"Are you coming tonight?" Sneha asked me excitedly. "Where?" I asked. "It's a new Year's party. I have got an entry pass for all four of us. It will be fun. Yoooo!" Her dance moves showed her excitement on the busy Indian streets of Mumbai with her right-hand index finger pointing towards the sky and left hand placed on her hips. The sudden dance move startled me, and I looked at her with surprise. Meanwhile, my mind was running at its top speed, searching for a powerful reason to not to go with her. "Umm, I have some urgent office work to complete tonight. You all enjoy on my behalf." "No. We are not going without you. You are coming with us. No reasons." 'How come she knew I am making reasons! What to do? Come on, Netra, use your skills!' I mumbled. "Senha, you know how my boss is! He wants us to work and finish this report. Otherwise, New Year will start with his rage on me!" "Ohh!" She frowned and kicked the empty can on her way while we strolled towards our house. We four lived in the same locality. Our floors face each other. Sneha and Apeksha are neighbors in building number 2, while Bhavna is my neighbor in building number 5. We entered our locality, and this completed our group. Soon we became four as I saw Apeksha and Bhavna walking towards us. They both seemed excited, too. "Hey, why do you both look sad on 31st December? We all are going to a party! Cheer up!" Bhavna seemed excited too, as she Hi-Fi Apeksha. "Don't be excited. We have a mood spoiler in our group..! Sneha said, staring at me. "What? It's my office work and my boss who is spoiling our plan. Anyway, I have to rush and get back to working mode. See you all next year." I said, and winked at Sneha. I hoped she understands my witty comment. But they all were angry at me and stared back at me. "Ok. See you tomorrow." I rephrased my statement and started walking towards my house. I was afraid to look back. What if they were still staring at me. I just wanted to climb upstairs and shut the door behind me. I wanted to spend some time alone. Thankfully, nobody followed me, and I did the same. I entered my house and locked all the locks on the door. I just wanted to be sure no one enters my house to disturb my private time. It was evening 6.00 p.m. when I finished my office work and walked into the kitchen to prepare some tea for myself. I kept the vessel on the gas stove and poured some milk. Added tea leaves and waited for them to boil so that the fresh fragrance of tea spreads in the air. As the tea was cooking, I peeped outside the window. Sneha's kitchen window is opposite of mine. Usually, we wave at each other from the balcony or windows. But today, she seemed nowhere. "Maybe I hurt them. Tomorrow, all three of my friends will stop talking to me. Wow! What a start of a New Year!" I mumbled with a sad face. As the tea started boiling, the doorbell rings. I lowered the flame and rushed towards the door to open it. Bhavna stood in front of the door. "Hello." I greeted. "Hey, sorry to disturb you, but I just noticed that my hairdryer is not working. Can I use yours?" I looked at her. Her hair was completely drenched after the shower, and she needed it desperately. I felt pity for her and let her into my apartment. "It's over there in the bedroom on the dressing table. You can help yourself." I pointed my finger towards the bedroom and walked towards the kitchen. "Oh, do you want to have a cup of tea? I am preparing it for myself." I asked loudly from the kitchen. "Yes," prompt came the reply. It took me some more time to get tea ready for both of us and pour it into the cups. I neatly brought them to the table and some cookies to go along with them. "Bhavna, tea and cookies are waiting for you." "Yes, coming in two minutes," came the reply from the bedroom. I picked up my cup and started sipping tea slowly with some cookies. "Oh, you are already having your tea!" Bhavna's words broke my chain of thoughts. I looked at her. She looked great after all drying of her hair strands. "You look superb. Did you get a haircut recently?" I asked. "Yes." "It suits you." I complimented. "Thanks. I am so hungry. Let me have some cookies." She immediately sat on the chair next to me and continued, "by the way, is your office work completed? Did you share the report with your boss?" I completely forgot about the lie that I told a few hours back. "Umm, yeah, I am working on it. I just took a break." I lied again and stood to grab the laptop. "Ok, then I think I should leave. I don't want to disturb you." She finished her tea quickly and started walking towards the door. "Are you sure you will not come with us?" Bhavna asked. I looked at her and shook my head in denial. I lifted my laptop and showed it to her. She nodded and left without further interrogating anything. I heaved a sigh of relief and grabbed another cookie. **** I walked towards the balcony and gazed at the sky. The cool breeze of December made me feel how much alone I am today. I wanted to spend the last day of the year alone, similar to the days of loneliness in this entire year. My world revolved around my grandmother. She left me alone after battling long with the disease, and it left me with no one to call as family. I shifted city and settled here in Mumbai. This city doesn't make you feel