(I got the idea for this from a writing prompt that said “Start a story with a sentence and then end it with the same sentence but in a completely different tone.” I also wasn’t sure if horror was exactly right, but I think so... here we are.) I knelt to the tub and slid my hand into the warmth, sighing, utterly content. I needed this. It had been such a long night at the hospital; being head of trauma had its perks, but last night was not a shining example. As I lowered my stiff, aching body into the hot bubbles, I could practically feel the stress melt off me. Legs relaxed and the little girl who swallowed a battery evaporated from my brain. My back relaxed into the lavender soak and the old woman who fell on the stairs breaking most of the bones on her left side bounded out the doors in my head. The pregnant woman who had gone into labor at her son’s band concert washed away with my hands, and the young man that had leaped from a building on a frat dare slipped out of my thoughts as I completely submerged myself. I let the bath jets kick on, creating a perpetual loop of bubbles. And hour later and I sat toweling my hair off at the foot of our bed. “Want to talk about it?” Liam asked as he ran his sturdy hands down my tense shoulders. Do I? I wondered to myself. A pause. Yes. Turning to look at him, I remembered a laundry list of reasons I love him. Deep green eyes that are always warm, how he never asks how work was because it’s never good, the way he never falters even when I’m at my worst... I could go on forever. “It was rough...” Liam nodded, solemnly. “I’ve let most of it go, but...” I trailed off, glancing behind him. He glanced back, following my gaze to the dresser mirror. “What’s wrong?” Concern seeped into his voice, hanging heavily in the air. “It’s just... been a long night.” I smiled half-heartedly. “Thought I saw something in the mirror.” I proceeded to tell Liam about the last patient I’d seen last night. He was brought in just after midnight. The kid was only 12. His father had found him in their attic covered in carvings -- pentagrams, scratches, and other markings no one recognized were etched into his exposed skin and all over his back. Dad claimed the boy had gone to bed at 9. Dad had stayed up working and was headed to sleep when he heard deep chuckling and small whimpering from the closed attic. Their house had a pull-down ladders -- no way the four-foot-nothing child had opened it on his own. But dad had a feeling and went to check his son’s room to be safe. It was good he did. When the boy got to the hospital, his temperature was problematically low and he’d gone slightly delirious with pain, probably exhausted too. He kept addressing someone in the corners of the rooms, occasionally screaming to get out, sometimes whispering to come closer. We’d stabilized him though. He was given painkillers and sleeping medicine then his wounds were stitched, dressed, and meticulously watched by the nurses. He would be fine, but he’d have the scars forever. Hospital policy in these cases is pretty clear; social services was called, police were brought in to interview the father who hadn’t even his son since they arrived, and hospital security posted a guard at the room door at all times until we heard otherwise from the authorities. It almost felt cruel. My gut told me this wasn’t child abuse, but that wasn’t my job to determine. Liam, of course, listened intently. He asked some questions, but ultimately let me get the whole story off my chest. “Is that everything?” he asked cautiously. “You still seem a little frazzled.” I pondered for a minute. Was that all? What am I not saying? Then it hit me. “The boy,” I said, “he coughed up blood all over my face.” Why hadn’t I remembered that? Liam pulled back a fraction of an inch. “It’s why we ended up sedating him.” “Are you okay?” “Of course.” I waved the questions off. “Full blood panel on both of us immediately following. I’m on mandatory 72 hour leave while samples culture, but it’s not like he had ebola.” I smiled, full and vibrant this time. “It’s a mini vacation.” “I’m sorry I’ll miss most of it then,” he laughed, pulling me to lay normally on the bed. “This meeting is what I would have at the bottom of my list of shit-I-could-do-this-weekend.” He wrapped his arms around me and I let my head hit the pillow, sleep taking me as I whispered how much I loved my husband. When I woke up, I was alone. The curtains were drawn, but some of the midday light peaked through. There was a folded piece of paper on the nightstand. Off to Chicago. I’ll call when I land at O’Hare. Dinner has been ordered and I’ll see you tomorrow night. Love, Liam I don’t know what I did to deserve that man, but I will forever be thankful for him. I got up, started coffee, took a quick wake up shower, poured coffee, and sat down in the living room. I grabbed my controller and powered everything up. Sipping my coffee, I watched the procession of startup logos -- Samsung, PS4, PS4 warnings, pentagram, PS4 startup menu -- wait. I blinked. Pentagram?? Power down everything. Wait a minute. Power up TV. Normal. Make sure input is correct. Power on PS4. Logo. Warnings. Startup menu. No pentagram. Probably just still waking up. Everything is fine. I downed my first cup of coffee and poured a second. For a few hours, I played video games and forgot all the work stress and the pentagram until a sharp knock at the door brought me back to reality. It was 6:30pm. The sunlight had all but disappeared. A second knock. I scrambled up and managed to open the front door before a third knock came. Pizza. Liam knew just what to do to cheer me up. “Tip is already included,” the delivery girl I’d seen a few times before said. She handed me three boxes - one pizza and two small long ones. “You guys enjoy.” “Just me tonight,” I said smiling. “Have a good night.” I handed her another $5. She looked confused, glancing behind me then towards her car then back to me. She smiled hesitantly but said good night and left. I raised an eyebrow. She must have expected Liam because his name was on the receipt. Closing the door, I headed back to the living room and... I backtracked to the hallway mirror. Was that someone walking behind me as I crossed in front of it just now? I walked back to the front door, then back to the living room, watching the reflection as I went. No. Must have been the shadow behind me that caught my eye. As I sat back down, I grabbed my phone. I hadn’t heard from Liam yet, but I know his company often gets flights with long layovers to save money. Liam probably checked the bag with his charger. What was I going to do with him? I chuckled. I tried calling anyway. “You’ve reached Liam. Please leave your message here and I’ll r̵etu̡r̨n҉ y̶ou̖̫͞r̘͎ ̸̹c̵a̤̥̲̹̝̫l̥̫l̹̺̫̱̱̫̺̀ a̛̪̩͘s̫͇͚̤͘ ̢̗̻̱̥͕̣s̟̘̻o̶͍̮̫̮͎̻̺o̸̗͓̺̖͡ń̖̹̠̥̞̣̬̝͔ ͖͇̞̠̘̯͈͢a̶̹̪̦̲̠̞s̥͙̗͇͈̖̩ ̢͚̯͢I̷̡̖̻͉͍̹̜̜̤͖ ̸̶͉͚̟͉̞̻͉͈͘c̡̖̣͍͜a̷̯͇͇͈̩̺n̢͍̖̯̳̟̯̞̲̱.̨̳͓̦͔͖̦̟̀͘ ̸̛҉̬͔͓̞̼T҉̶̗͕͕̙h͉̤̟̭̫̯a̷̶͇̰n̳̗̼̯̩̰̻͚͞k̡͎ͅs̴̥͕͎̞̻͟͝.͎̜͙̪̞̟̝” ̫̫̟ The audio got weird. Words scratched apart and jumbled, then the call disconnected. Did he power on his phone? I redialed. “You’ve reached Liam. Please leave your message here and I’ll return your call as soon as I can. Thanks.” Beep. I hung up. Definitely not on. I decided to message him on Facebook. If his laptop was connected, he’d see me on and maybe we could chat. After sending him a short thank you with a picture of my pizza, I dug in and turned on a movie. Rom-com, of course. I could use a- was that one of the symbols from the kid’s arm? Just now? On my rom-com opening credits? I put down my pizza and skipped back. Starring.... Nothing. No weird symbols. Just actors and actresses and directors. I blinked a few times, rewound one more time, then slowly went back to eating dinner. Probably time for real sleep after this. I ended up dozing after dinner. I woke up to the final swell of the orchestra as the couple said “I do” and kissed. Camera panned up to the perfect sky, and credits started to roll. On my phone, I had two notifications from Facebook Messenger. Liam: Hey you. Glad pizza is good. I’m on layover in Denver. Charger is in my suitcase and my phone died. :( I’ll call from hotel. Love you. Liam:⛧ H̷̞̞̥̬̘͉͍̘̞̥̻͐ͧ̌ͩͦ̃ͬ̀͢e͒ͦ̋ͮͩ̄͐̌̽̌́҉̵͖͉̥͈̰̭͈̥̥͖̯̣͇͕ ̵̼͚̲̻͇͓͕̘͈̙̜̱̠̦̳͎ͥ͒̒̅́̋̏͂̐̀ͫ́ͪͯ̈̅͡ͅi͕̩̮̪̝̝͎ͦ͗͛ͮ̂ͨͥͩ̄̀s̛̛̭̟͕̤͔͋̇͛̈́ͅ ̨̆ͦͩ̿̃ͨ̐̎̓̈ͭ́̅ͧ̉͋̚̚͝҉̸̪̩̹̟̙̝͍͘hͨͪ͌͛͂͗͂̂ͯ͋ͨ̇̓̇̒̆҉҉̰̫̥̪̻̲̦̙͟ͅe̎̊̊̉̈ͦ͒̂͟͠͠҉̯̬̻͇͉̹͚̱̤͇͍̗͖̠̟ͅr̵̢͓̖̠̼̘̦̞͙̹̻̬̭͎̗͙̻̲̮ͥ̎̂̈ͪͫ̀ͤ̽̄̈ͤͨ̃͒ͯ͂̀̚͡ͅē̛̦͎̗̖̠̊ͩͤ͐̆̐̑̈́͒̎̾̀͘̕ ̸̙̳̪̦̼̳̜̰̩̰̩̘̮̞͍͎̈ͬ̈́̀͗ͫͨ̕͟͢͠w̌͂̀ͬ͌̑͐̽ͮͯ̄̎̆̚҉̠̹̜̻̭̀̀i̧̾ͬ̂̊̆ͩͦͭ͆҉͔͙̖̖̥̙̫̀ţ̶̛̝͚̺͓̘̠̌̏͑̎ͧ̌̑͒ͦ͒ͥ̀͆͌ͫͅḩ̤̣̠͇̿ͫͩͭ̽̋͋ͭ͋͛͘͘͡ ̘͙̘̦̫̣̠̥ͤ́ͪ͆́͐͌ͩ̅͑͑ͤ̌̇̕y̡̙͍̠̝̰̪̻̫̥͎̗̹̯̟͇̥̦̓ͧ̓ͬ̓̓ͩ͗ͯ̀̚͝͞͠ͅò̶͇͎̝̟͙̗̰͖͚͙͇̱̮̟̀ͫͥ̋̿̉̊̃ͯ̑̏̕̕͟ͅų̷̩͕̬̩̳̩͇͓̘̳̻̙͎̄̃̅ͭ̐̇ͪ̀̒ͪͤ̿̅̐̈́̇͠.̈ͫ̒̓̈́́ͨ̅͊ͣ̈ͥ̕͜҉̢̥̟̤̙̻̰͎͚͚̞̻͉̙̫̦̭ ⛧ The second message had two pentagrams surrounding dozens of incomprehensible words and symbols. I blinked. They were still there. I took a screenshot, closed the app, and reopened the messages. The symbols and gibberish had changed to real words. Liam: ♡ Hope you enjoy your movie and alone time. ♡ Rubbing my eyes, I sighed. Time for bed. I turned everything off and headed upstairs, ignoring the chuckling and shadow that crept behind me in any mirrors I passed. As I laid down, my phone started to buzz. I sat back up. A local number was calling me. Why so late? It was almost 9pm. I silenced the ringer. If it was important, they’d leave a message. That night was restless. I kept moving and dreaming of a shadow behind me. I dreamt of living in my video game, all stealth and assassin. I dreamt of killing someone. I woke up with a start. I had a voicemail from last night. It was 3:30am. There was a message in my email from the hospital telling me the boy with the cuts had died. “Don’t laugh, it’s rude,” I told the shadow in the mirror. I listened to the voicemail as the shadow and I walked into the bathroom. “Hi, this is Lisa from Liam’s office. Liam never made it to the airport and his phone goes straight to voicemail. You’re his emergency contact, so we just wanted to check and make sure he’s alright. Thanks!” Liam’s green eyes stared up at me from the bathtub, no longer vibrant and full of life. A huge gaping wound glistened on his neck. My shadow friend nodded with approval as I set our phones on the sink counter. I knelt to the tub and slipped my hand into the warmth, sighing, utterly content.


