the sun. After a few days of this stagnation, the parents decided it was time for the kids to go out on the town and arranged for us to meet up with a dating couple. I hopped into Danielle’s gray Ford Escort on the passenger’s side. Though I was not really into Danielle, being alone with her in her car seemed like a novel experience, and I worked hard to play it really cool. I had given little attention to the opposite sex over the last few years since they did not come in a bottle marked “80 proof”. We arrived at our destination, some establishment resembling an Applebee’s and met the other couple in the parking lot. I already knew the man of the couple, Russell. I had been friends with Russell as a child when we were twelve. He was the baby of the family and acted accordingly. Russell was the type of kid that always seemed to find himself in some strange disaster that left you watching incredulously. Once at a minor league baseball game, he got under a pop-fly ball and held his hands up to catch it. The ball slipped right through the diamond shaped hole of his thumbs and index fingers and broke its fall right on the tip of his pointy freckled nose, blood gushed everywhere. Time had done little to remedy Russell’s gawky appearance. He was a redhead with freckles, tall, and gangly. If you did not know of Russell’s families’ money, you may not understand why a highly attractive well-dressed woman was by his side. As the double date progressed, conversation was slow. The only time I was really engaged was when Russell’s date brought up a music video she had just seen on YouTube. As she detailed this video, I began to recognize her descriptions and interjected, “Are you talking about ‘Wuthering Heights’ by Kate Bush?” “Yes,” she replied with a shocked look on her face, “I really didn’t expect anyone to recognize such an obscure reference." Then for the next few moments we proceeded to wax poetic about Kate Bush and her unique artistic abilities. It had been a very long time since I had made this kind of connection with anyone, much less a beautiful woman. I pondered the unfortunate nature of this situation. Across from me sat a beautiful woman with whom I had made a connection. She should have been with me, but instead she was with this bore of a man. A man, that because of the umbra of my own crisis and the void of any measurable personal development, I had no chance of competing with. This of course did not stop me from fantasizing about our future life together in the moment of an instant that was just as soon discarded. For dessert, Russell took us to an Italian Ice Stand. Over half the night he had been trumpeting the deliciousness of these frozen treats. When we finally sat down with our Italian Ices, Russell was a bit disappointed that we did not seem to share his enthusiasm. He asked “What do you guys think? Are these great or what?” His date barely made a reply. "Who does this woman think she is?" I thought, "doesn’t she know that this is my childhood friend? She could be a little nicer to him." Trying to console my friend I embellished a little, “I give it an eleven out of ten.” “That’s the kind of enthusiasm I was looking for!" cheered Russell. That was the last night we spent in Florida. We boarded a plane and headed back to Minnesota: my parents, my crisis, and I. What led my parents to this place fourteen years ago I may never know, but I can't help believing that this is the wisdom they wished to impart: Problems cannot be outrun or left behind, but they can always be taken to the “Sunshine State.


Hi! I'm Janice and well, today I'm going to a party. Sounds fun right? Not for me though. I haven't really attended one in such a long time. Why? It all starts way back in highschool on a Friday night. I was getting ready to attend a party, hosted by the most popular girl in school, Amelia. I was thrilled when I had recieved my invitation. I was kind of a nerd but I had some good friends. When I arrived, I was feeling exicted. I had never been invited to a party before. The party was at Amelia's house. It was so crowded I could barely walk. There was a lot of food and many drinks (no alcohol). There was also music blasting through the speakers and people were dancing. I joined them and then I suddenly ran into Amelia. " Hey! Glad you could make it!" she said smiling to me. She had blond hair, beautiful blue eyes, and was definitely really pretty. " Yea! Me too! I'm sure it will be a blast!" I reply with the same smile. I was about to walk off before I felt this really cold liquid splash down on my head and drip down to my clothes. I freeze and slowly turn behind me to find Amelia smirking with her emtpy cup that she dropped down with a clunk. " W-wha-? W-why?" I sputter at her dripping and shaking. By now, everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at me. " Aw...Are you gonna cry? Do you actually think we would want you here, you nerd? Well, we don't so why don't you go home and cry to your mommy," Amelia said in a baby voice. Everyone laughed at me. I actually did start crying. I could feel tears starting to prick my eyes so I ran out of there as fast as I could. I went home and told myself over and over again that I would never attend a party again. Get why I'm nervous about attending a party again? It's been 10 years since the "accident" so I should move on. But the thing is, the party I'm attending, is my high school reunion party. I know, I'm crazy for wanting to attend but surely Amelia has changed? I mean, I own a big business right now and my looks have become better. Ok. I've decided. I am going to go to the party and hopefully not regret it. I change into a cute dress, put make up on, curl my hair a bit, and then walk out my front door. I get into my limo and I have someone drive me to my location. This time, it was at my old high school. As I stepped out of my limo, the people outside turned to stare