alone at day times, but at night, it is equally lonely. I became friends with Sneha, Bhavna, and Apeksha. My small world of friends. It was 7.00 p.m. when the doorbell breaks my chain of thoughts. *** "Who is it now?" I wondered as I walked towards the door. "Hey, why so late in opening the door?" Apeksha said as soon as I opened the door. "Were you occupied with office work?" asked Sneha, moving me aside and entered my house. I stood holding the door open and staring at them confusingly as they walked towards the chair. "What are you guys doing here? Don't you have a party to attend? It's a new year's party." I asked, shutting the door behind me. "Look at us. Do you think we are ready for a party?" Apeksha said. I looked at her; she was in a mess, and Sneha was equally looking terrible. I sighed. "What happened? What's stopping you from the party?" "Power cut." Both replied in unison. I walked towards the balcony. "But every house has power in our locality. Only your both's house has power cut?" I questioned. "Yes, the same question we asked the electrician, and he said it is some wiring issue in both houses. So maybe it will take a day or two," said Apeksha. Sneha stood and said, "So can we get dressed here in your house and after the party, we stay here until the power is back?" Her puppy face melted me, and I agreed. For the next two hours, my house was in a complete mess. I sat on the chair with my laptop on my lap, pretending to work. I continued with my lie, and they continued with theirs. I knew something was cooking amongst them, but it wasn't clear what they were up to now. I waited to get my space back, to get my silence back. "How do I look?" asked Apeksha excitedly. 'Outstanding. Beautiful," I said. I looked around for Sneha, but she was not yet ready. It will take over one hour, maybe for them to step out for the party. My thoughts broke again with the doorbell. I opened the door and saw the missing person in the group standing at the door. She looked all set for the party and to welcome the new year. Bhavna looked stunning. I gestured Bhavna to come in. Apeksha and Bhavna were all set to go for the party except for Sneha. "How are you planning to go to the venue?" I asked, interrupting their excitement and discussion on makeup and outfit. "We will take Sneha's car," said Bhavna. "Ok.' I replied. I had to ignore everything that was happening around me. They continued with their chit-chats. *** My lie continued. I looked at the clock. It was 9.00 p.m. when Sneha stepped out. She looked stunning too, and I heaved a sigh of relief. I stood and said, "So you all are ready to go to the party and have fun!" "Yes, but we are expecting few parcels. We have to carry them too along with us," said Apeksha. "Parcels? What parcels?" I questioned. "Umm, yes, I have to give it to my friend. It's theirs," Apeksha replied promptly. "Then why on my address?" "Because we here since last 2-3 hours so I gave him this address. I hope you won't be angry." I stared at her and then agreed. "By when you all will return from the party?" I asked. "It will take time. Maybe early morning at 4.00!" Sneha said. "What? So late! You better take care and do not drink & drive. You book a cab and return home safe. Please." The doorbell distracts us, and Sneha ran to open the door. She takes three parcels and pushes the door with her hips. It stunned me to see three huge packets with Sneha. Parcels covered her face as she walked towards us zig-zag. "What's in these packets?" Apeksha and Bhavna looked confused, too. Sneha peeped from behind the packets and smiled. "Don't ask me. I also don't know what's in these?" Sneha said, smiling. "Ok, Let's leave," Bhavna said. It was soothing. "Have Fun," I said. I closed the door after all my friends left. *** Suddenly, everything was peaceful, and it was relaxing. I ran towards my laptop to shut it and keep it aside. I hit the power button to switch it off. I then strolled to the balcony to check if they left. To my surprise, they all three were standing next to Sneha's car, looking up towards me. I smiled and waved at them. They all sat in the car, and I walked back into the house. Finally, I was feeling at home. I was happy to get my space back. I went into the kitchen to pour some fresh juice for myself. It looked refreshing. I grabbed the glass and sat on the chair placed on the balcony. Stars twinkled. I sipped the juice, and meanwhile, I thought to order food for myself. It was 9.30 p.m. Food delivery will take another one hour. I started cleaning the mess created by my friends. It's tiresome but time passed sooner than expected. 