12 October 2012 The Gorda Springs Inn is a popular resort in Big Sur, California; its spectacular beach, with its white sand and blue water, attracts campers, hikers, and musicians and movie stars trying to escape civilization. Leonardo Flores, the manager of the holiday resort, probably thought that his day was going to be the same as the rest, but something told him all was not well: two guests still hadn’t checked out of the apartment when they should have. ‘What the hell is wrong with them?’ he asked himself and started walking up towards the two women’s rooms. He didn’t know what was waiting for him beyond the door. A week before, the two women checked into the $250, one-bedroom, wooden, ocean-view vacation home. Upon booking, they oddly asked the owner not to rent out the room next door. However, the resort was unable to comply with this request. They refused daily cleanup. Regardless, the two women appeared perfectly normal to witnesses at the hotel, with no signs of anything out of the ordinary. However, One evening a man who was next door with his family complained that something was wrong with the couple. He said that they were making too much noise and that it was keeping his family up at night. During the night, there was a loud banging on the wall of the house and a man knocked on Tapia and Toves’ door. ‘Could you please stop making noise?!’ - the man shouted at the door but there was no answer. When one of the women opened the door more than 15 minutes later, he didn’t say a word; she simply shut the door in the man’s face. Abigail Tapia, 27, and Jacqueline Toves, 26, who lived together in a Long Beach apartment, were lying side by side on their backs on a double bed in the room. Their hands were bound together with duct tape and their heads were covered by black plastic garbage bags, which were also taped down. Tapia’s hands and feet were tightly bound, while the rope tying Toves was much looser. One of them wore a grinning Halloween mask placed on the bag, while another mask lay on the bed. The same mask, incidentally, was later discovered by police on the door of the two women’s home when they visited it. The Monterey County sheriff said it was a double suicide and that’s how the case was being handled. There was no sign of burglary, robbery or violence. The room appeared to be clean and no signs of a struggle were found. What was found in the room, however, were two letters - one typed, the other handwritten and dated late September. ‘The letters, addressed to family members, indicated that the women planned the double suicide together,’ authorities said. ‘It was clear from the letters that they were both desperate and wanted to carry this out,’ said Monterey Sheriff’s Commander Fred Garcia, who led the investigation. Garcia, however, declined to elaborate on the contents of the letters but revealed that Toves, who was unemployed, owed $63,000. ‘I spoke to my daughter every week and she gave me no cause for concern the last time we spoke. I want to find out what happened and I want to know the truth. My daughter is a happy and spirited girl,’ Toves’ father said when told of the sheriff’s suicide theory. The only flaw in the story is that the father said his daughter apparently suffered from depression two years ago and had to be hospitalized once because of it - could it have any significance? The two women checked into the $250, one-bedroom, wooden, ocean-view vacation home on October 3. Upon booking, they oddly asked the owner not to rent out the room next door. However, the resort was unable to comply with this request. The daily cleanup was specifically refused. On Wednesday, they ordered pasta and a bowl of clam chowder from the inn’s Whale Watcher Cafe and took it back to their room. Regardless, the two women appeared perfectly normal to witnesses at the hotel, with no signs of anything out of the ordinary. The autopsy results only raised further questions. Neither woman suffered any external injuries, with no signs of bruising or stabbing. Traces of alcohol and intermittent recreational drug use were found in their blood, but not in amounts that could have been dangerous. The suicides seem to be quite common in and around Big Spur. While many attribute this to the depression and loneliness that seem to plague the area, some suspect the presence of mysterious forces at work. Over the centuries, hikers and tourists have reported sightings of shadowy people in the region. Some say that these figures are the spirits of those who have taken their own lives. Others claim that they are something more sinister. Whatever the case may be, the presence of these dark entities has made Big Spur a place of fear and mystery. Some people overcame a sense of helplessness and despair and they can’t explain it. They feel as if they were being watched over by some higher power. But there are reports of an unknown creature appearing from time to time at the nearby Fernwood Campground, appearing to wear a mask. The creature is associated with the Essenes Indian tribe, who is believed to still have a presence in the area due to their anger at being subjugated by settlers in the past. These stories do not explain this death, but they are worth noting. The creature is said to be tall and lanky, with a long face that is half-hidden by a mask made of leaves and twigs. The eyes of the creature are said to be black and piercing, and it is said to have a voice that is both calming and frightening. Some say that the creature is a spirit guide, come to help those who are lost. Others say that it is a demon, that comes to claim the souls of those who have died. Others, however, have reported several recent deaths in the area: in August, a 38-year-old man and a 34-year-old woman were reportedly found dead in an SUV in an isolated area far north of Gorda. A hose from the exhaust pipe led to the rear window, and the couple is believed to have died in June. Also, in recent months, a man was found hanging from a tree a few miles south of Gorda, according to several Big Sur residents. Several suicides also occurred at Camel Middle School following the incident, but also on the Bixby Creek Bridge. In addition, there have been mysterious deaths on the roadside. If we look at the case more closely, however, we can see that the picture does not quite add up. Police say that Tapia first tied Toves’ hands and feet together, then his own, and then pulled the bag over his head and died peacefully next to his partner. This is possible but unlikely. It is the basic instinct of all living things that if suffocation occurs or an obstruction in the airflow of the lungs, we will struggle to breathe. It is impossible to suffocate without calmly allowing life to escape. It is sad that tragic events are happening in such a gorgeous and attractive place. The sun always seems to be shining here, and the sky is a deep, rich blue. The flowers are so vibrant and the trees are so tall. It’s almost as if this place is too good to be true. Supernatural or not, something makes people meet their doom. There’s a feeling in the air like something is watching you. And when the wind blows, it seems to whisper secrets.


Throbbing, empty, and distraught, I rested my skull against the vibrating windows of the great bullet train. Soaring Carrion Crows glided far above in the deep ocean sky, below the hidden moon but above the silky clouds. Them and I were one in the same, wandering in a vast world that held nothing at its core. A cruel place pitted against you. An impossible game of push and pull against god himself. “We have arrived at Narusawa, Yamanashi.” There I stood at the foot of the dense forest, nicknamed the ‘Sea of Trees’ or the ‘Suicide Forest’. The great mountain stood far back in the thick woodlands, though its peak shone brighter with a pride greater than any other. My eyes naturally drifted along the beautiful landscape. From the mighty white peak of Fuji-san, to the bushy green leaves far below and finally the dark forest floor, littered with bushes and various flora. I was ready. I entered the forest cautiously. It was awfully peaceful in here, like a sanctuary sealed off from the other worlds. The chirps from the birds, the sharp crunches from the dead leaves under me, and the whistling of the winds all harmonized together like a great symphony. However, this was not the time to appreciate the surrounding beauty yet, as the faint roars of the distant cars could still be heard. It was time to head in further and abandon the path ahead of me. The sounds of the cars grew smaller and weaker, as did any traces of society. I was now alone for sure. I sat down, placing the back of my head on the jagged bark of a large needleleaf tree. Small specks of sunlight pierced through the small openings in the leaves and branches, bestowing its warmth upon my skin. I could feel its delicate warmth; it resembled my mother’s touch. “Hi there, mister,” came an unknown voice. Startled, I jerked my head to the side to face the unknown voice. It belonged to a young Japanese girl who looked no older than 7. She fashioned simple and childish clothes, as expected from her age, but it was how clean they were which made her presence very uncanny. “What are you doing here, mister?” the keen, little voice continued. I stuffed the rope behind the tree from where she was facing, hoping to hide it. Whatever she was, she didn’t need to know the truth. No one did. “Just relaxing,” I lied. Her head turned slowly to the side and her eyes met something far in the distance, beyond the countless trees and deep in the forest. With that, the once large smile from her face sank into a slight frown, as though she was disappointed. “No one ever walks off the main path for an adventure anymore. All they want to do is die, just like you mister. Am I right?” The symphonies started once again, with the rustling leaves from the surrounding trees, the soothing songs from the singing birds, and the soft voice from the young girl. Though this girl’s voice had different air to it. When compared to the roaring screams and constant chatter of the people in the city, her voice was like a warm shallow creek or a bird chirping happily in Spring. It felt as she was a part of the forest, as if she were born and belonged there. I let out a soft sigh, giving up on my small ploy. “Yes, I have come to commit suicide. Anything wrong about- “ “Why?” The girl cut in abruptly. “Well... life has just been cruel to me. I don’t think you would understand, kid, but there’s just no more point in walking this earth and living this life of which I’ve never asked for,” I said. She looked down to the hard ground and pondered. After some time collecting dust and too into dusk, she looked back up at me. “Come,” she suggested. I followed her, although hesitantly. The thoughts of who she was and why she was here in such an isolated place still loomed in my head. We trekked through numerous creeks, through many trees, and even passed by a through bodies on the way by. Curious, I asked, “So how did you get here? “I forgot,” she said. “What?” I replied stunned. “I’ve been here for a long time. As long as these trees, so give me a break,” she said bluntly. “So, you can’t remember?” “That’s right. Though I have a feeling that I’m somehow linked to the Shinto here.” she said. “Anyways, we’re almost there.” After a little more walking, we arrived at a small clearing. In the middle, sat a lone Shinto Shrine. Its presence dominating the empty expanse, like a crimson flare in the dead of the night. We approached it closer, being careful to not step on the myriad flowers of which filled the ground generously. “Pray to it,” she smiled. I gave her a confused look and just decided to give in. I went down on my knees, shut my eyes, and gave my prayers. I wasn’t sure to which god or being I was praying to, but all I hoped for was a change in my life, hopefully a change for the better. I opened my eyes after finishing my prayer. A dark void appeared in front of me. A gaping borehole, just one misguided step away. I instinctively scurried back but was stopped by a pair of hands on my lower back. I felt a firm push. I turned my head, looking back, and she was there. Her two hands lurched out front as she smiled, as if she were happy for me. “I hope you understand now,” she whispered, and just as quickly as she appeared, she was gone along with the ground beneath me. An endless pit. I stared down into the dark below, panicking. My stomach churned from within, and my heart drummed like thunder. The wind no longer howled above me but screamed in my ears as I dropped. Black, despairing, hopeless, relentless. Everything in this hell hole, everything in this life of mine. We were one the same, just as with the birds, and the trees, and perhaps everything that ever came to live. However, with every dark cloud came a silver lining. Within the darkness and shadows that consumed both my mind and me, there was a spark of light. Within the nearing grasp of death, my mind escaped from its timely leash, and I began to reminisce. Reminisce on the times with my family, the great events that filled my life, and the beauty of a world filled with light, not darkness. This was what it felt like to live. As these memories surfaced in my mind, a small light at far down in the abyss surfaced too. The light slowly became more immense and grew as I continued to travel towards it at terminal velocity. I reached out my hand towards it, gathering all my might and battling against the counterforces that shackled me. The light got larger and larger, until all that was left was light, and oddly a small bed at the bottom. I landed in the bed with ease, sinking my face in the soft bedsheets, somehow unscathed. I brought my head above and peered around. It was my room. There was no longer any darkness or light around, just my room. Confused, I got up from my bed and looked up above, only to find the ceiling. This was no dream, this was real. This was her. I ripped open the curtains and in came the bright morning sun. The birds were chirping once again.


