Riding the bus is like riding a bicycle. Once you get it down, it comes right back to you, no matter how many years have passed. I stood at the chilly bus stop, sharing a shifty silence with half a dozen commuters, all of us peering in the same direction and fingering our bus passes, or tugging at the zippers of our jackets. I felt myself slip into the old routine easily as if no vast moat of time sat between now and when I had ridden this bus almost every day, years ago when I had still been friends with Caroline. When Caroline was still alive. The news had come as a numb shock, like a poison dart taking me in the ribs. Someone posted something somewhere about a memorial service, and a few clicks later I was staring at a Facebook page riddled with posts about how much she was loved, how beautiful she was, how much they would miss her. There was a hollow lack of reality to interacting with her death through a screen. I scrolled through the posts in the same way I scrolled to the bottom of a recipe on the hunt for an ingredients list. Caroline was dead and no one had told me. Well, it wasn’t the most surprising. We hadn’t spoken in almost a decade. Our lives, once tightly wound around each other, had segmented and split, spiraling off in different directions with only the roots left in common. But the wound festered. I thought about her at night and in my warm car and while I washed dishes and any other time my mind was given the chance to wander. It wandered right back to her. By the time I found myself booking a plane ticket I had missed the memorial services. My hands planned the trip almost independently as if they had been conspiring with my subconscious and found themselves with a majority vote. I took a week off work and sat in my hotel room for a day and a half wondering what the hell I was doing before, again without my full consent, my legs took me down to the bus stop. I didn’t have to think. My body knew where to go. The bus was very crowded, and I had to stand near the front, swaying next to the driver and flattening myself against the rail as people got on and off. It’s a meditative thing, riding the bus to the very last stop. You get to see all these little slices of other people’s lives--the parts that they probably won’t tell anyone about when they get home because it’s just a tunnel between places. I watched a woman laden with bulging shopping bags deflate into a seat for several stops before she clambered off again, squeezing out between the backs of other passengers. I listened to a man talk to someone very loudly on a headset about his son. I eventually got my own seat, and then I watched the streets grind by, stop after stop, shop after shop, house after house, feeling that somehow centuries had passed, and simultaneously, no time at all. Many years ago, when I was a different version of myself, I did not take the bus alone. I had a very close friend with me, and we would make our way to the back where the seats are raised up a little and you can see the whole cabin. We would lean towards each other and laugh at the other passengers or about someone we knew, or listen to music, or draw on the same scrap of paper. It didn’t matter. It was ephemeral time-wasting while we sat in the tunnel between places. There was no meaning to the things that we said to each other or the jokes that we shared, but in the aggregate, they made up something that defined that time in my life more profoundly than the school I went to or the degree I was earning or books that I was reading. Caroline was shorter and louder than me. She had much better taste in music, and she always had a terrible boyfriend. She had more friends too, but when we rode out to the pier together, just the two of us, it felt like we were the only two people on the planet. I could almost feel her in the seat next to me, like an old habit. The bus was coming to the end of the line, almost empty now, and I was a lone astronaut, wandering on abandoned terrain. The pier was not popular in autumn. The sky was a solid mass of grey and the water was angry and choppy. A solitary fisherman was casting hopefully into the black water as I crossed the boardwalk. The next bus would not come for at least forty-five minutes. A wave of hopelessness came upon me like a riptide. It had been a journey that I felt compelled to take, something my sleepless mind had convinced itself that I must do if I was ever to rest again but standing there with the chilly wind slicing at my face, I felt more frustrated and emptier than ever. From where I stood, I could see the little strip of beach where we had spent so many afternoons sunbathing. The tide was high now, playing violent peek-a-boo with the sand. Caroline and I used to pick up little bits of broken shell and sea glass, sparkling like treasure in the salty twilight. They never seemed to glisten the same way when we took a pocketful home, as if being separated from the sea stole some magic out of them. We would walk down to the end of the pier as we waited for the last bus and drop them off the side instead, back into the ocean so that maybe someday we could find them again. If I had been a better friend, I might have had some of Caroline’s ashes. I might have wished her a soulful goodbye and sprinkled her like treasure back into the waves. But I didn’t have anything like that. I didn’t know if she was ash or if she was preserved underground somewhere. I hadn’t even thought to bring anything with me. I wondered darkly for a moment if I should toss myself off the side of the pier and then swim to shore. That would at least give me something to do besides just standing there scowling at the ocean. I was halfway through deciding that the trip had been a colossal waste of resources, moments from calling a taxi to take me out of that place when a swish of movement and a squeal of brakes caught my attention. Another bus was pulling up at the stop. The wind picked up again and blew my hair across my face. I felt a few drops of rain come with it. I squinted at the bus, trying to make out its route and wondering if I should run for it before I got soaked, but it was already pulling away again, leaving a lone figure standing at the stop. I glanced away, pulling out my phone to call the taxi, but then I did a doubletake. There was something about the dark hair poking out from her hood, something about her stature, and the way that she leaned a little to one side that reminded me so vividly of Caroline that I took a few steps toward her. Like she was my reflection in a mirror, she stepped toward me as well. The wind was growing stronger and, while it was not raining in earnest, icy drops kept splattering against my cheeks and jacket. I gripped the wooden railing of the boardwalk, feeling certain I was mistaken but determined to see for sure, and the figure continued toward me, picking her way across the short stretch of parking lot and boardwalk, taking the same small steps that Caroline used to take. Her arms were wrapped around her body like her coat wasn’t warm enough and as she drew closer, I could see that her nails were caked with dark soil. A tendril of fear uncoiled itself right below my heart, but I was rooted to the spot. The girl with Caroline’s face stopped in front of me and said, with Caroline’s voice, “Holy shit.” She separated it out into three distinct syllables, just like how Caroline used to. Ho-ly shit. It was her. “What are you doing here?” I said stupidly. The roaring wind, the waves, the fledgling storm, they were all conspiring to confuse me. There was nothing but cold fog inside my brain. A small frown drew her eyebrows together. “What am I doing here? What are you doing here? You dropped off the face of the planet.” “I thought you were dead,” I said, again stupid. “Oh, yeah,” she said unconcernedly. “I’m buried not too far from here. Just a hop, skip, and a jump.” She took my arm and pulled me toward the ocean. I caught a whiff of chemicals and freshly turned soil. “Come on, let’s walk down to the end.” Have you ever walked through a house that you haven’t lived in for a very long time? You still know how many steps it takes to get to your bedroom, when to twist your hips to avoid the edge of the counter, which stair is going to groan under your weight. I still knew how to walk down the pier with Caroline. It should have been strange and surreal and scary to walk out over the open ocean with a girl who just climbed out of her grave, but it wasn’t. It was like riding a bicycle. “I’m glad I ran into you,” Caroline said cheerfully as we walked arm in arm. “But you picked a terrible day for it.” She squinted up at the squally sky, still spitting little bullets of rain in our faces. “I didn’t really plan it,” I mumbled. “I just tried to do what felt right.” She looked at me sideways. “Right. Same as how you ran away after college?” “I didn’t run away,” I protested, flustered. “I got a job . ” Caroline shrugged. “I guess it doesn’t really matter. But I missed you, you know. I wish we had stayed friends.” Suddenly tears stung the corners of my eyes and something terrible was pushing at the inside of my mouth, trying to burst out through my lips, my nose, my tear ducts. I had missed her too, of course. Even before we stopped speaking altogether, I had missed her. Something changed, slowly, over many months. The trips to the pier had dried up in place of a dozen parties I wasn’t invited to. By graduation, our friendship was listing badly, and when I moved away it was as if it had never existed at all. Some friendships are like that, I had told myself. You set them down, but when you pick them back up again, there they are, no signs of decay. I turned toward her, not sure what to say, or even if I would be able to say it, but Caroline was smiling. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “It means a lot that you came.” “I’m sorry I was a bad friend,” I whispered, voice like shattered glass. “It’s okay ,” she said again, more insistently. “I’m just giving you a hard time.” We had reached the end of the pier and Caroline leaned out over the ocean; her arms splayed out on the wooden railing. I wanted to lean out over the edge with her and share in that feeling of wild freedom we used to revel in, but I had swathed myself in a cocoon of shame and trepidation and I hung back. She looked around at me and folded her arms. “So, what’s your plan?” I looked at her questioningly. “Well, you came all the way out here, I’m assuming because you felt bad, so what’s next? What now? What feels right ?” There was a hint of mockery in her voice. It was the same tone she used to use while telling me I was fucking up a relationship or overthinking a perceived slight. “I guess I wanted to say goodbye,” I said, lamely. “You’re not doing a very good job.” There was a little smirk at the corner of her mouth. “Come on, bare your soul a little.” I was starting to feel frustrated again. Frustrated, confused, and a little indignant that my private farewell party had been crashed by Caroline herself. But, I reflected, if not for Caroline, I might be in a taxi already. I would have given up and run away. “Okay,” I began, “Okay, I’m sorry I missed your funeral.” Caroline rolled her eyes. “Whatever, those are for the living anyway.” “I’m sorry I never reached out,” I said, a little angrily. “What are you apologizing for?” She scoffed, “I didn’t talk to you either after you left. That stuff doesn’t matter anymore.” I paused. She was right. That vast chasm of years I had been trying so hard to breach was undeniable. It existed. It had happened. It was there. I tried again. I took a deep breath, and then I told her about how her favorite band was still my favorite band, and about how I still drank vodka-crans to celebrate something good. I told her about how I still looked for seaglass and about how riding the bus still felt more like an adventure than a chore. I told her about how my life was infused with so many artifacts of her and of us when we had been the best of friends. I stopped knowing what I was saying and just said it, and it felt good. It felt like some poison was being extracted and my blood was finally clean. When I was done Caroline was smiling again. “Feels right,” she said, and I didn’t know if she was talking about herself or me. I nodded. The wind had dried the tears on my cheeks. They felt salty and raw. “Come up here,” she said, and she hauled herself up on the railing again, bringing her legs up so she was straddling the railing, one leg dangling over the ocean. In retrospect, I should have been nervous. I probably should have said no, but something inside me had cracked open, so I didn’t do any of those things. Instead, I clambered up on the railing too, straddling the salt-stained wooden beam next to Caroline. There was a moment of terrible vertigo as I made direct eye contact with the churning ocean, waiting to eat me alive. But as I found my balance, I started to laugh. It was like flying. I was riding the world. The wind surged and threatened to push us off, but we stayed up there, laughing like teenagers until the seat of my pants grew uncomfortably damp and I became aware that the light was fading fast. The moment waned like melting snow, and we returned to solid ground. Night was falling. The water was growing darker, and I could see the fisherman was packing up down at the bottom of the pier. I felt cold and windswept and raw in more ways than one, but the stone in my chest felt lighter like part of it had dropped away into the sea. We started back down the darkening pier. In my glossy memories, the boardwalk was lined with vendors, people on bicycles, and families chasing children. Today it was a ghost town, a desaturated photograph, no life at all. “I should come back in the summer,” I said, unsticking the backs of my jeans from my legs and shivering. “I’d like that,” Caroline said, and then she smirked. “Do you remember that time when we got stuck out here?” “That time those guys bought us margaritas?” “Yes! We missed the last bus!” She was laughing. “How did we get back? Didn’t one of those guys give us a ride?” “That was so sketchy! God, I never drank tequila again.” We were both laughing now, remembering the nervous glances we cast each other in the back seat of a stranger’s car. We had reached the end of the pier and our laughter faded and we were left looking at each other. I wished fervently that I could have more. More laughter, more memories, more to savor. Everything was fading. “I can’t go with you,” Caroline said, reaching out and squeezing my hand. “But when you come back, I’ll be here.” I squeezed back. Her flesh was cold, bones shifting beneath icy skin. I felt the sting of tears again. “You’re everywhere.” I could see my bus down the street, lumbering along towards the very last stop. It was time to go. I jogged across the boardwalk and the small parking lot, thinking longingly of a change of clothes, my warm hotel room, even the stuffy interior of the bus. As the doors slid open with an inviting squeal, I turned and looked back over my shoulder toward the pier. I could still see Caroline standing there at the end, silhouetted against the fading light of the murky sky.