10.15 p.m. doorbell rings once again. I was happy that the food delivery is before time and I can have it peacefully, along with a glass of wine. I already prepared the atmosphere, dimmed the lights, and slow music went very well with the aura. I opened the door. "Surprise." The loud voice gave me chills. It took me some time to understand that my friends are back along with those three packets. "What are you guys doing here?" I asked. "We... wait... what is this? Dim lights and slow music. Did you plan for a secret date with someone?" asked Sneha, pushing me aside. "Look at this, guys, come here and look, a wine bottle. Oh my God," said Bhavna, holding the bottle. "Keep it on the table, and can anyone please tell me what happened?" "Should we change the music and play some rock music? It's new year's eve, guys," said Apeksha, looking into my music collection. Apeksha changed the music. Loud music raised my temper. Bhavna was still holding the wine bottle, and Sneha placed those packets on the dining table. She started looking for the guy with whom I was planning my secret date. "Stop it. Stop this music, and Bhavna put that bottle on the table now. Sneha, can you come here?" I ordered. Suddenly there was pin-drop silence. The doorbell rings again. "Oh, the guy is coming now," murmured Sneha. I stared at her. She placed her index finger on her lips and gestured me to open the door. I walked in anger towards the door. The delivery boy stood holding the food packet in his hand. I took it and turned to face my friends. "Smells good." Apeksha broke the silence. I glared at her. She, too, placed the index finger on her lips. I looked at Bhavna. She gestured towards the wine bottle neatly placed on the table. I nodded. I walked towards the table. I picked the boxes and kept them aside. I then opened my food delivery packet and served myself. I further walked towards the music system and played soft and slow music. I walked back to the dining table and poured some wine for myself. All this while, my three friends stood in front of me without uttering a single word. "Now, can anyone tell me what happened?" Sneha walked forward and said, "Our car broke down." "and?" "We called mechanic, but because of huge traffic, nobody can reach us on time. So," replied Bhavna. "So?" "So we finally got a taxi, and he dropped us back here," Apeksha said and took the chair in front of me. "Hmm, ok. Now?" "Now we have to celebrate our new year here," Apeksha replied silently. "What?" "Yes. Where can we go now? Are you expecting someone?" Sneha asked with a puppy face. That look always melts my heart. She smiled at me. I cannot hold my anger, and I smiled back at her. All three of them ran to hug me. The force of the hug made me dis-balance from the chair. In no time, I was lying on the floor with all three of my girlfriends on me. I have to push them aside and make some way to breathe. "Let me order some food for us." "No need. We already have it," said Bhavna, pointing towards those packets. She ran to open packets one after another. The first packet had food, the other had drinks and finally, the last one had a cake. As soon as Bhavna opened the cake box, I glared at them. The cake had 'Fantastic Four' written on it with four cute dolls placed on the cake. "So it was all planned?" I asked. *** It was 11.55 p.m.on the clock. "We just wanted to celebrate with you tonight," said Bhavna. "We don't want to leave you alone," Apeksha said. "and that's why we planned everything." Sneha joined them. They walked towards me. "We are sorry." The clock struck 12.00 A tear rolled down my cheeks. I smiled. "Happy New Year, guys," I said.


The lines that formed in front of the Food Assistance Center were full of pitiful, haggard faces, their heads covered with hoodies and cerebral helmets even though the city was always warm. Transhumans, at least the ones who lived on the streets, were vilified as “scumbags” and “gangbangers” for their procurement of cheaper, less-stable implants. “Do they really think those helmets are going to give them any advantage?” Tyrius nodded at them, leaning back on the alley wall. “Not like they can compete with a neural enhancement.” Clerents wanted to tell his friend that any kind of affordable mental enhancement was better than nothing, especially when the system was trying to keep them down by creating all kinds of new laws that prevented the poor from getting any leg up in the community. Instead Clerents decided to side with Tyrius, “Yeah, why do normies always reject trans upgrades? Some of these kids would be able to get out of this crappy neighborhood if they could get hamstring implants or iris optics.” “Yeah,” Tyrius made a sour face and looked down for a moment. Clerents couldn’t decide if he was hungry or angry, or both. “Let’s go find another place. Jocunda got any food stamps?” “Nah.” said Tyrius. “She has three kids. She can barely keep them fed.” It had become almost instinctual to see a discarded can on the ground and wonder if there were any morsels inside. But thanks to the recent layoffs there were too many cans and loose trash on the street to keep track of which ones they had checked. Clerents was conditioned to think of empty food containers as a food source. He was conditioned to dream of pastimes, on Earth when poverty and division weren’t so widespread, or had it? He couldn’t remember. Maybe things had always been the same. And maybe things would never change. But it didn’t matter. They had to focus on food before they passed out. A man stepped out of the entrance of the Assistance Center, dressed better than the people waiting in line. “Over there.” Clerents nodded toward the man and ducked back into the alley. The man was walking fast, holding something under his arm. Tyrius saw the normie and almost licked his lips. “You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” “He’s got some digital food tokens on him. Maybe that’s a distributer