My name is Dante, and we get to eat the last box of cookies today. We’ve been saving them for something special. Today is special because I am five. I was four yesterday, and before that I was three, two, and one. Before I was one, I was in Babe’s tummy. Drake put me there. Drake is twenty-two. Babe is twenty-one. I’m so excited for the cookies. We will get to eat them instead of potatoes from the bathroom. Babe and Drake put a garden in the bathroom when I was two. I put poo in there to feed the food. We put seeds in there from old food, but they can’t be wet seeds. Seeds must dry before they grow. Never eat seeds, even if you are really hungry. Babe always says “Eating a potato seed today won’t fill you up the way a potato would tomorrow.” The rest of the cookies were gone a long time ago. Babe ate them when I was in her tummy. I’m so hungry that sometimes I will eat the leaves off of the plants when Drake isn’t in the bathroom. Drake was in the bathroom all night trying to fix the generator. We stopped using the generator for seeing lights when I was two. Now we only use it for the food lights in the bathroom. The food lights feed plants like the sun used to do. I’ve never seen the sun. The sun lives Outside with God and dogs and cars and rain and heaven and trees and buildings. It used to make light Outside until it stopped. Drake says God isn’t real, but Babe always yells at him when he says that. I don’t think God or the sun is real. Babe tried to show me a picture of the sun once. It was in the kindling. Babe will stare at the kindling for hours with her brown hair hiding her face before giving it to Drake to make fire. She says the stories hide in the kindling. I shook the kindling as hard as I could, but no stories fell out. It’s really cold everywhere in Wal-Mart. Yesterday, it was warm in the bathroom because of the food lights. Today it isn’t because we don’t have any more oil. Oil smells bad. We make it warm near the dressing room by making fire. Drake will start by setting fire to kindling with the old sparks from the night before. Then Babe will add pieces of chairs, or shelves to make it burn longer. I tried to make fire to surprise them once, but I messed up. The fire on the kindling was so pretty; I tried to pick it up to show Drake. My hands are rough and scratchy where the fire bit me. The floor is black where I held the fire. Babe sometimes points to different places on the floor and tells me stories about the spots. The biggest spot is brown and black. It’s outside the dressing room. That’s where I left Babe’s tummy. There is a brown spot where the floor changes from carpet to tile. I threw up there back when I was sick. Babe was really scared because the medicine was old. She didn’t want to give me medicine to make me better because it might have made me dead. I didn’t want to eat the medicine either, but Drake made me and I got better. Everyday I go shopping with Babe. I push the cart to make my muscles strong and Babe puts food in the cart for us to eat. I don’t know why she never adds more food. I used to ask her to put more food in, but she would start crying. I don’t ask anymore. There’s not much food on the shelf anymore. That’s why we can’t eat as much. Once a week, we take the cart to the toy aisle and I get to put a toy in the cart. I like the puzzles the best. The pieces fit together and make a picture. When I’m done with a puzzle Babe tells me all about the picture. My favorite puzzle had bears on it. Bears eat salmon. When I finish a puzzle, Drake adds it to the kindling. After we shop, Drake meets us in the dressing room. We eat on the futon where we sleep. We have eleven blankets to make the futon softer. Babe and Drake keep me warm with their bodies. Drake’s hair smells like oil. It makes me sneeze. Babe tells me a story every night before we sleep. My favorite story is about how Babe and Drake came to Wal-Mart. ••• Goldville was evacuated. Evacuated means everybody left. Goldville is with the sun and God and dogs and cars and rain and heaven and trees and buildings. Babe and Drake were driving the car that’s by the gates. Then there was an earthquake. That means the floor shook a lot. Drake got distracted by the earthquake and crashed into the doors. The doors used to be where the gate is. The bathroom has a door. The dressing rooms don’t have doors. They have curtains. Babe and Drake sat in the car for a while until Drake’s ears heard a jingle. The gates were closing. They shut with a bang! The gates were supposed to keep bad people from stealing food from Wal-Mart. Stealing means taking things without giving money for it. Babe says I don’t need to know what money is because it’s too complicated. We aren’t stealing because we aren’t taking the food Outside of Wal-Mart. The roads Outside were broken, and a lamppost fell over in front of the Wal-Mart. A lamppost is a really tall seeing light for when the sun leaves at night. It’s always night now. Babe and Drake couldn’t get out because of the gates were blocking the Outside, so they went back to the car and turned on the radio. The radio beeped and then turned on the emergency station. The guy hiding in the radio said, “The earthquake has reached 7.6 on the Richter Magnitude scale. Its epicenter is in Gardiner, Montana.” “That’s only a few hours north of here!” shouted Babe. “What are we going to do?” “Babe, calm down.” Drake comforted Babe this way ever since they met. “This building is solid. It’s not going anywhere. You-” He was interrupted by the radio’s fuzzy voice. “Prepare for aftershocks. Find shelter under a doorframe, or sturdy table. If you are Outside move away from buildings and power lines that can fall on you. Crouch on the ground and tuck your head into your knees. Protect your neck with your hands.” The radio kept talking as Drake and Babe fought about what to do. “Drake! We have to get out! The building might fall in!” Babe was very scared. Tears slid down her pink cheeks, but Drake calmed her down and made her stay in the car. The car would protect them from falling stuff. The shelves are all bolted to the floor so they didn’t fall, but everything fell off the shelves. The floor started to shake again and Babe and Drake crouched on the seats until it stopped. Glass bottles crashed to the ground and broke. The guy in the radio kept talking but Babe and Drake couldn’t hear anything over the rumbling. The floor makes noise when an earthquake happens. “The after shock...rumble rumble...Yellowstone.... Erupting ... Crash!... Ash in the air..Boom!...Seal doors and windows...Bang!” Then, the radio stopped working and the second earthquake stopped. There were a lot more tiny earthquakes before Drake got out of the car to look around. There was broken glass everywhere. Don’t touch broken glass or you will bleed. Tables were knocked over and a lot of signs broke off of the walls. Fish tanks in the pet aisle were broken and fish flopped all over the floor in the glass. Drake tried to save the fish and put them in a big bucket of water. The fish all died and he later used that water to fertilize the bathroom. The pink tub for my bath used to be that bucket. Drake wasn’t scared at all until he looked Outside. In the sky was a big gray cloud moving closer and closer. It was the ash from the volcano. A volcano is an evil mountain that squirts lava and ash into the air. “Get out of the car!” Drake yelled. Babe didn’t want to leave the safety of the car, but she had to help. They grabbed the same cart that we still use for shopping and picked stuff from the mess. Babe and Drake worked together to put layers of tarps, blankets, and shower curtains over the gates to keep the ash from making their lungs not work. Lungs keep you alive by making you breathe. They didn’t just cover the gates. They covered windows and cracks in the walls attaching them all with a nail gun and duct tape. Anywhere that air could get in was protected from the ash. It took a whole day for them to start eating the food because they didn’t have money to pay for it. Drake and Babe were scared of getting in trouble. Nobody came to help by then so Drake got some yogurt from the refrigeration section. Dairy stuff was eaten first so it didn’t expire. Expired food can make you sick. After a week they started to eat the meat, it was cooked in the Subway. The Subway used to be filled with sandwich stuff but it’s all gone now. The layer of blankets by the gate was starting to bulge by then. The ash was falling and building up in front of the store. Babe felt it through the tarps. Eventually the ash would’ve broken through the blankets and tarps. Babe and Drake could’ve been buried alive. So they nailed some flat boards from the shelves to the wall and put layers of shelves in front of the gates to keep the ash out. They took tabletops from subway to block the windows once the ash started to reach window height as well. They ate the produce and frozen stuff together. I remember the last package of hot dogs. They tasted so good. The fire makes a crinkly black part on the hot dogs. It looked like my hands. I liked hotdogs because they were like me. On the last day of hotdogs, I ate an entire half! Some of the produce rotted before we got to eat it, but Drake took the seeds to the bathroom to make new food. Not all of the seeds grew but the ones that did, became food. Now we only have non-perishables left. That means the food won’t go bad. But the potatoes are dying and there’s not much food left. ••• One month later... I have a new favorite story now, and I would like to tell it to you today. It starts the day after my birthday. Babe was crying about how we were all going to die. She told me all about the outside world and why we couldn’t leave even if we wanted to because the ash built up taller than the doors long ago. Drake was listening to the story too and suddenly stood up. For the first time ever Drake told a story. It wasn’t about the past. It was about the future. He remembered that Wal-Mart shared a wall with a grocery store Outside. A grocery store is a place like Wal-Mart but filled with food. If we broke the wall, we would just end up inside of the grocery store. He tapped all along the wall to find a place in the concrete without metal beams and drew a door on the wall with chalk. Then he got a big hammer that’s called a sledgehammer and he started hitting the wall with it. He must’ve hit it over a gazillion times! Soon enough we could see through the hole. After 3 days worth of work there was a hole big enough for me to crawl though. I was really scared but Babe pushed me through the hole. Babe and Drake couldn’t fit though the hole because they are adults. I crawled out into the dark, and it smelled like inside the bathroom. Then my eyes started to see from the fire on the Wal-Mart side of the hole. There were inches and inches of gray dust on everything. There was shelf in front of me and boxes on the floor. There were so many boxes everywhere. I picked one up that looked familiar. I brushed off the gray dust, and there was a picture of cookies on the front! I opened the box from the top carefully to not rip the kindling. I did it just like Drake showed me. There were twelve precious cookies and I ate them all as fast as I could. Babe couldn’t stop me from the other side of the hole. I ate two more boxes before I remembered why I was here. I took as many boxes as I could back to the hole and pushed them through. Drake and Babe pulled me through and then we all ate together. It was the happiest moment of my life. The next day, Drake made the hole bigger and we all went shopping in the grocery store. There was a gazillion cans of food. All the produce was rotten but we found seeds for the garden and batteries for our flashlights. Babe says the grocery store is called Super Giant. I think she’s wrong. The grocery store is called heaven.