Melissa wasn’t looking forward to another wedding. She definitely wasn’t looking forward to going to her 20-year- old niece’s wedding when she was a 42-year-old old maid. Old maid, that wasn’t a term that was still used anymore, but that was how she felt. She couldn’t even remember the last time she had been on a date. She had dated a lot when she was younger, but she hadn’t found anyone she was compatible with. Now, it was even more difficult; most of the men she knew were married. Her only options were the few divorced men she knew, but they only seemed interested in beer and football. Melissa wanted a man she could have deep conversations with. She wanted a man she wasn’t afraid to share the poems she wrote with. Although, she was afraid to share her poetry with anyone so that was probably wishful thinking. She had become resigned to the fact that she would probably be single for the rest of her life. It really only bothered her when she had to go to weddings, and she had been to a lot lately. Melissa was full of so many conflicting emotions. She was very happy for her niece, Amber, but she was also filled with loneliness. She decided writing a poem might help her sort out her feelings. Happy But Lonely I am so happy for you But I am filled with loneliness I love you so much But when is it my turn For love? Melissa wrote some of a poem, but she felt like it was garbage, so she crossed it all out. She then sat on her floor with tears streaming down her face. She thought, what is wrong with me? I’m a horrible writer. Why do I think I can teach my students to write when I can’t even write myself? Why am I so emotional? I can’t even think about going to a wedding without having a breakdown, no sane man would want to date me anyway. * * * * * * * * * * Victor tried to pull on his dress pants. They didn’t button at first; he needed to suck in his gut to get them to button. He, sadly, remember the last time he had put on these pants. It had been two years ago for his wife’s funeral. He figured it had been all his stress-eating that had made his pants fit a little tighter. Sarah had died suddenly from a brain aneurysm. It had been a shock for Victor and his daughter, Eleanor, who had been five at the time. Lately, many of his friends had told Victor it was time to move on, but how did a 45-year-old single dad even move on anyway? His co-worker, Jason, had invited him to his wedding. He said, “Hey, maybe you can meet someone there.” Since Jason was only 22 Victor doubted there would be very many eligible women around his age at the wedding, but he just smiled and said he would be there. Victor didn’t think he would be compatible with a woman in her 20s and he doubted most of them would want to date a single dad, anyway. A ring at the doorbell startled Victor from his thoughts, was the babysitter here already? “Hello,” Victor said as he opened the door, “Sorry, I lost track of time, what time is it?” The teenage babysitter, Mary looked at her phone, “5:30.” “Oh, no!” Victor exclaimed, “I need to go! There’s a frozen pizza you can make for dinner, thanks, Mary.” He gave Eleanor a hug and kiss and started to run to his car. “Um, Sir,” Mary said unsure. “What?” Victor asked, a little annoyed. “Um... you don’t have a shirt on.” Victor’s cheeks turned red as he looked down at his bare chest. He got so distracted after he put on his pants he had forgotten to put on a shirt. “Oh, wow! Thanks, Mary.” He went into his room and grabbed the first dress shirt he saw. Victor tried to put his shirt on while he was driving, but it was too difficult to button up while driving. He raced to the church saying to himself, “don’t be late, don’t be late.” When he got there, it was 5:55, the wedding was supposed to start at 6. He ran inside, buttoning his shirt as he went. He sat down in an open spot at the back of the sanctuary. * * * * * * * * * Melissa tried not laugh as she noticed the man who sat down at the end of the pew she had been sitting in. He had clearly been trying not to be late to the wedding. She noticed he missed a button on his shirt. She figured she didn’t have a right to laugh anyway. She had almost missed the wedding because she had been crying about her loneliness. As she kept looking at him, she noticed he was kind of handsome. He was bald which Melissa found quite attractive. He had some stubble on his face. It seemed like he had either forgotten or hadn’t had time to shave before the wedding, but Melissa couldn’t stop looking at his face. She thought, I wonder what it would be like to kiss him. She tried to look at his left hand to see in he was wearing a wedding ring, but then he looked at her and she turned away. She blushed when she realized she had been staring for quite a while. * * * * * * * * After the woman turned away, Victor continued looking at her. She was beautiful. He realized it was the first time he had thought that about another women since Sarah had died. The woman he was looking at had dark, ringlet curls that shaped her face perfectly. He wished he could move closer so he could see what color her eyes were. He wondered if she would mind dating someone with a daughter. Then he realized he was getting way ahead of himself. He didn’t even know this woman. “You may now kiss the bride!” Oops, Victor and Melissa thought simultaneously, they had both missed the whole wedding because they were busy thinking about each other. At the reception, Victor and Melissa happened to be seated next to each other. Melissa noticed Victor wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, “Hi I’m Melissa,” she said shyly. “I’m Victor, how do you know Jason and Amber?” “Amber is my niece, what about you?” “I work with Jason.” “Oh, you work at the lumberyard, too?” Melissa wondered what his biceps looked like under his long-sleeve shirt. “Yes, what do you do?” Melissa shocked herself when she said, “I’m a writer. I mean, I like writing. I’m a teacher.” “Oh, really? I have a 7-year-old daughter. What grade do you teach?” “I teach middle school English.” “I bet you’re great at that. What do you like to write?” “Well, I write poems sometimes.” “I’d love to read one sometime.” “Well, I don’t really share them with people, I don’t even know why I told you about them.” Melissa looked around the room for a place where she could be alone with her embarrassment. Victor sensed that she wanted a change of subject, “This is the first wedding I’ve been to since my wife died.” Then he realized his mistake, talking about his dead wife probably wasn’t good flirting material. Melissa didn’t seem to care about his awkwardness, “I’m sorry, she said, “when was that?” “About 2 years ago, she had a brain aneurysm, so she just died unexpectedly one day.” “That must have been very hard.” “Yes, but um, sorry, I didn’t mean to be a bummer. What about you? Have you been married?” “No, I’ve never been married.” “Well, maybe we’ll have to change that some time.” He couldn’t believe those words came out of his mouth, “Sorry, I clearly don’t know what I’m doing,” he laughed. Melissa smiled, “Is this our first date?” she teased. Melissa and Victor talked for most of the wedding. They learned so much about each other. Victor told Melissa all about Eleanor and she seemed to be sincerely interested. Melissa told him about her job teaching and about how she had a dream to be a writer, but she didn’t think it would ever happen. Eventually, the bride and groom were cutting the cake. Victor looked at his watch, “Oh no, it’s 11:00! I told my babysitter I’d be home by 11. I need to go.” They exchanged phone numbers quickly and promised to see each other again. As Melissa watched him leave, she thought it was possible she might not be single forever. As Victor lay in bed that night, his mind kept wandering to his conversation with Melissa. It had been wonderful; he was so excited to see her again. He was trying to remember the last time he had felt like this. Then he realized it had been 20 years ago, after his first date with Sarah. He realized it could be possible to fall in love again.