at me wondering how the high school nerd became this rich, pretty, woman. I walked in the high school not minding them and I saw a lot of people I regonized but I didn't see Amelia nor my friends. Well, I knew I wouldn't see my friends since they told me so but I was kind of hoping they would be there. I kept looking around until I bumped into someone. I touch my head a little from the pain and we both say, " I'm sorry!" I look up to see Amelia (or at least I think) staring back at me. She looked the same as highschool but older. " Amelia?" I question. " Janice?" she questions. " W-wow! It's been a long time. How are you?" I say to her shocked face. " I'm good. How are you?" she replies. She seems nicer or maybe she was just tricking me again. " I'm doing good. I actually own the JJ company," I say and with a reply I see a shocked face. " That big company? It's yours? I didn't realize it," she said to me. " Ya," I say sorta smiling at her. " Well, I'm sorry. I hope you can forgive me again. I really wanna be friends with you," she says sadly. So that's how she wants to play. She thinks I can forgive her for humiliating me. And now she wants to be friends? Is it because of my money? Huh? " I'm sorry Amelia," I say in my nicest tone. " But I don't think we can be friends. You say sorry after you find out I have money. I don't like to be used for things," I say and then I walk out of her sight. After that nonsense, I actually had a great time. I was drinking soda and partying. The best thing is that my besties made it! I had convinced them to come along so that I could chat with them. We danced, laughed, and caught up with old friends that we hadn't talked to for a while. It was so much fun. I missed having a party like this. We stayed until 10:00 p.m but then everyone started to leave. I was getting tired so I decided to head home. After all, tomorrow was a big day for me. I was going to be giving a big speech to a crowd and I had to get ready. I was going to revise my speech again but I was tired from all that laughter and fun so I immidently fell asleep. The next morning I woke up at 6:00 ready for the speech. I head there arriving early and I perform my speech with ease. I never really had stage fright so I did it amazingly. Maybe because of last night. I had to admit it was the most fun I had ever had. I smiled at everyone as I talked loud and clear. I didn't need a script because I was excellent at memorizing. Once I was done, everyone gave me a standing ovation as they clapped loudly. I felt proud as I walked off the stage smiling. I drove home thinking at my friends and when the next party I could be attending. I hope I wasn't about to get addicted.


One day a beautiful young maiden was wondering through the forest collecting wildflowers. This was usually one of her favorite ways to occupy herself during her free time but today she had a special purpose, for tonight was the ball to celebrate the prince’s eighteenth birthday. Every eligible girl in the kingdom would be there hoping that they would be the one to catch the prince’s eye. Isabella was searching for wildflowers to make a garland that would set off her outfit just perfectly. Not just any wildflowers would do, they had to be a shade of blue just about, but not quite as deep as her eyes. This was not an easy color to find and the field that she was in was so filled with tiny wildflowers that she had to concentrate extremely hard to pick out the ones that she wanted from among all the various shades of blue and pink and yellow that surrounded her. She was concentrating so hard in fact, that she did not notice the older gentleman in dark robes sitting on a fallen tree at the edge of the clearing. The man on the tree noticed her, however. He knew she would be there for she had told him about it many times and he was watching her every move with fascination. He was all but spellbound by her innocence and determination in her task. The way she moved through the field half hunched over examining the different flowers, pausing here and there to pick one and examine it more closely, and finally either discarding it or adding it to the others in the small basket that she carried. He would chuckle to himself when her brow furrowed with dissatisfaction, and his heart would lift each time he saw the look of happiness and approval on her face when the small bud would meet her criteria. He wanted to sit there forever and watch this angel on earth go about her chore for he loved her very deeply. As she inched her way closer to his perch, he knew that the time he had been dreading had finally come, it was time for them to meet. “Hello, my child,” he said in a deep and somewhat raspy voice. “Oh my!” she looked up in surprise, for she thought that she was alone in the field. “Good sir, you’ve startled me.” “There is no cause for alarm, my dear, I was just resting here on my journey to your kingdom when you came along,” he replied. “you look as if you have a very important task to accomplish.” “Oh, I was just collecting flowers,” she said looking shyly down at her basket. Then her curiosity got the better of her and she asked, “Do you have business at the castle?” “Your king has summoned me as an advisor,” he answered. The mention of the king and the castle excited Isabella so that she forgot about taking caution with strangers, as her father had warned. She plopped herself down on the ground in front of the mand and asked, “You must be a very important man for the king to summon you. Please tell me sir, just what is it that you do?” The man paused for a moment to study the beautiful young face looking up at him. He thought about how many times before he had looked deeply into those eyes and seen all the love and compassion looking back at him. He drew his gaze down to the cute little nose that had rubbed against his own so many times before, and finally studied the slight pout on the