Ryan peered over his newspaper as Jesse entered the coffee shop and walked to the counter. Hating surprises, Ryan always sat where he could see the door. ‘What’s he doing here? Does he never stop?’ Ryan knew his nemesis always appeared without warning. Though it sometimes felt there was no escape, he prided himself on always finding an out. ‘Look at him. He can go anywhere, any time, and savor a rich, extra foam cappuccino, while I pinch pennies on the go. So unfair.’ In no hurry, Jesse stood as if modeling his tailored suit, awaiting his turn. He could afford the few minutes spent to get his coffee made to order. When his creditor addressed the barista, Ryan took his chance to slip out the door. Hood up, he huddled against the wind and sipped his black coffee as he jaywalked to the park. ‘He won’t be there. Who would go there in this cold?’ Ryan found a tree and leaned against the downwind side. He kept his eye on the coffee shop so no one could sneak up on him. ‘This sucks. How can I enjoy a simple coffee in the morning?’ Ryan chuckled. ‘Of course, I could pay my debt. Or fly to the moon? Just as easy... No guarantee he wouldn’t follow... or be there waiting.’ He shivered against a blast of wind. ‘...Bet the moon is warmer, though. No wind. ’ He thought about his missteps leading to his current quandary. He’d never been a gambler, but a juicy opportunity came along. He’d have made a killing if... That sure thing would have set him for life. Too good to pass up, he’d borrowed what he needed from Jesse, his best friend, to be repaid within the year. They’d once been closer than brothers. That was two years ago. But it all went south. Everything. The economy dived. Ryan lost everything, job, girlfriend, respect. Now he scraped by on unemployment and odd jobs. Who could see that coming? ‘Damn! ’ He couldn’t pay. Humiliated, Ryan broke from Jesse and his whole circle of friends. It was too much. ‘ How they must laugh together while living the high life. ’ He spent his days here and there, looking for work. Trying to survive. Once a highflyer, like his friends, he had no references. Any job he sought, he risked meeting someone from his past, a friend of Jesse’s. He felt his life drawn into the eddy of a slowly draining sink. Lately, it seemed he spent more time hiding than anything. Getting creative, Ryan became a master of avoidance. He dressed differently. Changed his car. Delisted his phone. Moved to a different, cheaper, neighborhood. After months, there was no relief in sight. He couldn’t sit at a bar for a simple drink. If someone sat next to him, he had to leave. Might be a friend of Jesse’s. ‘ Make new friends? You’ve gotta be kidding. ’ It’s a big city, but a small town. Yet, it was never enough. It felt like Jesse always found him. Yet, he never confronted. Not Jesse’s style. He didn’t even acknowledge him, like at the coffee shop. But he was always there. Present. ‘ Is he toying with me? Rubbing my nose in my failures? ’ Ryan stamped his feet against the cold. ‘ What’s he doing in there? ’ He thought about what he’ll do when finally confronted. ‘ He gonna shake me down? Break my kneecaps? No. He’ll look sad, play the ‘guilt’ card. I’ll tell him what I really think. And to stop harassing me.’ A late model limo pulled up and idled outside the coffee shop. It was Jesse’s. One night, outside a club, he saw that whale of a limo. Though tempted to kick out a taillight, he stopped himself. That rich pleasure would’ve been fleeting. Not Ryan’s way. ‘ There could have been witnesses. But the memory is sweet. That would’ve felt good. Boy, he’d have been pissed... ’ Setting his coffee down, Ryan ran in place to warm himself. ‘It’s his fault for trusting me. What did he expect, the fool, lending a fortune to a friend? Who does that? Calls himself a businessman. Didn’t even ask questions.’ Ryan ducked behind the tree as Jesse exited the coffee shop and got into the limo. It pulled away. ‘ Not only a limo, but a new one?’ He scoffed at the license plate: GR8CRDT. He downed his tepid coffee and tossed the cup. ‘ Screw him. Doesn’t need my money anyway.’ Feeling liberated, he walked toward his apartment block. ‘ Not watched. Not tracked. A few minutes peace from that bastard’s relentless pursuit.’ Ryan looked over his shoulder. ‘ Unless he drove around the block for a ‘gotcha!’’ He dismissed the paranoid fantasy. ‘ Don’t get crazy, Ry. Jesse doesn’t obsess over this.’ He waited at a light and watched the cloud of his breath shred and vanish. A delivery truck idled across the street. ‘ Get work with them? No. Might have to make a delivery to Jesse. Can’t do that.’ He weighed Jesse’s losses against his. ‘ The money, his time chasing me, the respect of his pals... What a dope... ’ It would feel good to get home, away from prying eyes, into the warmth of his modest apartment. Safe. ‘Feeling pursued isn’t paranoid when one is actually hunted.’ Ryan knew how a rabbit feels when pursued by a pack of coyotes sniffing at its trail. ‘ Can only do what it can do. Be ever vigilant. ’ As Ryan walked, the nagging fear crept back into his mind. ‘ Is this who I’m becoming? Or am I realizing I’ve always been a loser?’ He never expected to pay it back. It was just too much. He didn’t like it, but could admit the facts, at least to himself. These days, he only talked to himself. ‘When the principle’s added to the accrued interest... no way I can pay it. But indentured servitude was outlawed a century ago.’ Ryan knew bankruptcy remained an option. That would free him on a legal basis. Debtor’s prison was his idea of a joke. The issue wasn’t legal, though, but his betrayal of friendship. He would be admitting failure and dishonor. ‘ Where does one go for relief from that?’ He got to his building and entered the lobby. The warm air felt good. He summoned the elevator. Hunger gnawed at him. ‘What can be done? Must I resign myself to this miserable destiny? I’m tapped out. No money. No ideas. Can’t do it alone. It’s simply beyond my ability.’ The elevator door opened and Ryan stepped inside. He moved to press the button for his floor. Jesse stood before him. The doors closed. ‘ No escape. ’ Jesse blocked the buttons. Ryan backed into the rear wall. Eyes locked. Jesse said, “Ryan, we need to talk.” “Jess, I’m sorry. I don’t know how... But I’m gonna...” “Listen, Ryan. Forget the debt. Consider it paid.” Ryan stopped. He felt dizzy. ‘ Am I hallucinating? ’ “Jess? What are you talking about? I owe you so much. I have to pay you, but...” “Didn’t you hear me? It’s paid. You’re out of debt. Don’t owe me a cent.” Ryan fell silent. ‘Is this a joke? Are there cameras? ’ “But how? Why, Jess?” “That debt was crushing your life. I can’t do that to you.” “Yeah, but...” “Ryan...” “I want to make good... have to...” “It’s done, Ry. Nothing to do.” “What if...” “Doesn’t matter. You’re good. Relax.” The debt had distanced them. But also bound them together. ‘ What now? ’ “I hear you, Jess. Thank you. How can I thank you?” “Live your life.” “But... Is that it? Can we ever be friends again?” “Of course, Ryan. Always have been. That’s the point.” Tears streamed down Ryan’s face. He couldn’t speak. They embraced. Jesse held Ryan at arm’s length. They smiled. “Welcome back, Ry. I’ve missed you.” Ryan looked at him in awe, trying to comprehend. Jesse opened the elevator door to the lobby. Ryan walked out and into the sunlight. He stood, face up, feeling the rays, the warmth. A gentle breeze ruffled his hair. Alive, he felt every quivering molecule. A leaf danced and spun to the ground. A bird chirped. Children played in the distance. All was well. He felt free.