So there was this girl. She glowed. Like she was made out of christmas lights. The first time I saw her, I just thought, “Oh man, what a cute chick.” But that’s it. I didn’t really give her a second thought. I just went on with my life. She was really beautiful, but there are a lot of really beautiful girls in this world. Like, I see beautiful girls all the time. But, then, I soon saw this specific beautiful girl again. And again. And again. I just kept randomly seeing her at different places. And I wasn’t even sure if it was really the same girl. It just seemed super weird that I’d keep randomly seeing her at different places like that. However, I was definitely inclined to think it was the same chick. Because, I mean, she fucking glowed, you guys. Like white sneakers in the back of Spencer's Gifts. Either way, the more I saw her; the more she stood out to me. And the more she stood out to me; the more I was able to determine that it was in fact the same exact chick. Eventually, I was able to learn her name. And I even managed to talk to her a little bit. And, yeah, she turned out to be coolest, my dudes. Just like unique and nice and super chill and funny. Seemed like she had dope interests and like a kindness to her heart. I mean, I still barely knew her. But, yeah, I don’t know, man, I just really liked her. I felt like she was so god damn special. It just seemed like she was exactly the type of girl I’d always wanted to meet, ya know. But, well, was I the exact type of dude that she’d always wanted to meet? You see, that was the question, my friends. Like, was her ideal Prince Charming a lazy, immature pothead with a lame job, a shitty car, a messy apartment, and a goofy looking face? I mean, it seemed technically possible, but... So, yeah, you know me, guys. I didn’t go for it. I just didn’t have the confidence to try and make anything happen. I didn’t want to seem like a character from Monsters Inc thinking he had a shot with one of chicks from Frozen. But I still kept seeing her, man. Randomly, all of the time, at different places. And, of course, every single time, she glowed. Like Rainbow Road. Alright... So... I’m not really sure exactly when it started, but, eventually, without me even realizing it; I kinda started to dress a little nicer each day. Nothing crazy, but, ya know, I just began to try and look a little less homeless than usual. Just in case I saw Glow Girl that day. And again, it wasn’t anything insane. I just payed a little more attention to how I looked before I left my apartment each morning because I never knew when I might see her. And, like I said, I didn’t even really realize it. But it was soon pointed out to me. By like multiple people. My boss mentioned something about me looking more professional lately. My parents kept telling me how oddly nice I looked when I saw them. This super cute chick at the coffee place I go to started complimenting my sweaters. It was kinda awesome. But it was also kinda weird. Because I did quickly put together that the only reason I was dressing nicer was because of Glow Girl. But nobody else knew that obviously. So they all just made it seem like I was finally getting my shit together or something. And I clearly knew that wasn’t the case. I was still just the lame, insecure, neurotic loser who ate fast food every night, smoked too many cigarettes, drank about ten pots of coffee a day, and cried during rom-coms. But, well, that’s when I started thinking... Like, okay, stay with me here. I knew I sucked. You guys know I suck. But Glow Girl did not know that I sucked. And, like, so far, all I had done was dress just a tiny bit nicer. But, already, people were kinda acting like I sucked less. So, it was like, maybe I could just do more of this, ya know. Like, maybe I could just pretend I really was finally getting my shit together. I mean, I had absolutely no intention at all of actually getting my shit together. But, well, who said I couldn’t pretend to. I knew I was never going to be the type of guy that Glow Girl would picture herself ending up with. But, in reality, I didn’t really have to be that type of guy. I just needed her to think that I was. I was already randomly seeing her all the time at a bunch different places. I figured all I really had to do was pretend to be a much better person than I actually am whenever I was around her. Alright... So... Operation Good Guy went into effect. Now, I had already begun dressing a little nicer, but I kinda wanted to up the ante. So I went out and bought just like a ton of new clothes. Nothing too fancy or expensive or anything, but just, ya know, stuff that was an improvement over the same shit I’d been wearing since high school. Then, I called up my hairdresser, White Rihanna, and I got a dope haircut. And, I gotta admit, I looked good. Well, as good as I could. I wasn’t exactly able to improve the overall goofiness of my face or anything. However, you know what they say: you can’t always change the picture, but you can usually give it a fucking sweet frame. Okay, maybe they don’t always say that, but they should. Either way, I was no longer just hoping that I’d see Glow Girl every day. I was now also hoping that she’d see me. And, well, that’s when I started thinking... Like, I’d been randomly seeing Glow Girl all the time at different places, right? So, it would stand to reason, if I went out more often, to more different places: I’d probably randomly see Glow Girl more. I mean, we lived in a pretty fucking small town, man. The more I was out and about; the more I was gonna run into this chick. And, don’t get me wrong, I didn’t want to do anything, ever, other than just sit in my shitty apartment smoking weed, eating candy, and playing xbox. I definitely didn’t want to go out and just do stuff. However...I could pretend I did. So I started just, like, going out and doing more stuff, dude. I mean, my friends had always texted me a lot to meet up for drinks or whatever, but I’d usually make up some excuse as to why I couldn’t go. But, yeah, I don’t know, I just started saying okay and meeting up with them. And we’d usually end up having a lot of fucking fun. I also started kinda hanging out with my family more often. I’d always gotten along great with my family, but I’d usually only see them once every couple of weeks or so. But I just sorta started texting them and seeing if they wanted to go out to dinner and shit. And it was great. Sometimes it would just be me and my sister or brother. Other times just me and parents. A few times we got the whole crew together. It was just nice, ya know. And, sure, none of my friends or family knew the real reason I was suddenly going out so much with them was just to improve my chances of seeing somebody else. But, I mean, whatever. In the end, we’d always just have a great time together. So, I just felt like who cares, ya know. Now...having said that...guys, the plan was totally fucking working! Like, the more I went out, the more I randomly saw Glow Girl. And naturally she was always glowing. Like stars reflecting over the ocean. But, now, I felt like I looked kinda nice too. I wasn’t really sure whether or not she noticed. But something just told me she did, man. Still, would that be enough? I mean, anyone could dress nice. That alone wasn’t going to make me her dream guy or whatever. The rest of my life was still a giant fucking mess. But...then again...I could always pretend it wasn’t. Alright... So... My car was kind of like a piece of shit. And I obviously wasn’t going to go out and buy a new car. But I figured I’d just pretend mine wasn’t such a piece of shit. So I cleaned it and washed it. Went out and got some new stuff for the interior. Just tried to make it look decent, ya know. And, yeah, man, when I was done, it actually looked pretty good. Like, you’d totally think I was responsible and took care of it for years or whatever. My apartment was just sorta sad. Like, I’d been living there for a while, but there was barely anything in there. I had two bedrooms, but one of them was literally completely empty. So I just went out and bought some stuff. A bunch of new furniture, got some artwork for the walls, a couple of lamps, a few plants. I turned my empty spare bedroom into a neat little comic book covered office. I ended up making my whole apartment look pretty fucking dope. And, like, guys, I knew I’d probably never have Glow Girl in my car, or get her back to my apartment or anything. But, I mean, I just wanted to make it seem like my life wasn’t a giant mess. So, yeah, I just figured cleaning up my apartment and car would be a good way to start. And, you know what, dude, again, that shit kinda worked. Well, I mean, not really, but I was driving the one day, and I saw Glow Girl again. She was glowing of course. Like a raver’s plastic jewelry. She was with some friends, but she saw me and she waved. So, yeah, I just felt like having her see me in my newly washed and cleaned car was better than having her see me in the dirt box that it very recently was. Especially given that she was with her friends. And, well, that’s when I started thinking... Like, I had yet to really consider the fact that Glow Girl had friends. I mean, I obviously knew she would, but I just hadn’t really thought about it before. She was the fucking coolest so she probably had a million friends. And, ya know, we lived in a pretty fucking small town, man. So, like, she could be friends with people I passed on the street everyday, or random dudes I’d see out, or even like the super cute chick from the coffee place I go to who liked my sweaters. I mean, literally, anyone at all whom I encountered could wind up being her friend. Or if not her friend; maybe her neighbor, or like her cousin, or her old field hockey teammate. Like, the possibilities were endless. And, at first, I was like, FUCK. Because this whole time I had just been worried about what I looked like and how I acted when I saw Glow Girl. But now I realized that wasn’t going to to be enough. Because like, at anytime, I could be around people who knew her or were friends with her or whatever. But, the more I thought about that shit, the more I started to consider that it may in fact be a good thing. Because it was like, now, I could just pretend to be awesome, all of the time, around completely random people. And just assume one or more of them knew Glow Girl. Then, ya know, if my name ever came up, someone close to Glow Girl would just be like, “Oh man, that dude’s fucking awesome.” Alright... So... I just started pretending to be a better person than I am, to everyone, everywhere, all of the time. And I know that sounds kinda crazy, but it was actually remarkably simple. Like, I was just nicer to people. And friendlier. More generous. More caring. I gave people compliments for no reason other than to make them feel good. I went out of my way to help people whenever I thought they could use it. I just pretended to be a genuinely good dude, man. Like, I grew up idolizing superheroes so it really wasn’t that hard. I just did the type of shit I thought Chris Evans would do. But I didn’t stop with how I acted towards random people. I kept it going with how I acted when I was simply around random people. Like, I’d always see a ton of random people at the grocery store. Who knew which ones might end up being friends with Glow Girl. I figured I should just make myself look like a well put together individual in front of all of them. So I started buying like fruits and vegetables and actual food instead of just filling up my entire cart with sour patch kids and CT Crunch. This resulted in me not having to eat fast food as much which I saw as a secondary plus. Because no single guy looks great walking through their apartment’s courtyard with seventeen bags of Taco Bell. Eventually, this kinda led to the next step which was huge. Like, now that my plan was just to try look good in front of random people; there was one thing I definitely knew made me look bad. The fact that I had a cigarette in my mouth 24/7. I knew smoking was gross. I knew it made me look gross. Now I knew I had to stop. So I did. I mean, I’m not gonna lie, I didn’t quit completely. But I just decided I would never smoke in front of someone who could end up knowing Glow Girl. And since I assumed