lips he had kissed a thousand times a thousand in the past. He wished he could hold her and kiss her now, but he knew this would frighten her away for after all, they were only just meeting today. He must have gotten lost in his thoughts for again she begged, “Please sir, I am only a child as you said, but I am loyal to the king. If you tell me of your business, it will go no further.” The man returned his gaze to her eyes and said, “I know you are loyal my dear, but my business with the king is no big secret, if that is what you seek. “Actually, you would probably find it quite dull.” “Oh no sir,” she replied, “any business with the king could hardly be dull, but if you won’t tell me your business please at least tell me what it is that you do.” “What I do?” he repeated, “I do very little actually. I guess I would describe myself as an observer. I observe what is going on around me and offer advice on how best to react to it.” “I have never heard of such a thing before,” she responded, “and the king has summoned you to do what you have described for him?” “Why yes, he has,” answered the man with a laugh. “I find it astonishing myself at times, but many kings and queens have summoned me to do just that.” “You must be a very wise man for all these kings and queens to have called upon your services,” she observed. Again, the man laughed. He had always loved Isabella’s innocence and over the last few years it had been growing in intensity. He was now seeing her as she was before the years of leadership and adversity had taken away that innocence. He was seeing her before the loss of her first true love to the hand of an enemy on a battlefield. Before the loss of her first-born son, the heir to the throne, to the plague. He was now seeing her before she really had any cares in the world beyond finding the perfect shade of blue wildflower to set off her eyes. “I am a very old man,” he replied, “and people seem to feel that when a person has been alive as long as I have, and seen as many things as I, that there must be some wisdom to impart from those experiences. Actually, in my opinion, I am a very foolish old man who enjoys telling stories. The leaders who have summoned me listen to my stories and interpret them as they see fit. Any wisdom that comes from these stories comes from their interpretation of them, not from me.” “But sir,” she argued, “you must have some wisdom to know which story to tell for a given situation.” The man laughed yet again; he was truly enjoying this encounter with the young maiden. “I wouldn’t call it wisdom so much as intuition,” he explained. “They tell me of their troubles, be it personal or political, I listen and then a story just seems to come to me. Sometimes the story is about a similar situation I have run across before and sometimes it seems to have no apparent connection to what they are telling me. Either way, I tell my story and what they do with it from there is all based upon their own wisdom. I could no better tell a great leader what to do then I could choose a flower for your basket.” Isabella glanced down at her basket and then eagerly back into the man’s eyes. “If I were to tell you my troubles would you tell me a story?” she asked. “What troubles could a beautiful young maiden as you possibly have?” he chuckled. “It appears to me that your biggest concern is picking out the proper dress for the ball tonight.” “Please sir,” she pouted, “don’t mock me.” She paused for a moment and then added, “How is it that you know of the ball tonight?” This question caught him off guard, “Errr, um,” he stalled. “Why everyone knows of the prince’s ball, of course.” He knew of the ball for she had told him about it many times, it was one of his favorite stories of hers. How she struggled to finish the flower garland in time, and the butterflies in her stomach as she approached the castle and finally the great ball room. She had told him about laying eyes on the prince for the first time and somehow knowing, in that instant, that they belonged together. She had told him of how she and the prince danced and talked and laughed the night away. And she had told him how, in that one night, she had fallen truly and deeply in love with the man who would become her husband. “Of course,” she said with a little doubt in her voice, “Everyone knows of the ball. But please sir,” she returned to her thought, “tell me a story.” “My dear,” said the man, “you must go prepare for the ball. You don’t have time for a story. Our time together has come to an end, but if you meet me here tomorrow, I will gladly tell you a story.” Isabella glanced at the sun sinking in the sky and said, “Oh my goodness, your right.” She quickly gathered up her basket and sprang to her feet. “But sir,” she realized, “I don’t know your name.” “My name is Merlin,” answered the man. “And I’m Isabella,” she said. “So, I will see you here tomorrow at midday, you promise?” “I promise,” he said. “And you will tell me a story?” “I promise,” he said again with a laugh. “Then I will see you here tomorrow,” she said as she turned and hurried off across the field the way she had come. Just before she reached the path through the woods, she turned again to look at the man and she thought she saw the sun reflect in a tear on his check. She waved to him and he waved back. Then she turned to the path and hurried home to prepare for the ball. “Good-bye, my sweet Isabella,” he said to her back and began to cry openly, for he knew that he would never see her again. Most people know that wizards are immortal but one very important thing that few people know is that while we mortals are traveling forward through time, wizards are actually traveling backwards through time. This is why meeting people for the first time can be very difficult for a wizard. So, if you ever meet an old man who likes to tell stories and he seems to be sad when you part, it just may be. . . .