Princess Patricia took the casserole out of the oven and placed it on the counter. “Bucky call your brother; it’s time for dinner.” Without looking up from his homework, Bucky shouted, “Dizzy! Mom says it’s time to eat!” “You know I could have done that too,” Bucky’s mom walked past and patted his oversized head. Bucky tapped his enormous front teeth and laughed. “So why didn’t you?” “Good question. Is that the garage?” Bucky hopped out of his chair and ran to the widened side door to greet his father. The doorknob turned, and there was father in all his glory, the Green Maniac. His father dropped to one knee Bucky ran into his father’s arms, one slightly greener than the other. “Bucky! What’s the word on the street?” “I checked the rankings -- you’re still #1!” “No surprise there! And how’s your Mum?” “She’s making dinner.” “Well, let’s go say hello then.” The Green Maniac and Bucky Buckaroo funny walked into the kitchen. “Hello, Mum.” The Green Maniac kissed his wife. “Hello, yourself. Just in time for dinner. Jeez, where’s Dizzy?” “I’ll get him, Mum.” “If you’re going to scream -- “ “No, I’ll go up and get him.” Bucky bounced up the steps and down the hall until he reached the bedroom to the left of his parents. There was a large red KEEP OUT sign hanging by a thread, but Bucky never paid attention to that. “Bucky c’mon Mum said -- “his mouth felt like someone turned off the faucet. “GETOUTOFHERE!” Dizzy jumped up and pushed his younger brother by almost four years back into the hallway. Bucky was too in shock to put up a struggle against his larger sibling. The door slammed shut, and Bucky ran downstairs. “Mum, Mum, Mum!” “What is it? Did you get your brother?” “He -- he was...he...” His father was in the living room, sitting in his chair. He was performing his nightly post-work ritual, drinking his ginger and rye, and reading the paper. Without looking up, he said, “Well, spit it out, Bucky.” “He was talking to a girl!” The word caused The Green Maniac to spit half his drink onto the paper. “What did you say?” Bucky ran into the room and repeated the words, still in shock. “He was talking to a girl!” “We will see about that!” The Green Maniac stood up, causing his newspaper to explode in the air like a cheap firework. Princess Patricia shouted from the kitchen, “Now Green don’t you -- “ “Stay out of this, Patricia!” The Green Maniac charged up the stairs without a funny bounce in sight. He paced down the hallway and reached for the handle, only to find it was locked. He banged on the door with severe intent. “Dizzy! Dizzy the Whirling Tornado, you open this door up right now!” Dizzy was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. He knew his father could flatten the door if he wanted to -- hell that already happened three years prior. He knew not to test the old man. Dizzy opened the door and refused to make eye contact. “Yeah?” “Your brother told me...” “My brother should mind his own business!” The Green Maniac’s eyes widened, and Dizzy backed down. “Sorry.” “Sit.” Dizzy listened to his father and sat on the edge of the bed; the Green Maniac sat down next to him. “Your brother told me he saw you speaking with...a girl?” “So?” “So? Dizzy, you’re a mascot. I’m a mascot. Your mom and your brother, we’re all mascots. And what do we do?” Dizzy knew this speech; he had heard it a million times and answered without enthusiasm. “We entertain.” “And who do we entertain?” “The masses.” “And what are the masses?” “People.” “And what’s the first rule of people?” “We don’t get to know them.” “AND WE CERTAINLY DON’T FALL IN LOVE WITH THEM!” Dizzy couldn’t help himself and blurted out, “Marjorie and I aren’t in love!” “Ohh, so her name is Marjorie. And I suppose her father is a dentist and her mother sells Mary Kay?” “You think you know so much about her, but you don’t.” The Green Maniac opened his mouth and paused. He needed his son to understand, and he knew what had to be said. “Listen to me. I know...I know what you’re going through.” “How? You don’t know what it’s like.” “Oh, son, but I do...I do.” His father’s eyes looked out the window, and the silence hung between them. Dizzy dared not breaking the spell. “Once, when I was a young Maniac, there was a girl...” “What? Really? Does Mum -- “ “Quiet. And no, your Mum doesn’t know, so let’s keep this between us. Or we can try another route which won’t be as pleasant.” Dizzy knew it involved the Green Maniac’s massive oven mitts for hands and decided to shut up. “Good. When I was about your age, I was mascoting for the local minor league team where I was born. One day I was strolling through the crowd, minding my own business when I locked eyes with the prettiest human I ever saw. Even better, she thought I was the funniest damn thing she ever saw. The rest of the game, I hung out in her section, making her laugh, getting drunk off that laughter. It was intoxicating.” “What happened?” “What happened was the game ended, and she left with her dad. But before she did, she wrote her number on a piece of paper and shoved it under my belly for me to find later.” “Did you call her?” “You bet I did. I didn’t even wait for the next day, I called her that night, and we spoke until sunrise. It was the best night of my life...up till I met your Mum obviously.” “Yeah. So how did it end?” “You know how it ended. It ended with her father finding out about us and chopping off my left arm with a machete.” The Green Maniac held up his left arm for his son to look at, a different shade of green. “You told us you lost your arm on a USO tour in Vietnam!” “I know what I told you, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll remember that story too. But I’m telling you this now because you’re nearly a man, and you deserve to know the truth.” “Does Mum know?” “I think she has her suspicions, and she keeps it at that.” “But Dad, it’s different now. It’s not like it was back then. “ “I know that’s what you think, but Man doesn’t instantly forget its anti-Mascotian roots. They’ll be nice to your face, they’ll even invite you to dinner now, but they’ll never make you forget that you’re just a mascot. You exist to entertain, nothing more.” “I can’t just stop talking to her.” “No, unfortunately, I know how this is going to play out, and I know it’s useless for me to try and stop you from talking. You need to make this mistake now to prevent worse ones when you’re older. Just promise me one thing.” “What is it?” “You’ll never take off your suit.” Dizzy’s tongue rolled out of his mouth and hit the floor. “I would never!” “You say that now, son, but you don’t know what women are like. How persuasive they are. Just promise me you’ll honor your ancestors, who came from a different land. Promise me you’ll respect our traditions and not disgrace those who came before you.” “I promise you.” “Okay, I think if we don’t go downstairs and eat your Mum will blow her crown clear off her head.” The Green Maniac and Dizzy, the Whirling Tornado, stood up and shook hands. His dad turned to leave when Dizzy blurted out, “Hey, Dad?” “Yeah, son?” “What if she’s pregnant?” “The prophecy! It has come -- ” The Green Maniac turned and clutched at his heart. He was dead before he hit the floor. That night the moon turned a shade of red only talked about in ancient forgotten texts. At its apex, a baby was born “en caul.” “My baby! Let me see my baby!” Marjorie stretched out her arms, alone, exhausted, and desperate to hold the most precious thing in the world. The older man stood in the afterbirth and leaned over, ritually disemboweling her. He dipped his fingers and sprinkled the blood on the baby’s forehead.


When I was young my father told me to be afraid of angels. They spend their time lurking just beyond your sight, wearing beautiful faces that are overflowing with deadly demons teeth. He told me, once, that everyone meets an angel at least one time in their life, and then he looked at my mother with suspicion in his pale celery coloured eyes. I always hated celery, but I love my father dearly. Mother would always shake her head and scoff when he spoke of angels. You could always see it in her face when she looked at him that she loved that crazy man more than life itself. She told me that she could have the whole wide world, all its sweets and riches, but they were nothing but ash were he not there at her side. Tasteless and dull, ceaseless monotony worth less than the gravel under your shoes. She told me that when I asked if she loved him. Never quite had the courage to ask if she loved me. Some days I get real close to asking. Others... Well, I guess I just knew. I got my answer in the end. Sixteen years ago on the twenty first of May... I was still just a happy kid. God, I'll never forget the hot reek of blood in my nose. The damp warmth of the day clinging to my skin like a muggy film. It had been raining a lot, and the first clear day in over a week was a hot one. Authorities claimed some wild animal had done it, in the end. My father had been meaning to fix the back door for eons. The paint was chipped and peeling away, the rich colour of dark chocolate being ripped away by time, and the thing squeaked like you just stepped on a mouse. I walked in the front so I didn’t notice right away that the old back door had been torn from the house as if it were nothing at all. My focus was the strange, heavy, coppery smell. I remember calling for my mother clear as day and I swear I heard her call back to me. This sweet little hint of sound, strong and bold in ways I could never be. “I'm in the kitchen!” Now, her hands always shook a little, as far back as I can remember. My memories are fading now but her voice was always clear as a crystal glass. A little high-pitched and sweet as fresh fruit. The sound of her laugh gets fuzzier everyday. Fainter. Like she's leaving me behind even in my thoughts but to this day I know I heard her to me. “I'm in the kitchen!” So I kicked off my shoes and threw my favourite hoodie a little to the left onto the first step of the stairs. It usually smelled of cigarette smoke, yet never once in my life and I even held a cigarette. Somehow that sharp twisting smell remained stuck to the fabric. Angels, my father said. My mother scoffed, that sound only she could make into a gentle, loving embrace, and she told me; “It must be that boy that you hang around. Ernest? Aaron?” It was funny that he didn't smoke either. None of my friends did. We were never cool enough for that. In the end it doesn't really matter much. Doesn't stop me from walking into that kitchen and it doesn't take the memories away. Not even time could dull this day. The walls had always been this wretched shade of green. Sort of watery, almost yellow and almost tan but somehow not. They were solidly green, you couldn't call them anything else, yet they also weren’t really green. But that day they were painted anew. That day I saw them dripping fresh crimson in all of the places that there weren't holes. As thick is my wrist and more than a hand deep these gouges ripped through the walls almost clean to the other side. There wasn't anything left of my beautiful mother's throat. Her body was cold and stiff where she lay over what was left my father. He was hardly even recognizable anymore outside of the gold feather shaped pin on his jacket, and a single shining ivory orb betraying one of those familiar celery green eyes. There was love still gleaming from my mother’s glassy baby blues. It was that day, almost that very moment that I saw my first angel. Our back door was in the kitchen and through the hole left behind I saw a monster. Hunched over, with bones too sharp and muscles too thick, it's body wasted away like it was staving. Skin the colour of stolen dreams. Around it’s almost comically small head was a halo of horns. Golden daggers longer than my forearm arching upwards from its bare scalp. Scaly shoulders protected non-existent ear’s sloping downwards into too long limbs... Great webbed Wings, each bearing a single 'thumb' with a claw longer than one of my father’s old beer bottles. Each of its legs was longer than I was tall, thick as a saplings tree trunk and dyed a sticky scarlet that ended just inches above its knees. Gargantuan clawed feet arched away from the ground... Never did see its face. I called the police not long after, stuttering so badly I didn't even know what I was trying to say. Tears on my cheeks felt so sticky I was sure if I looked they be the same hue as the kitchen walls. I wonder what they thought walking into that mess. I tried to tell them what I saw on the yard. The one officer, a woman with almond-shaped eyes and hair darker than the night sky, told me I was in shock. She said she was very sorry for my loss. They couldn’t explain to me the bloody prints on the grass, two perfectly human looking footprints, two much larger, and two partial prints that were each tipped with four holes the size of my head. You know it's kind of funny. We never did find that old door.