everyone could end up knowing her. That meant I couldn’t smoke around anyone. Combine that with the fact I refused to smoke in my newly cared for car, and the fact that my entire apartment complex was smoke-free; and, yeah, it wasn’t long until my pack a day habit was down to like just a few drunken cigarettes a week or so. Now, while all of this happening; I kept seeing Glow Girl. Still, all of the time, at different places. And, ya know, every time, she’d be glowing. Like a jerk’s cell phone screen in a movie theater. But, with each time I saw her; yeah, I mean, I don’t know, I just kinda talked to her a little more, you guys. And I started feeling way more comfortable doing it. I think it was just because I really believed my whole pretend to be a better person plan was working so well. Like, I knew in reality I was still a shitty person, but I just felt like I was totally passing as a pretend okay guy. And, like, man, I fucking loved talking to this chick. She just made me laugh. I made her laugh a lot too. And, yeah, that just made me insanely fucking happy. No, for real, like insanely fucking happy. Seriously, I just started being a lot happier, in general. It was like I suddenly didn’t hate waking up in the morning. I looked forward to what adventures my new pretend persona might get into each day. It was kinda as though Glow Girl just made my whole fucking world seem a little bit brighter. Soon, my newly found anti-pessimism spilled over into my shitty job. Like, my whole deal at work is basically just me talking to people and trying to get them to like me. And it turned out a happier me was a whole lot more likable. So I started doing kinda well. Like, improving my performance noticeably. And, more than that, I started having a little bit of fun with it. I was just in a better mood, doing better than I ever had, and it became sorta easy to kinda enjoy myself. My shitty job almost stopped seeming so shitty. Alright... So... I was now trying to look nicer each day. I was going out more and more often with my friends and family and having fun. I was taking good care of my car and my apartment. I was eating healthier. I was smoking way less. I was doing a lot better at work. I was trying to be an awesome person to everyone I encountered everyday. And I was the happiest I’d been in a long time. It really did seem like I’d finally gotten my shit together. And, well, I had to keep reminding myself that it was all just pretend. Because it started to feel pretty god damn real, you guys. Like, honestly, man, it just began to seem like my entire life had vastly improved. It felt like everyone liked me more. I know that sounds lame, but it’s true. I felt like I had more friends than I’d had since way back in the day. And it felt like girls were suddenly not totally against fucking me. No joke, I had two just like sorta random girls ask me out for drinks. I mean, shit, guys, that had literally never happened to me before in my life. And, well, that’s when I started thinking... Maybe this wasn’t all just pretend. I mean, like, I really had been doing all of this stuff that I thought would make me seem like a better person. And everyone was kinda treating me like I had become a better person. And I had kinda started to feel like I was truly being a better person. So, like, maybe I really was a better person? And, sure, this had all started as just a way for me to pretend to be the type of guy I thought Glow Girl would like. Because, ya know, she glowed. Like a five and half foot tall, girl-shaped lava lamp. But, it had turned into a lot more than that, you guys. I didn’t know for sure if I’d become the type of person Glow Girl would like. But I just finally felt like I’d become the type of person I liked. I didn’t feel like a piece of shit anymore. I was no longer embarrassed about the person I was. I felt the opposite actually. I was fucking proud of myself. Like, I really had turned into a pretty good dude. There was only one question remaining. Would I be good enough? Alright... So... The next time I saw Glow Girl, I was beaming with confidence. I was beaming with pride. I was beaming with excitement. In fact, I was beaming so god damn much...you could say I was glowing. I knew it was time to finally make my move. But, before I did, I made a promise to myself. No matter what happened; I wasn’t going to go back to the old me. I was just continue being the best version of myself that I could. Because even if Glow Girl still didn’t like me. That was fine. Because, for the first time in a long time, I liked me. And I knew that was way more fucking important. Still, there was no denying this had all started with her. She was the reason I had wanted to be a better person. She was the reason I had worked so hard to become a better person. And she was the reason I was so excited to be a better person. She was the girl of my dreams, you guys. I liked her so fucking much. I’m lame, and I believe in true love. I always have, and I always will. And, honestly; I really just felt like she might be it, man. I mean, she fucking glowed. Like she was made out of sunshine. So...I finally asked her out. Nothing major, I just asked her if she wanted to maybe get dinner together sometime. And... Well... Let’s all just pretend she said yes.


“What have we got, Maya?” “Port and starboard are online, sir. Aft visuals are online. Forward visuals...” “Maya? Maya?!” “Forward visuals working fine, sir. Just messing with you.” “Ugh. When did you get a sense of humor?” “Sometime around the last staff briefing, sir.” “Well that was clearly a mistake. I’ll have to send you back.” “Yes sir,” Maya chuckled. “How are the legs holding up?” “Holding up fine, sir. Permission to leave dock?” “Granted, Maya.” And with that, the door slid open, and the universe revealed itself. Maya’s mech put one massive foot in front of the other. The suit came up to a total of fifty feet in height, ten tons in weight. She used the mech’s two massive hands to grab onto the edges of the dock, then launched herself into the endless night. “Are you squealing, Maya?” “I am indeed, sir,” Maya said though a wide, toothy smile. “You’ve been out here before.” “And yet it never gets old.” The distant stars, dead yet undying, called to her, and she forced herself not to reach for them. She turned left, and the torso of her behemoth rotated on its axis before being joined by the legs. Stella Eranti took a more complete view as Maya drifted further out. She was to stay at a half-mile perimeter as she circumnavigated that floating city, to prep her for patrol duty. A week prior, she’d woken up in her pod. The barracks’ design was taken from old Japanese hotels, cots built into walls inside of folding doors. Apparently the aim was to save space and help the troops overcome any latent claustrophobia they might be suffering from. Maya, as far as she remembered, had never had that problem. Tight spaces had only ever been cozy to her. They’d opened her door, pulled her out, and told her she was going to pilot the *Maisu*. Nobody was entirely sure where the *Maisu 0* came from. It was an old model of mech rig, and it was found in an unclaimed solar system. On the planet now called Rangi, a massive sprawl of green sand and boulders, they’d found her. Buried beneath what was eventually decided as a collapsed mineshaft, they found her. The most perfectly designed mech-rig ever imagined. Unfortunately, it hadn’t been preserved well, but after several years of debate over who could claim ownership, the Duke of Stella Eranti was able to take her home. From there, his scientists analyzed the behemoth, and eventually reverse-engineered the *Maisu 1.* ... Which, as Maya and everyone else in Stella Eranti learned in middle school history, collapsed instantly when someone tried to get inside and pilot the damn thing. *Maisu 2* had fared little better, and *3* and *4* were improvements, but it wasn’t until the *Maisu 5* that any of the Duke’s people were able to bring the beast into the space, where it belonged. Maya remembered the first time she’d read those words, in her school textbooks. It had been a revelation: the Rangians, whoever they word, whatever they’d truly called themselves, had been space-faring. She could recall the exact moment the information had entered her developing mind: a ten year old girl, black hair in pigtails, sitting in a cramped classroom at a desk already too small for her. Her classmates were so close beside her that everyone had no choice but to get used to it. Handed the text, a pad projecting holographic words onto holographic paper: *40,000 years ago, the Rangians reached for the stars and took hold. The only question is just how high they climbed.* Maya steered around the turn of the bottled city. They floating through unclaimed space, and nobody was on their sensors. They were all alone. Maya was all alone. But she didn’t feel that way. She never felt that way. Rangi was with her. *Maisu* was with her, all six of them. And it was perfect. She pushed forward. “Maya, what are you doing?” “Just testing her out a bit, Sir.” “You’re not authorized to do that, Maya.” “I know, but... I think I can push her a bit more, Sir.” “No, you can’t, Maya.” “But Sir!” “Maya! Report back immediately.” Maya looked out at the cosmos unfolding before her. She reached out, one hand her own and one the *Maisu.* The stars were there. She reached. She grabbed hold. The only question was how far she could get. At full thrust, the *Maisu* was capable of similar speeds to a runabout, but with far greater firepower and maneuverability. She launched, and she went forward. The others were after her immediately, and she fired before they did. The backlash was mostly absorbed by the machine itself, but there was still a small jolt from firing that many times. Maya’s heart thundered, sweat bursting from her pores. Yet her hands remained steady, and she refused to blink. She didn’t know why she was doing this, only that... Only that it was important. Important that she get to Rangi. The other mechs started firing back. They weren’t as strong or as fast as her *Maisu*, but there were dozens of them. Indirect hit after indirect hit- they were targeting her life support systems. They were trying to save the mech. Maya took down five, ten, twenty mechs before carbon dioxide flooded her cockpit. Then her hands stopped moving. Then her arms. Then everything. Her entire body began to stop. Simply... Stop. The last thing she saw was the stars. She wanted to reach out for them. She wanted more than anything for them to reach back. But she understood: they were already dead. \*\*\* “How are you feeling, Sir?” “Very good, Your Excellence.” “Sorry about the newest Maya. I knew you’d grown attached to that one.” “She was certainly the most successful thus far. But she wasn’t good enough. Not for the *Maisu*, and not for me.” “Too much of the original pilot’s DNA, you think?” “Perhaps. More human DNA might make Maya 21 easier to control.” “Very good.” “And the mech?” “Damaged. Not irreparably, but frankly it’d be more efficient to simply start work on *Maisu 6.*” “How long until I have a body again, Your Excellence?” “Three weeks at most. And again, I apologize for your having to shut down the last one. I understand that’s rather a painful process for you.” “It is. Is there anything else, or may I rest, Duke?” “One more thing: the Maya program is growing rather costly. We may have to face the reality that it’s not worth the effort or the expense.” “So I’m on thin ice, then?” “You are.” “Very well. You do understand, though: the rig only responds to Rangian DNA. It has to be a Rangian, or at least someone with primarily Rangian DNA.” “I do. I also understand that someone else can figure that out rather easily. So if this next Maya fails-” “Then you kill me and the *Maisu* both?” “That’s correct, Sir. You may rest now.” And with that, the Duke left the room in which Sir slept. Extracted from Maya 20, placed in computer storage, the personality drifted off. It slept, and it dreamt of the stars reaching back. More than anything, Sir wanted to go home. He suspected that was Maya’s problem as well. Home to where they’d been found, home to where they’d been pulled out of their sleep. They wanted the same thing, but they didn’t want it the same way.