device he’s carrying.” Tyrius already put his hood up and activated his tracking optics, his eyes turning red. “We’ll follow him to a quiet place. Jump him there.” Clerents hesitated and thought about what his father would think if he knew his only son was considering attacking a Sector worker. How he would feel, being locked up for unauthorized implants, to know that Clerents would also be locked up, feeling alone, abandoned by society, and wrongfully charged with implants that were easily acquired by the rich. But it wasn’t entirely his fault for wanting food. Clerents had to do something if he wanted to survive. And that’s why he trailed slowly behind Tyrius, who had started following the worker. The curvature of the Ringhorn space station made it difficult to follow the man without being seen but the two had visual distorting clothes and skin that allowed them to walk the squalid streets in shimmering camouflage. The worker was approaching 7th Street, where the transport tubes would take him back to uptown in Sector A. “We take him now.” Tyrius whispered. Clerents forgot he was invisible and nodded. He followed the shimmering, opaque shape in front of him, his friend, and watched as the worker was pulled into the alley between two buildings. The worker was tossed, by an invisible hand, into a pile of cans and ration containers. He reacted by throwing a rectangular device at his attackers. “Who...?” shouted the worker. “Relax, old man.” said Tyrius, still camo’d. “Sign over some of those food stamps and there won’t be any trouble.” Clerents paced back and forth, looking over his shoulder. There was no one else around. He remembered one of the lines from his favorite rap song, “I try, I try to hide my pride. I keep it inside and stay on my stride. Cuz if I don’t, I might be denied my right to daylight. It’s none of my business, I ain’t no witness.” He rolled the words of Outsider-N-SD around his head, dwelling on what the rapper meant. Even though he was popular Outsider never really made it out of the gutters of Sector D. Clerents considered that maybe this was how it was supposed to be. That he was meant to be a criminal, that he was meant to starve, and suffer, and never afford good implants, and never be safe from crime or the involvement of it. That was indeed, none of his business. He decided that he wasn’t going to be anything other than what he was born into. The thought made him want to rage. As Tyrius was shouting over the worker Clerents activated his hamstring implant through his iris interface and stomped the man in his chest. The worker coughed up saliva and threw up his hands. He was clearly woozy with his eyes rolling back. “Stop. I thought all of you were supposed to be arrested.” “What did you say?” asked Tyrius. “N-noth...” The worker’s head slumped back. He was struggling to stay alert. “The Transhuman Rights Act. You didn’t know? Anyone with implants that wasn’t sanctioned by Securoco is a criminal. Your criminals, whoever you are.” “Not like they didn’t already label us criminals. They decided we were criminals before we even had implants, before the Ringhorn was even built. The line was drawn a long time ago.” Clerents could hear the anger in his own voice but he wasn’t sorry. The worker, who seemed to have come out of his stupor and was about to stand, smiled a response, “You’re not the only one with implants, except mine are legal and called the police a few minutes ago.” A shockwave went through Clerents’ body and his skin sporadically started to reappear. He gritted his teeth as the electricity of police stun guns pulsed and drove him to his knees, rendering him unconscious. He awoke later in the back of a padded transport, happy to see his friend sitting next to him. But then the realization started setting in, that he was in serious trouble, and likely so were the others that were staring at him, all familiar faces. They were all from his block, they were all men. Generally, they were good men. Clerents saw Jay and nodded in recognition. Jay had never done a bad deed in his life but he did have muscle implants, cheap ones, to help with food supply trucks that donated to the food banks. He loved the community but Clerents assumed that wasn’t good enough for the rich and powerful, for the ones who made the laws. The door to the padded wagon opened in the light of the street. Voices of shouting men and women could be heard in a deafening roar. Clerents saw the crowds of lined men and women being prodded through metal barricades. The hundreds of illegal transhumans were being led into a warehouse where they were presumably being booked. Their final destination would be prison and he knew he would be among them. At least he wouldn’t be alone. He saw the worn expressions and saw what the automated security bots couldn’t, that they were tired, sickly and weak, their thin frames and empty eyes were no threat. “So, this is it, huh? They divide us so they can round us up and put us in cages.” said Tyrius as they were led from the transports by bipedal bots. But it wasn’t about division, was it? Clerents remembered Outsider, his lyrics and voice were imbued with the power of cheap vocal mods and neural enhancements. The people in charge, the lawmakers and the rich, could never achieve such