Three men sat together for tea. A simple fisherman, a wise sage, and a man thought to be the most enlightened man in all the lands. The first two were old friends and spoke freely. The third simply sipped his tea and listened, as one might expect from a man so wise. The first man sighed and looked at the others. “My friends, I feel as though I am trapped. The mistakes I have made are like shackles, and I can never escape them. No matter what I do now, the past cannot be changed. Once a moment has past it is gone. Even the ones that feel close enough to touch are air when I try to grasp them, though they bind me like iron. I thought perhaps ones such as you could help me learn to accept the cage I find myself in and know peace.” The second man smiled and said “there is no need to accept a cage when you can escape it my friend. You see time like a great beast, gobbling up the moments of the past so only their echoes remain. But time is like a river, and once you see it, you can begin to learn how to swim.” So he took his friends hand and brought him back through the river of time to his youth, and showed him all the secrets he knew. And the fisherman saw the river, and thus he learned to swim. Together, they returned to the moment of the tea they had been having. “I can never thank you enough my friend” the fisherman said, embracing the sage as a brother, “you have shown me more of the world than I ever imagined existence, and freed me from the cruel prison of time.” Then for the first time, the third man spoke. “It is a powerful truth you have discovered, even if it is a lie.” “A lie,” the other two exclaimed, “how could it be a lie? We see the river of time before us and we swim in it’s currents.” “You see a single thread and think it the whole tapestry. The truth is that there are an infinite number of universes, where every possible event occurs. Everything you could ever imagine and an infinite number of possibilities you could not. And each of us is nothing more than a point of view. You do not go back in time and change what you have done, you simply choose to view a reality where things played out differently.” Turning to the first man, he laughed, a hollow sound bereft of mirth. “You were closer to the truth, for at least you knew you were trapped, even if you could not see the cage. For the terrible truth is this: you control nothing in this world or any other. Everything that might occur does, and though I can choose to experience anything possible, I control none of it. There is nothing new, nothing old, everything simply is.” And because an infinite lifetime of powerlessness had ground his soul to dust, and the only thing he could still feel was the pain of others, he chose to view a world where his words awoke this final enlightenment in the other two, and in sudden horror they fled this reality, screaming in the vaults of their minds and beating at the walls of cage they had never before felt, a cage that could never be escaped because it encompassed everything that ever could be. And the third man chose to view a world where the fleshy machine he was riding gave a cold, cruel smile.


“You met anybody worthwhile lately?” Claire’s friend asked her. “You’re out there on all the apps, aren’t you?” “I wouldn’t exactly say ‘out there.’ More like hanging back, but potentially curious,” said Claire. “Okay, so anyone you’re potentially curious about?” “I don’t know. It seems like something weird is going on in cyberspace,” said Claire with a shrug. “It doesn’t matter if I’m on Bumble or Tinder or Match. All the guys they show me are fixated on red meat. They make a point to say they love steak or eating a whole side of ribs.” “Your profile says you’re vegetarian, right?” asked Claire’s friend. “Yeah, I even say it’s important to me. But all I get is this lineup of Neanderthals who want to cook up a kill.” “Maybe you should pick one you like and give him a try. You never know. A lot of guys don’t think about what they’re eating. If you educate them, they might be willing to make a change for the right girl.” “Yeah, I guess,” replied Claire skeptically. “Kinda seems like getting off on the wrong foot though.” “You’re not committing to marry anyone. You’re just meeting up and seeing where it goes.” “Okay, you’re right. And, like you said, there’s always the chance he’ll change.” Claire and her friend scrolled through one of her accounts until they agreed on someone worth investigating. Claire sent him a message. Meanwhile, the guy she picked, Winston, was on the other side of town talking to one of his friends. They were complaining about their lack of success with dating apps. “I don’t know what it is, but it seems like all my potential girls are these militant vegans or vegetarians,” said Winston. “You didn’t check a wrong box or something?” asked Winston’s friend. “No, not possible. I even talk in my profile about my favorite barbecue. Something’s messed up.” Winston’s friend made a dismissive gesture. “So why are you so worried about what they eat?” “Think about the first time we meet and have dinner or something. She’ll be looking at me thinking, ‘How can he eat something with parents,’ and I’ll be looking at her thinking, ‘You have no idea what you’re missing, rabbit.’” Winston’s friend answered with a long, “Nah.” “For a lot of girls, being a vegan is just a phase. They see some actor doing it and they want to do it too. All it takes is for someone to come along and snap them out of it, and just like that, they’re back to eating bacon.” “Yeah, I guess I could be the one to snap them back,” said Winston. “What do you have to lose? Pick one you think you can convert.” Winston picked up his phone and saw the message from Claire. “Here’s someone who just messaged me,” he said, holding up his phone so his friend could get a look at Claire’s picture. Winston’s friend nodded his approval and said, “I could definitely see her eating a steak. Go for it.” Winston chuckled and composed what was supposed to be a charming reply message. After some back and forth on their phones, Claire and Winston decided to meet in a park next to one of Austin’s many lakes. The plan was to walk around the lake for a bit and then decide on where to go for dinner. Built into the plan was an easy escape hatch for both of them. If they felt like things were not going well, one of them could simply say they were not hungry or that they had made some unexpected evening plans with other friends. On the evening of their meetup, Claire wore a cute summer dress with matching shoes. She put a lot of thought into picking the shoes. She wanted them to be comfortable enough for plenty of walking but formal enough so it did not look like she viewed the meetup like a trip to the gym. Winston debated within himself whether or not he should wear shorts. Eventually he put on some slacks and a shirt. It was an outfit he would describe as business casual, as he tried to walk the line between looking too eager and too standoffish. It was a warm, late summer evening. Gold reflections sparkled from the lake where Claire and Winston were supposed to meet. They immediately recognized each other at a fountain in the nearby park. “You look really nice,” Winston said to Claire. “So do you,” she replied. Both were sincere with their compliments. They naturally gravitated toward the lake and chatted easily as they strolled. Winston asked about Claire’s job and found out they both worked in human resources for tech companies. Claire asked about hobbies and free time. “I’m not sure it qualifies as a hobby, but I’m very slowly renovating my house,” said Winston. “Well, renovating may be too strong of a word. It’s more like a bunch of do-it-yourself projects strung together.” “Ha, me too,” said Claire. “I’m doing bathroom tile right now.” “Ah tile,” replied Winston with a sympathetic laugh. “The smaller they are, the harder to keep them straight.” “Totally. I wish I would have started with bigger squares. But I don’t want you to think that I’m laying tile day and night. I’m a lot happier binge watching some show.” Winston chuckled and said, “Hey, same here. Seen anything good lately?” They compared their viewing histories and found they had remarkably similar tastes. When Winston recommended a few things she had not seen, Claire fully intended to investigate them. After a mile of walking, Winston and Claire were already making self-deprecating jokes. The walls typically in place when meeting a potential romantic partner had already cracked and fallen. In the back of their minds, both were thinking that the computer algorithm which had matched them up, had to be on to something. It was almost spooky. Winston was eager to move to the next phase in their plan. “So I’m still up for dinner if you are,” he said to Claire. “Definitely,” she replied. She already felt like she could speak pretty openly with Winston. “We just need to pick a place. So your profile talked a lot about barbecue. Are you one of those guys who has to have a big piece of meat for every meal?” Winston laughed and did not take Claire’s question as an attack. “I don’t think I *have to* eat lots of meat. But if I think about it, yeah, I guess most of my meals have some kind of meat in them. What about you? I know you’re a vegetarian but does that mean you can’t stand the sight of a chicken bone?” Claire laughed in return. “I’m not sure that’s a very practical way to live.” “And you’re not leading anti-cow rallies?” asked Winston with a grin. “I’m pro-cow, just not for dinner.” “I’ve heard of some vegetarians where their rules depended on the day of the week. Like they would only eat meat on the weekends. Or they would only eat chicken on days that had an R in them.” Claire took Winston’s gentle teasing in stride. “No, I’m in it for seven days of the week.” “And you’re sure it’s not a quick fad? Have you been into it for longer than a month?” “Three years, so far,” said Claire. “But it’s not like we can’t choose a restaurant that we both will like. These days, almost everyone has some vegetarian options.” “That’s true,” replied Winston with a grin. “I know a steakhouse you’re going to absolutely love.” Claire replied with a sarcastic, “Ha, ha.” Then she had an unexpected idea. It was something she only brought up because she felt so oddly comfortable with Winston. “This is going to sound crazy, but have you heard about those at ?” “Yeah, I think so,” said Winston. “Fast food is not my idea of a great meal, but I’ve been really curious to try those burgers. They’re supposed to taste like beef but be totally plant based. I’d love to hear the opinion of a meat expert.” Winston shrugged his shoulders. “I guess I’m up for it. But remember this is your idea. I wanted to go somewhere really expensive.” They both laughed about the idea as they walked back to their cars. Claire kept thinking that she could prove to Winston he did not need real meat in every meal. At the same time, Winston was thinking that he was quite sure he could tell the difference between a cow burger and a plant burger. But he was also hoping it tasted just enough like the real thing that it would trigger Claire’s food memory. It might be enough to knock her off the wagon, or get her back on the wagon, whichever way he wanted to use the analogy. The pair drove separately to the nearest Burger King. “I knew I should have worn shorts,” said Winston as he held the door open for Claire. “You have to at least let me pay since you got to choose the place.” “We’ll probably be talking about this for a long time,” joked Claire. She used her phone to snap a picture of the store’s interior, just in case it proved to be a milestone location. “We’ll take two Impossible Burgers,” said Winston, when they reached the counter. “You wanna make that a meal?” asked the Burger King employee. “Sure, we’re sparing no expense tonight,” said Winston. “Bring out your best fries and drinks.” When they had their trays of food, Winston and Claire found an open corner table and sat down across from each other. As they unwrapped their Impossible Burgers, Winston said, “Okay, here’s to your grand experiment.” Claire was the first to bite into her burger. The patty was not like the usual veggie burger patties she was used to. It looked like actual ground beef instead of a combination of soybeans and vegetables. It also had the chewy texture of real hamburger. And the taste instantly took her back three years to a backyard grill. She pictured her family. Her dad was flipping sizzling hamburger circles. She could smell the smoke rising from juicy meat. Claire casually said to Winston, “Pretty good. What do you think?” Winston was several bites into his burger. It did not taste 100% like the real thing, but it was surprisingly close. He nodded his head approvingly and dipped his fries in catchup. “I don’t really get the point when you’ve got meat right there next to it,” said Winston, “but I admit it’s pretty decent.” “If you were blindfolded, could you tell the difference between that and the real thing?” asked Claire. “Yes, if it was before drinking any beer,” replied a chuckling Winston. “After a few beers, probably not.” Claire and Winston happily finished their burgers and then their fries. They sat at their table discussing their little food experiment and then the conversation turned back to TV shows and funny office politics in their respective human resources departments. They each returned to the soda fountain for drink refills. There was mutual agreement that the first meeting had gone very well, although both were surprised they had ended up in a Burger King. Before they said goodbye, they agreed they would definitely have to get together again. They left the details sketchy. It would probably be the next weekend and involve a nicer restaurant. And they would only need one car. Messages would be exchanged to set it all up. Claire returned home excited about Winston. As it got later and she was preparing to sleep, she was thinking less about Winston and more about the Impossible Burger. She was not usually a person to have food cravings, but the taste kept returning. She stayed awake thinking about it and even contemplated getting dressed and finding a late-night Burger King drive-thru. The next day, Claire was back at Burger King for lunch. She ordered another Impossible Burger and kept asking herself whether it truly tasted like a real hamburger. She was alone but she looked around the restaurant to make sure no one she knew was watching. She had already started the experiment, what was the harm in taking it a tiny bit further? She snuck up to the counter and ordered a regular hamburger. Claire nibbled the hamburger at first. The taste was similar to the Impossible Burger but there was something wonderfully satisfying about the meat. She could not understand the craving. It came from a place deep inside. She finished the real burger. As for Winston, the day after their date, he was still thinking a lot about Claire. He was also thinking about his Impossible Burger. Before eating it for dinner, he had a very light breakfast and lunch. He realized he had not had any kind of meat for 24 hours. He felt surprisingly energetic and somehow lighter. Was he feeling excitement over meeting Claire or was it related to what he had eaten? Since he had started Claire’s little experiment, he figured he might as well keep it up a little longer. He, too, returned to a Burger King for another Impossible Burger for lunch. He enjoyed it the second time and his energized feeling continued. He decided to try a few more changes to his diet. After all, there were now lots of ways to add some variety without sacrificing taste. By two weeks after the Impossible Burger meetup, Claire had rediscovered more than hamburger. She had eaten a delicious chicken sandwich, dry-rubbed barbecue, and bacon on a sandwich. At the same time, Winston had tried different kinds of veggie patties. As Claire had said, most restaurants offered vegetarian friendly items and he found himself ordering from that selection. He was sure that he felt lighter, healthier, and more alert. The much anticipated second date never materialized. First Claire was busy and then something unexpected came up and Winston had to cancel. The real truth, however, was that they felt a little hypocritical and were afraid of hearing, “I told you so,” from the other person. They had both changed their profiles on the dating apps. Claire’s profile now read that she was “rediscovering steak.” Winston listed himself as being “fueled by plant-based protein.