It all started with COVID-19. The whole world was crumbling, and everyone was wondering what was going to happen. Most worried if they would have their jobs, If they could travel to see their friends after it all ended. What no one imagined came close to reality. They couldn't imagine that it was only the beginning and that it would end the world. It started with a new surge in cases when the world was sure the virus had waned. Then the doctors noticed something alarming. Those that got it before were immune, and those that hadn't got it then developed a high fever, followed by unconsciousness. Those that made it through changed utterly. They changed physically, race, they even lost all memories of who they had been. It was as though they became born anew. The doctors didn't realize then that it was more than a change; it was a mutation. This is how the Covlings were born. Think Changelings or shapeshifters, but very real. It did not matter the country, race, societal standing. No one infected was safe. They became more robust, ruthless, and they soon outnumbered the humans. The world, as we knew it collapsed. The hospitals were overwhelmed and couldn't keep track of who was whom. Governments collapsed. Families were separated. And the new race saw the opportunity to take over the world. The humans became rejects, second class citizens who lived on the outskirts, and the Covlings prospered. They made sure never to marry or live with the normals as they called them. Florie was just a girl who loved a man. She met a man, Simon, just before the resurgence of the virus. She loved him during COVID, and they had a torrid four months. Their relationship came to an abrupt end when he suddenly got sick with the virus. But she had one certainty in her mind; Simon was the love of her life. She had dated many men before the apocalypse, but none had ever loved her the way he had. She felt lost in this new world without him. He had been her anchor and built her up, supported her, cherished her. She believed that even if he was a Covling, some of him would remember her and the love they shared. Now she was all alone and wanted to see if she could find him on the other end of the Earth. She set out to what used to be Edinburgh to find him. The city of their love, where they met. She passed the ruins of Brig o' Doon, where they had their first kiss. Her fingers trailed the stone, she found the place where they etched their initials. A tear trailed down her cheek. She remembered their last conversation. It had been a fight, and he left her several messages. The day she saw him last didn't start out any different from any other day. It was a long morning where she didn't want to wake up. She lay in bed for a while before checking her messages. The first thing she saw was him saying ' bye ' and 'I'm not doing this .' She tried to read all the messages he left throughout the night. And some of them popped out as she scrolled up the screen. I love you , remember that. I wasn't going to say sorry . No more . Fuck it. It's not fair on me . Invested so much time, effort, and love into you. You probably hurt now. I guess you'll turn it back on me . Maybe this is what you do, you ruin things . I said I was happy, but I was fucking screaming inside. I asked you for one thing . I'm in fucking pieces . She was upset by his messages and decided not to respond. He was silly. She couldn't believe he wanted to end things just because there had been flirting with someone else. By the time she decided to respond days later, he had been admitted with the virus. She tried tracking him down, but it was hard to get information about what had happened to patients admitted initially. That is when she realized she had lost the One. The one thing that she had that meant something to her. She had spent all this time chasing after all the wrong things and only realized when it was gone what she did want. She only wanted one thing, him. And now he was gone. She cried and prayed for God to tell her how to get him back because she couldn't live without him. All she could see and think in those days was him. She sank into a stupor reliving all the beautiful moments they had shared. She was an orphan and had been alone as long as she could remember. All her relationships in the past had led to pain. Simon had been the one man who made her feel like she mattered, and her life would amount to something. He was the only constant, the only thing that kept her together. He pieced her together every day until she almost felt whole. And now she was crumbling again. She turned onto Ferry road and was further haunted by all the memories of the places lined ahead they used to go to, as she walked on looking in the windows. She gazed in listlessly, her mind trapped in the past in memories of what had been. She haunted all the places they used to go to. Where Simon first told her he wanted to leave his wife. The date where he told her he wanted everything. When she got to the restaurant where he proposed, she decided to go in on impulse. She walked in and was drawn to their favorite booth. Sliding into one of the seats, her mind started reminiscing all the times spent there. Absentmindedly, her hands trailed the wall, and she found a brick that seemed loose. She tugged at it, and a note fell out. It was addressed to her in his handwriting. She was overcome with deep emotion and opened it while her hands shook. 'Dear Florie, I'm writing this while I still can. I don't remember much. But I remember your name and this place. I think it is crucial. Find me here, I will come back if I can. There is a fog that prevents us from remembering. But your name slips through once in a while with a sense of urgency. I'll be here when I remember again. I want to know you. -Simon She knew that no matter what, she had to find Simon. That their story would never end. Without him, life was bleak and dark. The world was falling apart, and everything was burning, but she knew, together, they could make it work. They could find a new Edinburgh amidst the ruins.


Content Warning: Physical and Sexual Violence, Language “Fine,” he says at last, circling the lowest number and signing his name. I hold out my hand. “Congratulations. You just bought yourself a car.” His hand is a little clammy, but he shakes on it and leans back in the chair. “You didn’t even buy me dinner first!” he jokes. I hate those jokes. But I am a professional, so I plaster on a smile. “I’m going to step out for a minute and get everything moving for you, and I’ll come back with some paperwork. Sound good?” He nods. He’s already got his phone out, telling someone I just bought a car! The ones who put up the biggest fight are the ones who are the most excited to show off. They’re also the ones most likely to call and kick up a fuss the next day. I’ll make sure that he can’t. I step out of my office, my shoes clicking on the showroom tiles. It’s getting late. The summer sun is starting to sink and the clouds are moving in. The traffic is easing off. Any minute now, my sales manager will summon the other salespeople. They’ll circle around the red sedan. Luke will ask who has something lined up tomorrow, sigh quietly when they tell him they don’t have any appointments, and dismiss them all. All but me. It’s looking like it might be a long night. But there’s hope. If my customer fought me every step of the way because I’m a woman, he’ll probably lay down for the male finance manager. Luke is leaning back in his chair, but he perks up when I step into the glass enclosure they call a sales desk. He grins. “Did you get him?” he asks. I hand him the sheet of paper. “Get that asshole out of my office,” I tell him. He gets it. Out of all these men, he’s the only one who seems to understand. “You didn’t even need a turnover,” he reminds me encouragingly. “And you’re gonna make some money off of this one.” I wasn’t going to ask. I have spent the last week trying to avoid getting commission breath, but I have bills and I need to eat. “If he says one more sentence to my boobs, I’m going to leave his car in neutral and let it roll into traffic,” I threaten. He shakes his head as he types, but I can hear him chuckle softly. The printer whirs. I know the sheets coming off of it are for me: a Buyer’s Order and a We Owe (and he will probably say we owe him floor mats for his trouble, even though they are already in the car and I will be putting them in myself before he leaves). I have come to love the scent of hot ink as much as I hate the combative pigs I sell to. The signatures collect themselves. I point, he signs, and he presses his phone to his ear with a shoulder. I hope this is one of those easily impressed friends who will celebrate with him and not one who thinks that car prices should be what they were thirty years ago. I should take him to the car and remind him how everything works, but I want to celebrate right now. First one in nearly two weeks, after all, and depending on what we made, I can afford to put gas in my car. My savings are nonexistent after... well, what happened thirteen days ago. I scoop up the papers and run them back to the sales desk. “Stay with your customer,” I am reminded. I nod and walk slowly to the fridge. Maybe if he has water once he gets off the phone he’ll be too busy drinking to talk. I don’t feel like answering the inevitable “Are you seeing anyone?” As long as he doesn’t put his hands on me, I can’t do much. I can’t afford to lose this deal. Thankfully he is still on the phone, and he stays engrossed in his conversation until the finance manager appears in the doorway. Tim shoots me a knowing look. Of course my customer will end his phone conversation for a man. I am relieved when they are gone. I have an hour to get everything done. There is a trade to stock in, a Buyer’s Guide to fill out, a spare key fob and owner’s manual to grab from upstairs. It is easiest to start there. I hate coming up the stairs anymore. I hate the darkness of the half-empty room with its rows of file cabinets on one side. I have one key in each pocket, the trade on the left and the sold unit on the right. The fob is not threatening. I lace the old-fashioned metal trade key between my fingers as I fumble for the light switch. The fluorescent bulbs buzz to life. They are so bright it nauseates me, or maybe it’s the smell of the room: old papers and cardboard boxes. And cologne. “What are you doing up here?” I ask, shoving my way past him to the newer filing cabinets. “Putting up a deal,” he says. I roll