talent or art without going through hard times, without suffering. They weren’t hateful, they were jealous. They wanted to have a monopoly on making money and now they finally found a way to do it, by seeding out the poor from the rich and removing them completely from society. Tyrius’ expression went cold like it had in the alley while looking at the food stamp lines. He was going through a similar revelation and probably realized that it was helpless. He also saw what they were doing and how they did in the name of progress and law and order. But really, they were doing it for the same reason they do everything, why everyone does anything, for money and for the fear that others might make more of it. Clerents and the others joined the line leading to the warehouses, their shoulders and necks down. What were they supposed to do? Fight? Run? This wasn’t their fight to win. The fight would need to come from within the rich and powerful. Only a change in their minds could affect change in the weak and powerless, in their struggles and segregation. Their entire perception of what was right and wrong had to change. Clerents watched his feet as they stepped forward and slowly started to give into despair. This was how it was supposed to be. The powerful needed to retain the status quo. For order. For peace. Forever and ever. Into the future, dictated from the past. As much as humans evolve, they will always stay the same.


“Oh, Grow up!” “This is your fault!” Emma yelled. Her voice echoed in the bathroom. A sneer formed on Emma’s face; she stormed around the bathroom to see if anyone in the stalls was listening to our conversation. Thankfully there wasn’t anyone. Why would she do that? She thought. I was doing so well on my own, and she had to step in and ruin it. She always has to be the center of attention. “My fault? Why! I talked to people and made a little joke about you.” Olivia snapped back, raising her hands defensively. What did I do? Why is she so mad at me? “I was finally making some progress with some people. You know how hard it is for me to make friends and speak up. But, you stepped in!” Emma’s was getting even louder. Her nose flared as if she ran a marathon with as much intensity as a raging bull. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to let’s just put this behind us and not throw away 11 years of friendship.” Olivia pleaded. “It’s too late for that. You’ve done this too many times. We’re done. I don’t want to be friends with you anymore.” Said Emma as she stormed passed Olivia and out of the bathroom. This is alright. I have tons of friends. Olivia thought, but her lips quivered, and she felt her eyes well up. But they’re not as close as Emma and me. And with that Oliva felt hot tears stream down her face. She sulked to the bathroom stalls and sobbed. After a while, she came out of the bathroom, eyes still puffy. Waiting for her outside was one of her friends Zoe. And when Zoe saw how upset Olivia was, she wrapped her arm around Olivia and gave her a big hug. People navigated around them. “What happened?” She asked loudly so she could be heard over the constant talking of people around them which had the same volume as a busy amusement park. Olivia looked at Zoe. “Emma doesn’t want to be friends with me anymore.” Her voice cracked between deep breaths. Zoe sat her at the nearest fountain. The babbling water splashed her as she rubbed Olivia’s back. The sound of the streams of water going up and coming back down helped calm Oliva. “Come,, let's go to the food court, then we can go to my place and watch a movie. We can go shopping another time.” So they got up and did exactly that. After the movie, Olivia got up and dragged her feet back home and slept for the rest of the night. When Oliva got to school, the next day, Zoe was there waiting for her. “How are you feeling?” She asked. “A little bit better. But I still feel horrible from yesterday’s fight.” Olivia moped. “ I’m sorry,” Zoe said sincerely. “But, I have to tell you something.” She pulled Olivia closer and whispered in her ear. “There’s a rumour going around that you pushed Emma yesterday into the fountain at the mall and ruined a dress that her dead grandma gave her and laughed.” Olivia pulled back. She couldn’t believe it. “ I know that’s bad,” Zoe said, raising her hands, “but I have a lead that says it started with our friend group. Come follow me.” She turned around and started walking toward the school. “I saw a bunch of them over by the lockers.” She said over her shoulder. When they got to the lockers, a dozen of Olivia’s friends rushed toward her. All were speaking on top of each other. Zoe was yelling out, trying to do crowd control. “Quiet everyone!” She shouted. “Who knows who started the rumour about Olivia?” Everyone settled down and started to mutter amongst themselves. “Can someone please tell me?” Olivia begged. “I know a person who might know how the rumour got started. I can tell you if you can get me into the party?” One of the friends in the back chirped. “What about me?” Another voice came from the back. “You promised me that you were going to take me to a party also. And that set off all the friends yelling at Olivia, demanding things and reminding her about promises of going to parties. Zoe grabbed Olivia’s