I never really spent much time trying to explain this story to any one other then 1 or 2 people. But its a story about love, loss and how you grow cause of it. It should be said that this isnt a story of the love that goes beyond what I have now. This is not the greatest love story ever told. I am far more in love with my wife then I ever was in this tale. But it is a story worth retelling. Earlier, within the last year (2006) I went through a terrible break up. I hadn't made much of an effort at all to join back into the dating scene. I had gone on a couple dates and had a fling or two, but I never felt like I was ready. Mostly, I spent my days working on my own self improvement. Work, gym, friends. I had a comfortable routine, and enjoyed it. We fell in love on our first meeting. A rainy, cool spring night. Me and my friends ventured out without a plan. Only to settle on a well known watering hole, with cheap drinks and catchy songs. I was young, only 24 and she was about a year and a half younger then me. We were still a bit naive, albeit educated and intelligent. But our naivety didn't make us foolish or dumb in our actions. When I made these plans originally, I intended to go for drinks as more of a guys night out. Hence, the dimly lit, almost depressing bar. I had been told that there might be a few more joining us later, but I never intended to fall in love that night. But then again I don't think either one of us did. I was about a half a dozen drink and half a packs of cigarettes into the night when she glided into the room. Tall and statuesque. I'm speechless and unapologetically staring. She smiles at me, flicking her eyelids, leaving me blinded. Taking a seat at the table, across and at the other end. I start scheming of how I'm going to talk to this girl. Next to me sits Angela, and she starts a conversation. Without hesitation I ask who are her friends? "That's Lacey, and Anna's at then end of the table." 'Anna' I repeat in my head. Casually listening to Angela talk, peeking out of the corner of my eye at Anna. Soon after I'm up at the bar ordering another drink. Beer, nothing fancy just cheap. The girl at bar is nice. Its been a slow night and we've been exchanging pleasantries all night. We're having a laugh and one of the regulars. Apparently, he likes to come in on Saturdays and fill the juke box with enough quarters and play country music as a way of driving out the young crowd. On my left I feel a hand grab my shoulder. "Vodka cranberry" she shouts in my ear. "I have to pee. I'll be right back", its Anna. She smiles and walks away, I give her a thumbs up. 'What I loser' Im thinking to myself. 'Who gives a thumbs up..' "I'll buy the next round" she smiles and walks away. So after 20 mins of planing how I was going to talk to this girl she goes and ruins it by breaking the ice first. A wave of release washes over me. My underlying anxiety relaxes and I take the seat next to where she was sitting. When she gets back to the table she isn't empty handed. Two more drinks for us. We immediately hit it off. Laughing, joking, the casual shoulder or knee touch. There's not only sparks, there's fire. The night passes, eventually we're kissing, passionately, in the alley next to the bar. We all spend the night at a friends house. Have breakfest at the nearest greasy spoon. I get her number and she takes mine and im off back home. We make plans to talk later in the week but I cant wait, so I call the next day. Its obvious we are eager to talk to each other again. We make plans for the weekend and it was pretty much set, were in love and not ashamed to admit it almost instantly. Our summer breezes by. Spending every minute we can together, sharing in adventure and making plans for more everyday. Our love grows, expands to create something more. Something capable of connecting the divide that is between us, religion. Her father was a minister at the local church in her home town. She grew up in that life and for most of it, up until she went to university, only knew that life. She made a point of going to her local church and knowing that I firmly remained agnostic. Some days I joined her, but mostly we accepted who we are as individuals separated from each others beliefs. Her father on the other hand didn't approve of the rough around the edges, albeit, nice young man I was. He was lied to, and he had to be lied to for us to get away with it. "We're good friends" I remember telling him. "Shes just a joy to be around", not a lie. We spent the next year and a half with each other as much as we could. Weekends away, wedding with friends, lazy sundays in bed. Every moment cherished, cause we both knew it was ending and soon. We had an expiration date and every day we spent together was one less that we would have. Eariler in the summer, shortly after her parents had finally heard the truth about us, and we celebrated our first year together. Her relatively poor, modest living family, had come up with the capital necessary to put Anna into a prestigious christian college. In England. Fucking, England. She was over joyed, it was the kind of experience she was looking forward to. What kind of piece of shit would I be to stand in her way. I voiced my opinion, "Doesn't it seem weird that only after your parents find out about us that they find a way to break us up?" I remember exclaiming my argument with distaste for how they saw me. "They will never approve of us being together" I fought on. She tells me that we are what we are for us and not them. I believe her and we make like we'll always be here for each other. Knowing that it isnt true, it's just an easy way to soften the blows. Finally, we come to her departure day. I meet her in her town the day before. We spend our last day in the park, walking with hand in hand held tightly. 'If I let go now you'll be gone forever' I think. We have a spaghetti and meatball dinner with her family, wash up the dishes, pack up the car and head to the airport. Its an hour drive into the city. At the airport, we sneak away for our last moment of intimacy. A long hug and kiss. Tell stories about us together that make us laugh. Hold hands more. Gaze into each others eyes. Share our love, for one last moment. We go to the departure gate and shes tearing up, saying goodbye she hugs her mom and then her dad, and then me. We kiss once more, for us. A deep and long kiss. Her parents have never seen us kiss, or hug or hold hands. Because of how they feel about me, we always hid it, even though they knew we were a couple. My eyes and gushing with tears, and so are Anna's. I can feel them behind me, watching a mistake they made unfold. Torn apart, we say goodbye. Her hand slips from mine. I watch as she paces away, hiding her face, beyond the gates she disappears. Goodbye. I wipe the tears away and turn around. Hiding my pain, my anger, I smile at them. "Well, no point hanging out here all night." I say, desperate to rid myself of this situation. We drive back to her parents house. I now have spend the night since her flight was so late. They try to make conversation with me, and I do my best to talk with them. The next morning I do my best to make nice and thank them for the bed. I declined breakfast thinking it would be best for me to just move on. But before I leave I find myself explaining to them what they have done. We were in love. Deeply. We knew each other. We cherished our time and made each other unselfishly happy. That they didn't just break up a fling, but ended the kind of monumental love that the lucky only find maybe twice. I said goodbye and walked out. We talked as much as we could over the next year. But we couldn't pretend that it would work out for us when she would return home. And when she did, we hung out a bit. Had some laughs, made love again. But it wasn't the same. It felt forced and to be honest, I was always worried that her parents would tear us apart again. We both moved on and found love with others. We've never talked since. Without saying it I'm sure we both agree it was for the better that way. But deep down, I know that we still think about each other. We still remember.