my eyes. “Since when do you work after 6?” My general sales manager frowns down at me. Jake is well over six feet tall, and the first person to make me feel small since third grade. “I just kept it from coming back,” he explains, and his voice is wearier than I’ve heard it in a while. “I don’t need the owner on my ass right now.” I recite the stock number under my breath as I dig. He puts his arm on the filing cabinet. He is closer than I want him right now. “I bet you’re glad to be selling again.” I slam the drawer and he draws his arm back. The entire cabinet shakes. “Can we not do this right now?” I ask. “My customer’s in the box.” “You’ve got time. Is it healing up alright?” I don’t answer. I am on Drawer #2, and it’s not in here. I mumble a few choice words. “Have you eaten anything?” It is too much, the brightness and the overpowering scents of cedar and pepper and dampness. “God damn it, Jake, I don’t have time for this!” I shout. “I’m hungry and I haven’t slept since it happened, and I don’t want to fucking be here!” “Look, you’re lucky I gave you a few days off. We actually needed you last week. Lou’s pissed at me for it and I’ve already had to talk him down from taking it out on you.” I don’t give a fuck what either of them think anymore. I pause long enough to flip him off. He laughs. He reaches into the drawer, and his hand goes straight to the back to fish out an owner’s manual and spare key in their frosted plastic pouch. “Is this the one you sold?” I snatch it out of his hands and turn. My hair moves as I do and my neck is bare. He grabs my arm. “The bruises are healing up,” he offers. I pull away and cover it with my hand. “Don’t ever touch me again,” I tell him and storm off. The lights flicker as I go, and I hear him snickering to himself. Must be nice to find everything funny. I close the door to my office and sit at my desk. It’s windy now, a soft sound that muffles the conversation between my bosses in the showroom. He must have followed me down. I reach into my desk, pull out the stock tag and the buyer’s guide. All my VIN numbers are ready to go. There’s a soft knock at the door. “Just me,” Luke says. “Come in,” I tell him without looking up. He sits across from me, setting his backpack in the floor. “Jake’s gone.” I don’t look up from my work. “Thank fuck.” “He was trying to help you.” I sigh and shake my head. “Well, he didn’t.” He stands as quickly as he sat. “You need to eat something,” he tells me. "You'll feel better." I am pressing the stock tag into the upper corner of the trade’s windshield when Tim calls me into his office. “We’re all done here,” he says, cheerful as ever. “I’m ready to go home,” my customer says. I put on my big, fake smile again. “Let me show you a few things on the car and you’ll be free to go,” I tell him. He follows me out. I open the door for him. While he adjusts the seat, I look around to make sure everyone is gone. It’s starting to drizzle. “Look,” my customer says, “I’m sorry if I was kind of a jackass. Last time I bought a car I got ripped off.” “Well, now that you know me, that’s not going to happen again,” I tell him and lean closer. “Look up. See that button?” He looks up. There’s no button. This is a base model. But his neck is bare. My teeth dig into the flesh around his Adam’s apple. My own neck still aches, and I know his hurts because he is trying so hard to scream. I remember how hard I tried, how I went limp when I gave up, just as he is doing now. He isn’t fighting near as much as I did. Luke's right. I feel better with something in my stomach. Someone claps their hands, and I turn to look. Tim has been standing in the showroom all this time, watching, and now he has opened the door to applaud my first meal. I wipe the blood off my chin and take a bow. He laughs. “You go on home now,” he tells me. “I’ll clean it up this time. Great job today.” On the ride home, I call Jake. He answers with, “Did you eat?” “Yeah,” I say. I can hear the smile in his voice. “Not so bad after all, right?” “You still should have asked first,” I tell him and hang up.


He felt the bullets' impact, but there was no pain at first. Just a horrible sense of intrusion - those foreign things fused with his flesh in a way that just felt wrong . He ignored it and ran, taking random turns, hoping to lose the gunmen in the maze of the lab complex. It wasn't him they wanted. Not really. He and his colleagues were just in the way. When he could run no further, he took refuge in a storage closet. For a few hopeful moments, he thought he might just live after all, but the slow, measured steps approaching and stopping at the door of the closet told him otherwise. The door opened and he had only an instant to register the impassive gaze, and the leveled weapon before... Jon surged into wakefulness, panting and shaking with the adrenaline rush. Third time in two weeks, and he was more than a little sick of it. He shoved the sheets aside and got out of bed, only because the pall of dread was still hanging over him and he needed to move, to defy it. Damned if he'd hide under the covers like a scared kid. He paced the house for five minutes, and then went back to get what little sleep was left to him before morning. He still couldn't figure out what was triggering the nightmares. Sure, the stuff he worked with had some weaponization potential, and the facility had some fairly hefty security, but he'd been there for five years without a single incident, and never really thought beyond the problems inherent in his research. Maybe a pattern in the data that he was picking up on subconsciously was trying to get his attention. He rose a little early, and stopped to grab a cup of coffee on the way to the ferry landing. Yesterday's rain had cleared, leaving a watery sunlight, and a fresh breeze off the water. Jon leaned on the railing, watching a crowd of gulls begging bits of donut and croissant from the tourists. "It's almost like a dream, isn't it?" Startled, Jon turned to look at the girl leaning on the rail beside him. He'd been so preoccupied that he hadn't noticed her arrival. "Hm?" he said. Her vague gesture took in everything--the weather, the rising mist, the gulls--and she smiled up at him. She looked like a refugee from Woodstock, about nineteen and slender, her long, straight hair stirring in the breeze off the harbor. "You know. All this. It's such a beautiful day. Just like a dream." He couldn't help smiling back at her. "Yeah, I suppose it is." "Do you know what I'd do?" She pulled her rainbow colored shawl closer around her shoulders. "What's that?" he asked, obliging her, because even if she was a little young, a guy couldn't help playing along with a girl who looked like that. She looked up at him, meeting his gaze with another of her sunlit smiles. "I'd take the day off. The whole day. Drive along the coast. Walk on the beach. Eat lunch in some little café you've never been in before. Watch the sunset from a cliff. I'd just take the whole day, and not come back until it's all over." "Until what's all over?" "The day, silly. The whole day." She shook her head. "Were you even listening?" "Sure I was." He looked out idly over the water. The ferry had come into view but it would be ten minutes yet. "I heard every word. It sounds fantastic. But I have to go to work." She made a face. "I'll bet you work way too hard. I'll just bet you have like a month’s vacation days you've never used." "Busted." "So take one. I dare you! You won't though, because you're all establishment, through and through." "Hey!" Jon protested. "My grandparents were at Woodstock. My dad was conceived at Woodstock." "So take the day off." Her eyes challenged him. He shook his head, chuckling. "I'm older than I look, you know," she announced. "What?" "That's what you were thinking. What does a kid like me know about responsibility? Well, I have a lot of responsibilities." Now it was his turn to be challenging. "Yeah? Like what? You can't be older than nineteen." She nudged him playfully. "Right now I'm responsible for getting you to take the day off. Come on. Buy me breakfast." She rolled her eyes at his expression. "You heard me, right? Because I said, 'Buy me breakfast,' not 'Have sex with me.' I'm harmless, I swear." She glanced out at the incoming ferry. "Come on. Say yes, right now. Don't think about it. Just say yes." He looked down into her eyes, and for a moment, he felt dizzy. She looked up at him, still smiling. "You see? You know you want to." "I don't even know your name." "It's Gabrielle. And don't you dare call me Gabby. I hate nicknames. Come on. There's a great bakery just across the street." He let her lead him away from the rail. She moved like a dancer. They bought coffee, and cream cheese Danish and ate them sitting on the beach. Jon felt a slight twinge of guilt when he called in to say that an emergency had arisen and he was taking a vacation day, but he put it out of his mind. A day off might be just what he needed to destress and get rid of the nightmares. "Do you believe in fate?" Gabrielle asked, licking the last of the cream cheese off her fingers. "You mean, like, what's going to happen happens, and we have no choice? Nah. We make our own fate." She stood and walked to the edge of the water, where she kicked off her sandals to let the waves wash over her toes. "We do have choices." She looked over her shoulder at him. "But I think, sometimes we need a little nudge in the right direction and maybe the universe provides that." She sighed and bent to pick up her sandals. "I have to go." "What happened to taking the whole day off?" Gabrielle smiled and shook her head. "You're the one taking a vacation day. You think you're my only job today? I have half a dozen more establishment types to corrupt before dinner." He watched her walk back to the landing, and after a moment he followed. When he reached his car, he sat for a time without starting it. Then he got it running and turned it toward the coast road. His cell vibrated in his pocket. He turned it off and tossed it into the jockey box. It wasn't until the sun had set and he'd turned his car back toward town that he thought again about Gabrielle's odd choice of words. Don't come back until it's all over . He pulled his cell from the jockey box and turned it on. Fifteen messages. He keyed up the first one. "Jon? Where the hell are you, man? All hell's broken loose! There's... we don't know how many are dead, but Mark, and Janet and... They shot, like, everyone! For God's sake, call me when you get this!”