arm and tried to navigate through the friends trying to get to the back of the crowd. When they finally got to the back, Zoe grabbed the arm of the friend named Crystal, who spoke up and ran as fast as she could, trying to escape the crowd. Crystal yanked her arm free and ran ahead of Zoe. Zoe dropped Olivia’s arm and followed with Olivia not far behind. After a while, all three of them finally escaped the hoard of friends. “ Where is your friend that knows who started this?” Olivia puffed. “First, you have to promise me that you’ll take me to a party.” Crystal said between heavy breaths. Olivia clenched her jaw, her face going as red as a strawberry. “Can you stop thinking about the party?!” she snapped. Olivia stormed forward and jabbed a finger into Crystal’s shoulder. “My image is in jeopardy, and all you can think about is that damn party.” Crystal stepped backwards, raised her hands in defence, and backed up into one of the lockers. “Okay, I’ll tell you it’s Taylor. She knows who started the rumour. “Where is she?" Zoe snapped. “Last time I saw her was by the water fountains.” Olivia and Zoe stormed off to find Taylor. They finally found her near the classroom. Zoe marched straight up in Taylor’s face. “Who started the rumour!”? Zoe yelled. Startled, Taylor stepped back and bumped her head against the lockers. A grimace formed on Zoe’s face. “I’ll say this again,” She looked straight into Taylor’s eyes. Her voice took on a more profound and darker tone as if she was trying to control her rage. “Who started the rumour?" A smirk formed on Taylor’s face. “What’s in it for me.”? She asked. “What’s in it for you?” “She raised her hand above her head and was about to smack her. When Olivia stepped right between them, raising her hand to block the slap. “Look, just tell me, and I will help you get something. Name your price.” “Alright, I’ll tell you,” Taylor leaned in closer. “It’s Emma,” she whispered loudly, so both girls and no one else could hear her. Olivia’s eyes went as wide as saucers. “She started the rumour. I overheard her talk to another person about plans on how to ruin your life.” Zoe lowered her hand. “Now, what I want is a free lunch for two months.” “Alright, you’ll get those free lunches,” Olivia said as she stepped back. Taylor sneaked by and went into the classroom nearby. “I can’t believe she would do that,” she covered her face with both hands. “I know that we weren’t best friends anymore, but I didn’t expect her to hate me so much that she would try to ruin me like that.” Tears started to run down her face. Zoe put her hand on Olivia’s shoulder. “Hey, no matter how many leave you or betray you, I will always be there for you.” she hugged Olivia and walked off to their first class.


Oleg sets his Nagant rifle up against a burned out tree as he sits against it for a short nap, the advance of Operation Bagration has taken its toll on him. He pulls a picture from his helmet of his lovely Katyusha back home he thinks of the first time he brought her flowers, the first time she said yes to a date and her laughable first attempt at bread. These warm memories were all that kept him going with the hope that he would make many more when he got home. He slowly drifts away to sleep hearing the sounds of distant gunfire, he knows when he awakes that he will be joining that hell soon. He is awoken by a unfamiliar sound. Not gunfire or artillery but by horse hooves galloping and tearing up the earth. He rises to his feet quickly noticing he in now in deep snow, confused but disregarding it he turns to grab his rifle but its gone, looking around he realizes the forest is no longer devastated but pristine and untarnished the snow hangs peacefully off every unbroken tree. The sound of hooves gets heavier as an armored column of around 15 men stop in front of him. These men are puzzled by Oleg's most bizarre appearance and Oleg is just as perplexed but recognizes one man, the leader of the column, Alexander Nevski. Oleg's mind races with questions and theories but before he can get far in his thoughts Nevski speaks: "Who are you that dresses strangely and sleeps upon my road? Some kind of beggar or vagabond?" Oleg responds "I am Oleg, corporal part of the 334th rifle division 7th corps of the Soviet army" Nevski looks Oleg up and down curiously "You speak strangely but I know a soldier when I see one, do you serve the Rus or are you part of the Teutonic's?" Oleg's mind races again, the term Rus hadn't been used for Russia in hundreds of years but yet THIS WAS Alexander Nevski, nothing made sense as he stammered "I- I serve the Rus from the day I was born to the day I fall" Nevsky smirks at this response before commanding "Get this man armed and put him in the front with the pikes his devotion will inspire the others." Oleg interrupts "I am confused what is-" a bash from a pommel of one of the men ends any questions he may have had. He awakens again several hours in a tent with a few other men, most of them looking like peasants sitting around a small fire. Oleg's head aches too much to ask the what or why anymore he just needs to find out how to get back and save Russia from the Germans. Oleg begins speaking to them men and after greetings are exchanged they inquire to his strange dress, several more