He marched up the hill. Its low slope provided little challenge to his progress. The grass, as it waved in the soft breeze, did seem to tug at his feet. He placed his feet carefully to avoid tripping. It wouldn't do to drop his cargo. A large potted plant, a tree, was grasped firmly in one hand. It was fairly heavy. He had to stop several times on the way up the hill in order to rest. Now, as he neared the top, he pushed onward. He did swap the tree from his right hand to his left. Taking only a brief moment to set down the shovel so he could do the change. The fatigue in his right hand easing as he picked up the digging tool. When he was sure he had everything grasped firmly, he set off. The breeze was warm, and carried the scent of grass. It was familiar to him, he had been on this hill many times. As he reached the top, his eyes were drawn to a medium sized oak tree. It stood slightly off center at the top of the rise, growing alone in the middle of the field. "Hi Mom," he whispered, the words vanishing under the rustling of grass. *No crying*, he promised himself. He walked over and set the sapling down. It seemed fitting to have it rest against the larger tree, at least for the moment. He rested his now free hand on the truck. It had grown thicker since it had been planted. He smiled. It was a sad one, but also accepting. He turned and placed his back against the bark. Wordlessly he started pacing away from the tree towards the center of the hill, then past it. He had researched how far he needed to go; how many steps it would be. He wanted the branches to just touch when both trees were fully grown. He stopped once he reached the proper amount of steps. He looked back, checking if he was in line. With that he thrust the shovel into the soil. Memories came back to him as he dug. Five years ago, he and his father had come up here. The hill had been empty then. They had dug their own hole, through tears, to plant the oak. He was alone this time to do the job. With the hole dug, the tree went into the ground smoothly. This was not the first time he had planted one. He covered the roots loose dirt and packed it down. He had a jug of water in his car at the field edge. He would water it today, and every day until it could survive on its own. Shouldering the shovel he looked over his work. The two oaks seemed so far apart, but he knew they would grow together over time. "Bye Dad," He said into the wind as he started down to get the water. He couldn't keep the promise he had made to himself as he went.