By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire. The crackling sound is what first caught my attention, as I was kicked back in my easy chair, watching TV. The dry leaves burned quickly, snapping sparks flew all directions and rapidly burned the surrounding grass. Leaves blew up and spun in the air as they blackened to ash. The grass wilted as hot embers landed and hissed. I uncoiled the hose, getting it tangled and kinked in my haste, then I wasted precious seconds that seemed like hours, getting it straightened out. I usually like the woodsy smell of burning leaves, and campfires with burning branches, but in this setting, I'm keen out putting them out before the fire spreads any further. I finally get the hose uncoiled and I crank the knob all the way open and blast the flames with cold water, putting it out and causing an explosion of soaked leaves that flies everywhere. I hear my six year old daughter clapping wildly in the opening of the sliding glass door behind me. "Yaaay! Do it again, Daddy!" "No, sweetie, fire is dangerous, I'm not going to do it again." "Aww! But why?" "Because fire is dangerous, sweetie." I take the rake and spread out the pile of leaves and douse the few embers that are still burning. I notice something in a burned patch of grass and bend down for a closer look. When I realize what it is, I snatch it up, and spin around and march up the stairs to my teenage son's room. I pound on the door and throw it open without waiting for a response. My son is lying on his bed flipping through a magazine. When I burst in, he jumps up, looking startled, then his expression quickly changes to one of anger at the invasion of his privacy. I don't care. "Mark, give me the cigarettes!" I shout. "What cigarettes?" Mark asks, doing his best to look innocent. I hold up my evidence, a half-smoked, sodden cigarette, and shake it in his direction. "This one, that almost burned our yard, and the house too, If I hadn't noticed the nasty smell of burning leaves!" He looks at the cigarette in my fingers and crosses his arms over his chest. "Hand them over or so help me, I will tear this room apart." Mark sighs and rolls his eyes. "Fine. Here." He pulls a rumbled, half-empty pack of Morley's out from under his mattress and with a look of disgust flung in my direction, hands them to me. I walk back downstairs and out onto the back porch, quietly closing the sliding door behind me, but leaving it open a crack. I quickly look around to make sure no one is watching, and I tap one of the Morley's out of the pack and light it with the Zippo in my pocket. I pull a long drag into my lungs, and close my eyes, enjoying the nicotine rush. I quit six months ago, so my body welcomes the nicotine it has been craving. I let out an arrow of smoke into the crisp evening sir. "Whatcha doing daddy?" My six year old daughter, Kellie asks, standing right in front of me. I jump, startled, as she seemed to appear out of nowhere; I didn't hear her open the back door. "Oh nothing, sweetie." "You was 'moking. That stinks." Kellie wrinkled up her cute little nose and pointed at the cigarette. Feeling ashamed, I bend down and press the cigarette into the concrete, extinguishing it. "It does stink, you're right. Why don't you get ready for bed, I will be up soon to tuck you in and read you a story. "Ok daddy." She goes in and closes the glass door behind her. I ruefully tuck the cigarette back into the pack with the rest and pocket it. I grab the rake and scrape the leaves back into a pile. I will bag them up tomorrow, hopefully I can get Mark to help me. I lean the rake against the house. I frown as I notice that Kellie has closed the sliding door all the way. I tug the handle, but the door doesn't budge. I tug harder. Nothing. Installing an automatic lock seemed like a good idea at the time, but right now I could kick myself for it. I knock on the door as hard as I can, knowing it is pointless. Kellie probably has her bath water running and Mark usually goes to sleep with headphones phones on. I sigh and go to get the ladder from the shed. I only hope one of the second floor windows is unlocked, else I will be sleeping in the car tonight. I tugged the heavy ladder over and leaned it against the back of the house. I was beginning to get really cold in just a tee shirt and jeans. I hadn't had time to put shoes on, so my formerly white socks were now soaked and covered with grass clippings, which made it slippery and precarious to slowly make my way up the ladder. I walked along the sloping roof slowly, crouched low to maintain my balance. I passed by the bathroom window, I didn't want to scare Kellie by knocking on the window while she was taking her bath, and aimed for Mark's bedroom window. I had to rap on the glass until he finally heard me and rolled towards the window, looking alarmed. When he realized it was me, he got out of bed and sauntered over to the window, wearing an amused smirk. He slid the sash up, and then struggled to open the screen. "Weird place to take an evening stroll, dad." "Very funny. I got locked out." I replied, as he pushed up the protesting screen and stepped back so I could climb inside. "Thanks." I told him, as I peeled off my socks to avoid soiling the carpet. "Good night, Mark." I ignored his chuckling behind me.


I maneuver my way around the countertop, scouring its marble surface for a very basic thing, a form of tea. I stop and turn, almost knocking over a dish rack and busting all of the plates and cups suspended and drying. I panic and dash forwards and catch the collapsing rack. It’s around five o’clock in the morning and, to clarify, I am not a morning person. And so this, this half asleep, confused, and groggy state; it’s normal for me this early in the morning. But then again, that's only because I haven’t had my tea yet. Some prefer the ugly cousin to Tea, coffee. And well, let's just say coffee is the horrid combination of acidic mud water that is quite abrasive to my pallet. Which leaves me really only one choice to lock down my caffeine addiction. Black tea. I carefully search cabinet after cabinet, drawer after drawer, but to no avail. I look under and over, down and up, side to side, until I come upon a small, very expensive looking, box of tea. You would never guess where it ended up residing. Inside of the fridge. Along with a bunch of coffee packets of a different variety laying on their sides. The box, full black in color, had a golden trim along the top and bottom. I'm quite impartial towards brands when I’m like this, as I’m not really thinking about it at the moment. All I needed to know was that the box was labeled to my desire. And low and behold, it was. “How about that..” I whisper beneath my breath before looking back at the countless open cabinets and drawers. With a hum of relief sounding in my mind, I slowly close each door and, while I'm at it, retrieve a small kettle from the pots and pans cabinet. Once I finish cleaning up my mess, I prepare the kettle and set it down on the stove to heat. I also set aside a cup; a decently sized mug that had the words “1’st Class Dad!” on the front. I let a small smirk grow at the edge of my mouth and lean against the counter. I have two sons and a daughter, all three the light of my life. All three are adorable in their own way and make it very hard to leave in the morning. Cassy with her adorable puppy dog eyes and Tommy and Yale with their abnormal stubbornness; something they all definitely get from their mother. But, at this early hour, they are fast asleep and I'm usually gone before anyone’s the wiser. It’s better that way. Less difficult that way for me to go to work. If I had it my way I’d never leave and spend all the time I have with my family. But, we live in a society, right? Then, there’s my beautiful wife who’s the most open minded and accepting person in the world; so, of course I fell for her immediately. Her name’s Marie and she was always like that, and that, at least for me, is the hardest part about going to work. Leaving that bed, ooh man is it rough. Then again, bills need to be paid. And there is no shortage of work to be done. I glance upwards at the beginnings of the early morning dawn through a nearby window. It’s one hell of a sight to see. The window, all foggy from the cold and fractile air, overlooked the city; New York City, for anyone who may be wondering. To see the bustling city from a penthouse view puts a lot into perspective for how small everyone is. From up there, everyone was about the size of a coin, maybe even an ant. The world is a vast and humongous place, and even yet, sometimes people get so enveloped in themselves that they lose sight of that. Every now and then I just sit and contemplate, exactly like this. And almost every time, like the crack of a bell, the tea kettle sounds and snaps me out of it. The whistle of the kettle shot steam from its spout with a violent rattle. I cut the heat as quickly as I could to prevent any more noise and remove it from the stove. I am always careful to grasp the handle with a cloth ever since I burned my hand so badly last time. I pour the hot water into the mug and plop a teabag in. Watching the tea bag as it bobbed and floated effortlessly in the burning hot water is always satisfying to me. The way the colors of the leaves bled into the water and stained it a nice deep brown. I’ve always found it somewhat therapeutic and relaxing to make tea. It’s like a moment of meditation that keeps me calm both during and after the process. That, and if I don’t have my tea in the morning I’ll lose my freaking marbles. But that outcome I reserve for Mondays, mostly. I rinse the kettle and wipe down the counter and cabinets with a sterilizing cloth while I wait for the tea to finish steeping. I’d been quite wreckless with the mess I made while searching. Again, another exhibit as to why I need caffeine to function properly. I polish the counter to be how it was when I walked in and toss the rag into the trash. With a quick motion, I grasp my tea and head over to the couch in the living room of the penthouse. On the coffee table my black suitcase sat lying open with all of my various equipment sitting neat and orderly. If I didn’t organize my work stuff, I would probably panic when it came down to it. But, that is again, a hypothetical. Everything in my life is neat and orderly because I make it so. I place down the cup after taking a sip and peer into my briefcase once more. Just to be sure, I account for everything. First my Beretta M9A3, clean and polished; sitting snugly in its felt mold. My personal favorite and you can’t really go wrong with it. Second, my silencer. A basic straight-through silencer, perfect for my needs. Third, the five clips of ammunition as well as extra bullets in case of emergency. These, well, they are self explanatory. And my fourth and final item on the list, the gas mask. Everything is here and where it is supposed to be. A deep breath fills my lungs and a warm comfort washes over me. I sip my tea once more and then place the cup back down. I glance at the time: 5:25 AM. “With five minutes to spare.” I clear my throat and slide a manilla folder from the seam of my briefcase. One big red word read “Classified” across the top as I part it open. Inside was a picture of a man with light brown hair and a gleam in his eye. All things considered, I would never pick him out to be a domestic abuser. Nor someone who would do the countless horrid things listed in his file. But then again, that's the surprise of this job. You never know who’s next in line. I glance upwards to the man tied down to his own chair and gagged with the rag I found in the bathroom. “Don’t worry Mr. Abrams, I have one last question for you, then I’ll be out of your hair.” He glanced at me with one pleading eye, partially because the other was swollen shut. “Or, more like you’ll be out of mine.” I close the folder, toss it on the table and lean forwards to pull the gag out. “Now, Mr. Abrams. Tell me something. What kind of earthly psychopath keeps raw tea bags in the refrigerator?” And the only sound that comes out of his mouth is a confused, yet, fearful whimper.