hours pass as Oleg awes these men with tales of machines and how powerful the Rus have become and how the peasants rose up and became the leaders. Such fantastic stories he told but then again they are all just stories not to be taken serious, one story however, did make the hearts of the men heavy. Oleg began speaking of Katyusha, her beauty and soft nature and how he would give all to protect her, after all she was going to be his wife. The peasants knew not what to think of this man, he spoke of fantastic and crazy things but seemed normal and he could laugh and talk just as well as any man, perhaps he dreamed too much and could no longer distinguish the two? Nevertheless they all struck up a friendships of sorts and one man Yaroslav, a bard by trade was fascinated and thought to perhaps write an epic of the man from another time, however this was not the time. This was the eve of April 5th, 1242 the battle on the ice was about to begin...... Oleg slumped down after hearing what was going to transpire, he had no way to get home, no knowledge of what was going on but he knew that his people needed his help from another German invasion and it was no different to what he faced back home. Oleg sighed deeply before steeling himself and trading all the materials he had, his fathers pocketwatch, his sisters necklace, all his tools and equipment and even his belt for a shield, spear, helmet and chainmail. The only thing he kept was the ring Katyusha had given him as a promise that they would always wait for eachother. Morning came and rest was not something Oleg was granted as he began his grim march to duty he lined up with hundreds of his new comrades many looked no different than the soldiers he knew and fought with before. Yaroslav stood behind his new friend and placed a hand on his shoulder "Oleg no matter what happens I will find and make sure Katyusha knows your feelings and what you have done". Words escaped Oleg at this time who merely nodded in affirmation as the heavy Teutonic cavalry began their advance, steadily becoming a gallop, a charge to break the lines and shatter the Russian people. Now as after Oleg would stand in the face of this, he would never allow any invader to harm his home, his people, his Katyusha no matter where they are. The battle was long and many fell the stench of death was heavy as the cries of the wounded cried for help or mercy but the Rus stood victorious. Yaroslav was kneeling down holding Olegs cold hands, a horse had trampled him during the battle and his chest had been crushed but his face showed no pain, no horror as many others had but if you only looked at his face you would think this man had gone peacefully in his sleep. Yaroslav wept and in the coming months travelled to every corner of Rus land seeking out this woman that Oleg had a small painting of. Sadly as the months and seasons past he could not find her, was Oleg really from another time? Yaroslav sat by his hearth thinking deeply before picking up his Domra and began plucking at different notes and tunes, perhaps he may not find Katyusha in his lifetime but I can make something that will last long enough for her to know.


# Happy Saturday, serialists! Welcome to Serial Saturday! \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ ***New here?*** If you’re brand new to and thinking about participating in Serial Saturday, welcome! Feel free to dip your toes in by writing for this challenge or any others we have listed on the handy dandy ! We appreciate all contributions made to this thread, and all submissions are of course welcomed, whether it addresses a previous challenge or the current one. All submissions are of course welcomed. We hope you enjoy your time in the community! Take a look at our inaugural Serial Saturday post for some helpful tips. You don’t need to catch up by writing for each of the previous assignments, feel free to jump right in wherever fits for you, with whatever assignment or theme fits for you, and post it on the current thread with a link to whichever previously posted challenge you chose to start with. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ # This week it’s all about Enemies. Let’s talk about enemies. An antagonist or enemy is . It’s what divides your protagonist from what they want at the same time as driving forward the story. Enemies have goals, wants and needs just like protagonists, and figuring out what they’re after can be just as important as figuring out what a protagonist is after. A compelling story uses the antagonist to connect conflict to the overarching theme. Antagonists or enemies don’t have to take center stage in a story, but they should give a protagonist a reason to continue towards their own goals. An important thing to keep in mind is that the most compelling adversarial characters have their own motives, morals and beliefs. In their own POV . Enemies can come in a lot of forms, and your ‘enemy’ character approach may depend on the genre of story you’re writing. Is the enemy an asteroid barreling toward earth or Mother Nature, and the scourge of winter, or the ever-widening path of a furious wildfire? Maybe it’s just a sweet old lady who can’t remember to keep her overprotective, . Sometimes the scariest enemies are the ones we can’t