#Welcome to the Micro Monday Challenge! Hello writers! Welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words (no poetry). However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I’ll give you a single constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. It might be an image, a theme word, a sentence, or a simple writing prompt. You’re free to interpret the prompt how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.** Remember, feedback matters! And don’t forget to upvote your favorites and nominate them via message here on reddit or a DM on discord!   *** #This week’s challenge: **”It was magical.”** This week’s challenge is to use the above sentence in your story, in some way. You may add onto it, but the original sentence should stay intact.   ***   #Two Weeks Ago Thank you for being so patient. There were no nominations two weeks ago, but there are always, of course, my personal spotlights. ###Bay’s Spotlights - - Submitted by u/rare27 - - Submitted by u/TheLettre7 #Last Week I loved all the unique takes on the theme this past week. I really enjoy watching your writing grow week to week. ###Crowd Favorite - - Submitted by u/SilverSines ###Bay’s Spotlights - - Submitted by u/katherine_c - - Submitted by u/pathetic_optimist   ***   #How It Works: - **Submit one story between 100-300 words** in the comments below, by the following Sunday at midnight, EST. No poetry. One story per author. - **Use to check your word count.** The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words will be disqualified from being spotlit. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post exclusively. - **I accept nominations for your favorites each week via a message on reddit or our discord.** You have until 1pm EST Monday to send them in. Each Monday, I will spotlight two deserving stories from the previous week that I think really stood out. I will take all nominations you make into consideration. But please remember, this is not a contest. - **Come back throughout the week, upvote your favorites and leave them a comment with some feedback.** While it’s not a requirement, I encourage everyone to read the other stories on the thread and leave feedback. I will take all of this into consideration when making my selections each week. **Do not downvote other stories on the thread.** Vote manipulation is against Reddit rules and you will be reported. - **Please be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here, as we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. - If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail. *Top-level comments are reserved for story submissions.* - And most of all, be creative and have fun!   ***   ###Subreddit News - We’ve recently updated our subreddit rules. Please take a moment to or take a look at our sidebar. - Try your hand at serial writing with - Have you ever wanted to write a story with another writer? Check out our brand new weekly feature on r/WritingPrompts - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


- look at it! Sleeping on the table, with that disjointed window that keeps opening from one side to the other! - Asserted the 60-year-old Blessed Bertita, with an unknown face due to the veil that had never been removed from her. - Do not deny because to deny is a sin! - The priest of the chapel replied, yawning, with the chalice of holy wine in her hand, from which she sipped little by little, while she laughed. "Surely you must already be canonized as holy as you are," she said, upturning her nose, a sin that became customary. - that's how it is! - Yawning her. In truth, almost closing the eye. The blessed could only extend her arm covered with the purple of the penit to close the left side of the window, the one that had not yet detached from its frame. - Or else, all the people spy around here - the saintly woman justified herself, with a laughing finger. - It faces the alley. - The cobblestone? - Yes, the cobblestone behind the parish. - Ah! If it is true - affirmed the father, -, opening his eyes - is where it was distributed - bread to the ordering in the mornings. - It is the miracle of the multiplication of the loaves, carried out by means of divine mercy, charity and love of neighbor - explained the parish priest, sanctified by the wine from the sacristy, which seemed to diminish every day in the cruet. -It is that everyone knows that the window does not have a knocker that protects the privacy of anyone, and they all start to spy inside the sacristy through the silk curtains - Blessed Bertita explained, covering her flushed face with her veil . - That's right - observed the parish priest with a grimace: and everyone knows that the priest of the chapel falls asleep on the sacristy table after a few, let's say, somewhat generous copetizers of the wine of the Eucharistic celebration - looking for a key to his room , at the bottom. -Suddenly, he drops a plastic bottle from his pocket. He runs to pick her up, hiding the dropped bottle with Franciscan sandals. - being poor is not a sin! - He said, showing his perforated sandals and the cassock that was longer in the back than in the front, as well as being darned on the sleeve. "I'm sure he's going to sleep now," said the saint, leaving the room on tiptoe so as not to wake him up. -And many times he had fallen asleep in the middle of the celebration. Upon awakening, she would fix her hood and girdle, straightening her slightly crooked posture in the priest's chair. Then, he was dedicated to sanctifying the divine blood, tasting all kinds of wine "to honor the Blessed One", until the end of the celebration. A hooded man, with an unmade beard and dressed in black, approached the famous open window of the sacristy. "She doesn't have a padlock, she's only supported," said the hooded man, opening the window a little with the tip of the knife he was carrying. - It is better to certify that the pious women are not in the sacristy - with the hurried glance of the crime, seeing the father asleep. Not a shadow of them! is now ! - He whispered, looking around. It is not known exactly how it happened, however, in the same second he was inside the room, like a cat trapped in the sandbox. He opened his gaze from eye to eye, seeing the cruets, bread and cheese covered by a tablecloth. He took the tablecloth and put the bottle, the bread, the cheese, the forks arranged on the table, the keys to the cupboard where there were the gold crucifixes, the hóstias, and some coins kept in a white envelope. The priest was still asleep. But the man took the opportunity to also take the gold curtains, the gold cups, the pearl necklaces given to the saints by the faithful on the occasion of the Christmas celebrations washed down with more wine, hosts as well as greetings and blessings as well as songs. typical of the time. - hosanna in the heights "- faithful years repeated, while the parish priest poured holy water on the heads of the faithful, but not on his own - throwing the straps of addiction in more a victory over sanity - this, normally disguised as homilies: - Faith moves mountains. Come on! Receive the salvation of the Lord! Before the enemy takes us all in his hands and makes us burn in the infernal embers of sin. Thus, the parish priest said that the shape of the body did not matter, because “the most important thing is the spirit of the divine word glorified by eternal love - it had arrived together with the inauguration of the bust of the martyr of independence in the square, when his predecessor - a certain Don Francisco, I believe that he died, according to the pious women of unknown cause. As a vacant position it had to be filled, to avoid the demand of the faithful to other churches. Don Panchito - the priest - fresh from a cold that took him away from the curia for some time, offered to fill the vacancy that nobody wanted - that was obvious: nobody in their right mind would like to be bitten by malaria or spend nights followed without wine or a fiery saint - as he had in the curia. - But ... Don Panchito ... this ... in that town there are no benefits as there are here- said the secretary of the curia, a fourth-year student who did administrative practices- “I must be a great administrative priest,” he said, "To put the souls of God in order." - No matter. What matters is saving more souls and offering them to the Lord. Don Panchito knew that there were ways and means to save souls. His specialty was the hidden collection of services, as when he simulated an exorcism on a girl who had many seizures, she would turn purple as a grape and stiff as a statue. -His soul from him is saved, save! Thanks be to God, let us give thanks to God our father and to this faithful servant who saved the soul of his beloved daughter in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. - Amen- almost said in chorus those present, because they cried so much that you could not understand what they were saying. Grateful, they served him feasts with a lot of food, a lot of wine, and they also offered him a house "so that you could stay as long as you wanted." Don Panchito - and let it be known that that name was not free - stayed in the house, closed at night, when he received the blessed women "for special healing and spiritual healing sessions", stripping them naked to wash their sins "that are impregnated in the body and soul ”. He had pictures brought from the curia, the most valuable, in order to get support "from the faithful during their prayers full of hope and faith." She asked the pious women to bring her lunch "with a little demijohn of wine and three glasses, one for me and one for you and for you" to her rooms, where she would take off her white coat, perfume herself ("these perfumes are sacred. the faithful in the curia gave it away, "he said to the pious women who served him lunch, making them dizzy, until they fainted and fell into the priest's bed, where they woke up still drunk with wine or perfume - they did not know it - and out of pure modesty they they closed their blouses "I opened up? It can't be! I must do penance and ask God for forgiveness, bring the rosary and let's start right now to ask God for forgiveness for our sins.). Without worrying about payments of any kind, all the salary that he received from the curia was kept in a flask, closed with two padlocks and hidden under his bed, high and sovereign as a worthy representative of God on Earth. One afternoon, the bell rang for him after tea that the blessed served him punctually at five in the afternoon. Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx - Come on. You, go see who it is, this ... - Martha . My name is Martita. - So, Martita, go open the door. Without even wiping her mouth, she sees her beloved and distant secretary-student-clerk walk into the food hall. -Dear Don Panchito, how is he? - Oh! Dearest disciple in God! What brings you here from so far away? -We need his help: there is a chapel that almost fell in this town. We were thinking of building a new chapel for you, but nevertheless the curia asks me to tell you that this will not be possible. - That is not a problem. There is an old chapel that can be renovated. - Yes. That is why I came. I came to bring you the permission that the curia grants you for the chapel spare parts, with the right to carry out the necessary transactions for the work. - Money? - Yes. Besides that, you can have the workers and other people for the repair. - Well. Where are the papers? - Here. You must sign them. - Sure- yes, he would sign it because that was his chance to rise in the clerical hierarchy, conquer better positions within the church and finally establish his informal influence in the political media. - We're going to have to interdict the entire building, temporarily. - No problem. - In this case, we already started the works. - No problem. And the window, symbol of a life, was destroyed, leaving behind the shame of an inglorious past, and perhaps with the hope of finding some future ... with wine?


Hell’s waiting room was a strange place. Cooper sat on too-hard plastic seats, feeling his skin stick and stretch as he sweated profusely. There was a sign taped to the dilapidated air conditioner in the corner. “BROKE :)” How long had he been waiting? Long enough for the room, once empty and unsettling in its isolation--was he even in the right place?-to be filled to the brim with all manner of people. They squeezed in around him, full of their heat, their stink, their sound. A woman kept interminable time with clicking knitting needles, a staccato that skipped and dropped notes as often as she dropped stitches, leaving a haggard trail of yarn across the room. One mountain of a man sprawled across three seats, mouth open as he snored. The room filled with the smell of rotting onions and week-old tuna. That and the garish kaleidoscope wallpaper that hung and peeled from the walls made Cooper nauseous. He tried not to think about how the smell of fresh vomit would mingle in the environmental miasma. The intercom on the wall crackled, everyone’s head spinning to listen. Whatever came out was completely unintelligible, but from the far end of the room, someone stood and disappeared behind the singular wooden door. Then came the sobs and screams, cut abruptly short. The intercom crackled again. Cooper watched in horror as the scene replayed over and over, the room again approaching empty. While every name called out was indecipherable to him, the owner seemed to have no trouble. Even the mountain roused from his sleep to stomp into the room. His sobs were the hardest to hear. When the room was empty, Cooper felt a new fear. What if he had missed something? What if he *was* in the wrong place? What happens if you broke the rules in Hell? He doubted they would be understanding. When the intercom came to life, he bolted to the door. Inside, there was a small man who stooped over his desk, humming and mumbling to himself as he shuffled papers. “...leg bone's connected to the knee bone...knee bone's connected to the thigh bone...thigh bone's connected to the hip bone**...”** He looked up when the door drifted shut. “You don’t look like a Delores,” he said with a fanged smile. “I’m the last one,” Cooper blurted out. “My name is Cooper? Cooper Marks?” The man made a show of shuffling through the folders on his desk, then shook his head. “Not here. You must be in the wrong place.” If Cooper’s heart was still beating, it would have stopped. He could, however, still feel the cold sweat prickling at his skin. “I-I’m sorry, I thought I went-” The man waved off his apologies. “No matter. You’ll just have to go to waiting room 4719. Unfortunately, you’ll be at the bottom of the list again.” Cooper nodded enthusiastically, not waiting for any further instruction before he turned and bolted out of the room. It led him into a hallway that had been a waiting room before. New goal in mind, he set off to find his assigned place. Of course, that *old* room was not for him. He remembered the twisted faces of the people who waited beside him. They had probably deserved a worse punishment than he did. After the weeks it took to find the room, Cooper was almost beginning to feel confident again. Sure, it was hell, but he hadn’t been *that* bad, right? He opened the door. Inside were familiar plastic seats, familiar tacky wallpaper. And handwriting that he instantly recognized.