Dear Mêpük The day I saw you for the first time feels like and is in fact yesterday. I was reading a book on a bench in the town square of Börtèkun. Your curly dark hair and sharp nose made you stick out of the crowd inhabiting the lively streets. You were tall and dressed in a suit with a dark lilac-blue tie with white stripes. I was captivated of your stature and style, so I stared at you from afar. You seemed to be in distress and walking in a fast pace. As you were about to disappear in the flood of people I bolted upright and started running towards you bumping into several people by accident, making them shout at me in anger. I ignored them and everything around me. All I wanted is to know more about you. You glanced back at me right before the sea of people blocked my view. The moment our eyes met I noticed a look of pure horror on your dark red eyes. I heard a loud bang followed by a high-pitched scream coming from the direction you went. Everybody around me started to panic while I just stared blankly into the void thinking about you. I felt the sensation of being pushed away by all the humans running for their life -- further away from you. My legs gave up on carrying me. I started staggering backwards, tripped and fell. **Thud** Blackness engulfed me and a high-pitched sound followed, that slowly morphed into the sound of a single triangle being chimed rhythmically. Then a second chimed in. I started hearing a vocal humming and deep voices mumbling inaudible things. Then a harp. A harp being played in a wrong dissonant way. Then the distant **caw** of a crow, the weeping of a woman and the damp rumbling of a waterfall in the background. I started feeling intense sadness. I slowly came to realize -- I was a tear. A tear falling slowly from the eye of the woman. An image of her flashed in front of my inner eye. It was a beautiful woman in a dark lilac-blue dress with long curly dark hair and a sharp nose. Her eyes were a dark wine red. She was sitting in a field of dying white flowers with hanging tips holding three leafs each. She was sorrow impersonated. The woman, the flowers, the falling and the music -- all of it sounded tired of everything. Everything wanted to stop. My entire universe was that exact moment. No other thought or sensation existed besides that scenario. I was an eternal falling tear. It all felt like it was slowing down -- dying. I was all sensation, I was the universe, and I was approaching the end of everything, yet the end never came to me. After what felt like eternity, I felt peace. I felt like I had achieved the greatness. Now I was a tear of happiness. At the same time I felt like I was a warrior in a dense forest holding up my club and yelling loudly -- “VICTORY, VICTORY, VICTORY, ...” but in a strange foreign language, my primitive fur cloths flailing in the wind as my fellow tribesmen gathered around me, bloodied, sullied but with hope in their eyes, and I was part of all of it. I was the whole experience. I felt every twitch of every muscle, every branch of every tree holding the bright green leafs rustling in the cool wind, every flower and every mushroom engulfed in a blood-red light of the rising sun and the warmth overcoming the wet ground. All but the numerous corpses. They are not ready yet but soon they will decay and return to the cycle of life.


Listen, I've been there through your worst of times. Through those nights you cried yourself to sleep. and i stood there by your side. Through it all. And when you finally cried yourself to sleep. My true work started. A constant onslaught of enemies. Those of the like which you've never seen. You think we're all fluff and no tuff. You're wrong. dead wrong. We've been defending you humans for years. Nay hundreds of years. Though our forms have changed, our purpose hasn't. Protect the human rase against things that go bump at night. You humans, so gullible. Think your only wars are with fellow humans. Incompetent things you are. Never mind your stupidity. This is war. These species have been growing. And our numbers are dwindling. My mission is now to inform you lot about these things. They're creatures, such as you. They have rules though, that bind them to certain things.  Firstly, they only attack at night. For the sun burns them. But during the day, they are expert hiders. You won't find them, so don't bother searching for them. Night time is their hunting ground. And they will. win against you. Second. Your conventional 'weapons' will do nothing to hurt them. Your guns? Useless against these creatures. You humans, always thinking you can just blast your way through anything you want. Their skin is tough, tougher than your strongest metal. But like all things, they have a natural weakness. Cardboard. Yeah yeah, get your laughs aside. But i'm being honest. This is the soul thing that has been keeping you, and all other species alive. So keep those amazon boxs close. And keep ordering your useless things. It might just save you one day! Third. And the most important thing. They aren't dumb. They're smarter than your smartest human. You can't surprise them. Only best them in combat. So for the love of everything good. Don't try and sneak attack them. Head on is your best bet. Train and train to the best you can. It'll save your life. Forth. Disregard rule three. These creatures are tough. Stronger than anything. Their teeth will shred your skin from your bones. Their claws will gouge your eyes out with a single slice. They will not hesitate to kill you. as you are their best food source. Fifth. They're coming. Make preparations. We've stalled them for years. but they're stronger than ever. You're going to need more protection. We, are the protectors of night. We were the only thing protecting you from the Kaiya. But after years, my species is dyeing out. No thanks to you humans. Selfish the likes of you all. Killing everything you touch, from gods to now you're only protectors. I lay down my sword. My brethren do the same. We, Teddy Bears, were your best chance. And you humans, such as you always have. Ruined that. You have no more chances. I wish you good luck Human. You're going to need it for when the Kaiya attack.


“I am not going, Liana. You can’t make me.” The words were barely audible through the shower running in the background. “I’m sure they don’t want to go either, but they said they would. Besides, this isn’t for them and this isn’t for us, Rebecca. This is for your sister.`` A girl came out from the closet holding two dresses in her hands. Holding one dress up as if it was on she posed in the mirror, giving each outfit a try. The shower shut off and the bathroom door opened more than it already was, another girl coming out with a towel wrapped around her body to prevent water from getting everywhere. “Don’t guilt trip me. It works too well.” She kissed Liana on the cheek before heading to the bed where she spotted a new outfit prepared for her. The dinner was quiet, no one had even greeted each other more than a nod with minimal eye contact. It was peaceful at the least, which was all anyone could ask for. The table was neatly set up, each person's plate and utensils made to look like they were in a restaurant. Dinner was served, however it was untouched as everybody was hesitant to move. Finally, the silence broke. “Well, thank you guys for coming. It’s so nice to finally see you guys again. I’m going to be honest, I thought you would’ve all said no.” Mya was comforted by her boyfriend's hand before she continued to greet her awkwardly silent family. “Please, eat. This took forever to make.” She tried her best to lighten the mood, which was not the easiest job to have in these circumstances. “Thank you for inviting us darling. You always reach out to your father and I, we really appreciate it.” Those words from their mother were a dull jab to Rebecca, however she knew not to let it get to her. She looked at Liana, took a deep breath, and continued on by grabbing a serving. “Oh, of course mom. Dad and you are always welcome here. My house is your house.” Mya smiled at her mom before she plopped a serving of mashed potatoes onto her plate as well as her mothers. “How sweet, right darling? We are finally accepted into one of our daughters' homes.” Silence. Not awkward, but tense. Rebecca gripped her fork tightly, trying her best to keep her composure as her parents continued to not-so-subtly call her out. She felt the want to speak up, but she knew it would go nowhere, so she bit her tongue and let it go. “Mya,” Her mother grabbed her hand with a smile, “I am so glad I raised you right.” That was it. She didn’t care to hold her tongue any longer. “Are you kidding me?” She turned her head towards her parents and let loose. ”I don’t mean anything against you Mya when I say any of this, but that is insane.” Liana tried to place her hand on her partner, but nothing. “I graduated from University, I started Medical School to become a doctor, I got married before I moved in with my partner, and so much more. And you are saying you didn’t raise me right?” “Rebecca, do not raise your voice at us, we are your parents.” Her father stood up, pointing his finger across the table to his daughter who was beginning to fume with rage. “No one put down your achievements, but we sure as hell did not raise you right.” “Why? Because I turned out gay? That isn’t wrong! When will you let it go?” Liana began to stand up, grabbing her bag as well as Rebecca's hand. “I think we should get going, I’m sorry Mya.” Mya stood up, trying to stop her father from talking anymore. “It is wrong, Becca, and you know that better than anyone else. We tried, we really did. We took you to Sunday school, you had boyfriends before, you know what is normal. You didn’t start thinking about this until college, when you met her.” Liana began to drag Becca towards the door but she refused. Mya began to beg her father to stop talking, but he ignored her pleas. This was how dinner had been going for the past two years, and there were no signs of change. “How can you reject your own daughter? You were supposed to love me unconditionally, and yet you don’t even answer my calls.” Her eyes began to well up with tears as she opened up to her parents. “I have tried so hard to convince you to have me in your lives again, and every time is the same answer. Do you even love me anymore? Do you only consider Mya your daughter?” Everyone stood in silence as they waited for the answer. He was hesitant, staring at the wall as Rebecca tried hard not to cry anymore than she already had. The longer her father waited, the more they understood his answer. “You will always be our daughter. Our little girl. But if this is how you want to live, being married and poisoned by that girl and her lifestyle, then your mother and I believe it best to separate ourselves from you.” His tone was soft but his words hit like a knife for her. She walked up to her parents, slowly looking up at them with her red and puffy eyes. Liana stared at the ground, unable to make eye contact with anyone at this point. “Have you ever even tried to talk to her? You have not once given her a chance. We have been married for two years and I bet you don’t even know her name. Tell me. Tell me her name.” Her mom sat quietly as her father shook his head, neither answering the question. “We should go...” Liana’s voice peeked out, small and almost inaudible. Rebecca shook her head, walking over to her wife and holding her hand. “Her name is Liana Ramirez. She is 25 and she currently is an elementary school teacher as well as the host of their art club. She loves kids, and they love her. Her students' faces light up when they see her, and they bring her gifts almost every day. She keeps them too, all of them. Even the ones that are stick drawings you can barely make out.” Her father began to hold his hand up to silence her but she kept going. “She also volunteers. Where? Anywhere she can find. Last weekend she went to the soup kitchen and even baked dessert for them, with her own ingredients. The weekend before she and I went to the animal shelter and now foster 3 puppies.” “Rebecca, please. Enough.” Her mother spoke out, but she refused to stop. “No, not enough. This woman is the kindest, most selfless, and most loving woman I have ever met. She is so kind she gives you guys the benefit of the doubt every time. I wouldn’t even have come if she hadn’t dragged me here. She wanted me to make amends. She wanted me to see if I could have my family again but you know what?” She walked Liana to the door and swung it open before turning back one last time. “She is my family now, I don’t need you guys. I am tired of trying to be a part of something I am clearly not welcome in. Thanks for inviting us, Mya. Next time, don’t waste your time.” With that, Rebecca turned back to Liana, kissed her forehead, and shut the door, leaving her family dinner for the last time.