#Welcome to Serial Sunday! To those brand new to the feature and those returning from last week, welcome! Do you have a self-established universe you’ve been writing or planning to write in? Do you have an idea for a world that’s been itching to get out? This is the perfect place to explore that. Each week, I will post a single theme to inspire you. You have 850 words to tell the story. Feel free to jump in at any time if you feel inspired. Writing for previous weeks’ themes is not necessary in order to join.   *** #This week's theme is House of Cards! This week we’re going to dive into the theme of ‘house of cards’. A house of cards is a plan, institution, or structure that is unreliable, unsound, or in danger of collapse. Think, a plan that is not completely thought out; a government/authority that is shaky and not built on stable laws, principals, defense, etc. What happens when it’s tested? Do the people brace for impact or abandon ship? Will it have a domino effect, knocking the entire system or world down? What happens when it all comes tumbling down? Who stands up and takes charge? Or does anarchy reign? Can they rebuild? A house of cards, afterall, can completely collapse from a simple breeze, or when one single piece is removed. Are your characters prepared for the storm? What kind of dangers await them on the other side of it all? These are just a few things to get you started. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. |   *** #Theme Schedule: I recognize that writing a serial can take a bit of planning. Each week, I release the following 2 weeks’ themes here in the Schedule section of the post. You can even have a say in upcoming themes! Join us on the discord - we vote on a theme every Sunday. (You can also send suggestions to me via DM on Discord or Reddit!) * November 28 - House of cards (this week) * December 5 - Vitality * December 12 - Speculation   *** **Previous Themes:** | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | *** #How It Works: In the comments below, submit a story that is between 500 - 850 words in your own original universe, inspired by this week’s theme. This can be the beginning of a brand new serial or an installment in your in-progress serial. You have until 6pm EST the following Saturday to submit your story. Please make sure to read *all* of the rules before posting!   *** #The Rules: * **All top-level comments must be a story inspired by the theme (not using the theme is a disqualifier).** Use the stickied comment for off-topic discussion and questions you may have. * **Do not pre-write your serial.** You may do outlining and planning ahead of time, but you need to wait until the post is released to begin writing for the current week. Pre-written content or content written for another prompt/post is not allowed. * **Stories must be 500-850 words.** Use to check your word count. **You may include a *brief* recap at the top of your post each week if you like, and it will not count against the wordcount.** * **Stories must be posted by Saturday 6pm EST.** That is one hour before the beginning of Campfire. Stories submitted after the deadline will not be eligible for rankings and will not be read during campfire. * **Only one serial per author at a time.** This does not include serials written outside of Serial Sunday. * **Authors must leave at least 2 feedback comments on the thread (on two different stories, not two on one) to qualify for rankings every week.** The feedback should be actionable and **must** include at least one *detail* about what the author has done well. Failing to meet the 2 comment requirement will disqualify you from weekly rankings. (Verbal feedback does not count towards this requirement.) **Missing your feedback two consecutive weeks will exclude you from campfire readings and rankings the following week.** You have until the following Sunday at 12pm EST to fulfill your feedback requirements each week. * **Keep the content “vaguely family friendly”.** While content rules are more relaxed here at r/ShortStories, we’re going to roll with the loose guidelines of family friendly for now. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask! * **Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets** (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). This will allow our serial bot to track your parts and add your serial to the full catalogue. Please note: You **must** use the exact same name each week. This includes commas and apostrophes. If not, the bot won’t recognize your serial installments.   *** #Reminders: * **If you are continuing an in-progress serial, please include links to the prior installments on reddit.** * **Saturdays I host a Serial Campfire on the discord main voice lounge**. Join us to read your story aloud, hear other stories, and share your own thoughts on serial writing! We start at 7pm EST. You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Don’t worry about being late, just join! * **You can nominate your favorite stories each week**. Send me a message on discord or reddit and let me know by 12pm EST the following Sunday. You do not have to attend the campfire, or have read all of the stories, to make nominations. Making nominations awards both parties points (see point breakdown). * Authors who successfully finish a serial with at least 8 installments will be featured with a modpost recognizing their completion and a flair banner on the subreddit. Authors are eligible for this highlight post only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule (and all other post rules). * There’s a Serial Sunday role on the Discord server, so make sure you grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Sunday related news!   *** #Last Week’s Rankings - - by u/nobodysgeese   - - by u/WorldOrphan   - - by u/Zetakh   - - by u/Say_Im_Ugly   *** #Ranking System There is a new point system! Note that you must use the theme each week to qualify for points! Here is the current breakdown: **Nominations (votes sent in by users):** - First place - 60 points - Second place - 50 points - Third place - 40 points - Fourth place - 30 points - Fifth place - 20 points - Sixth place - 10 points **Feedback:** - Written feedback (on the thread) - 5 points each (25 pt. cap) - Verbal feedback (during Campfire) - 5 points each (15 pt. cap) *Note: In order to be eligible for feedback points, you must complete your 2 required feedback comments. These are included in the max point value above.Your feedback must be **actionable**, listing at least one thing the author did well, to receive points. (“I liked it, great chapter” comments will not earn you points or credit.)* **Nominating Other Stories:** - Sending nominations for your favorite stories - 5 points (total)   *** ###Subreddit News - Our sister subreddit, r/WritingPrompts now has a ! - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday. Check out to learn more! - Sharpen your micro-fic skills by participating in our brand new feature, - Have you ever wanted to write a story with another writer? Check out our brand new weekly feature on r/WritingPrompts.