identify. Serial killers leave calling cards or “signatures” but we may never find out who they are. Shadow puppet masters send henchmen while we never see The Big Bad’s face. Even though we can’t *see* those baddies doesn’t mean we shouldn’t feel their effects on the protagonist, or the world around them. Inherent emotional investment makes friends vrs friends super tasty, and give us a meaningful reason to empathize with a story. In this challenge you do not have to introduce a whole new character on the outset; you can take this time to allude to the forces at work against your main character without ever showing a new face, but we should be able to identify as an audience what your protagonist is up against. Things to think about for this assignment: Who is the enemy of your main character? What do they want? Can the main character be ‘their own worst enemy’? Are you writing an antagonist that fits the world they’re in? What kind of environmental factors influence your antagonist? What influence does your antagonist have on their environment? **\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*** **You have until \*next\* Saturday, 9/5, to submit and comment on everyone else's stories here. Make sure to check back on this thread periodically to lay some sweet, sweet crit down on those who don't have any yet!** \*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\* # Top picks from last week’s assignment, The Calm Before The Storm: **Fan favorite with the most votes:** /u/Ryter99, . This week the **Smoking Hot Challenge Sash** goes to an author that nailed the spirit of the assignment: /u/JohnGarrigan, And honorable mentions: /u/Mazinjaz, . /u/Errorwrites, \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ **The Rules:** * In the comments below submit a story that is between **500 - 750** words in your own original universe. * Submissions are limited to ***one*** serial submission from each author per week. * **Each author should comment on at least 2 other stories** during the course of the week. * That comment must include ***at least one*** **detail** about what the author has done well. * Authors who successfully finish a serial lasting longer than 8 installments will be featured with a modpost recognizing their completion and a flair banner on the sub. * Authors are eligible for this highlight post only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule. *Yes, we will check*. * While content rules are more lax here at /r/ShortStories, we’re going to roll with the loose guidelines of "vaguely family friendly" being the rule of thumb for now. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, feel free to modmail! \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Reminders: * Make sure your post on this thread also includes links to your previous installments if you have a currently in-progress serial. Those links must be direct links to the previous installment on the preceding Serial Saturday post or to your own subreddit/profile. * Authors that complete a serial with 8 or more installments get a fancy banner and modpost to highlight their stories. * Saturdays we will be hosting a Serials Campfire on the main voice lounge. Join us to read your story aloud, hear other stories, and share your own thoughts on serial writing! We start on Saturdays at 9AM CST. **Don’t worry about being late, just join!** There’s a *Super Serial* role on the Discord server, so make sure you grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Saturday related news! **Join the** **to chat with prompters, authors, and readers!** Previous constraint: Have you seen the ? No? Oh boy! Here's the current cycle's challenge schedule.


With each step I take I feel more and more weight being bestowed upon me. This painstaking journey has brought me nothing but grief and disappointment. The fatigue I feel is like hammers bashing my head telling me I can’t, and I won’t find anything. I feel so deserted with no vegetation to comfort me. When I reach into my backpack I hope for some refreshing water, so when my hand clasps the lumpy bottle I am at ease. Since it’s a brand new water bottle, I twist the lid to hear the satisfying sound that is a mixture of both a crack and a pop. I press the rigid bottle to my lips, and tilt it to get the sensation of crisp cool water. Unfortunately the water's taste isn’t as pleasant as the temperature, it tasted as if a wet dog had just rolled on my tongue. I make a sour face trying to get the taste off my tongue. Unsatisfied, I put the water bottle back into my bag and continued to trek through the barren wasteland, with the only thing motivating me; the reward at the end. As a child I always wondered, wondered how things happened, why they happened. I always wanted to know where my dad had gone. Did he leave, or was he taken? To my knowledge dad didn't have any enemies that could’ve had the motive to harm him, then again he was a very secretive man and I was only 12 when it had happened. I remember the day vividly. While I played with my homework, my mother sat on the couch watching the Late Night Show. Interrupting my learning and a Will Ferrel skit, we hear an ominous knock on the door. Both of our attentions are turned to the door. “Who could that be at this hour?” At 11 o’clock pm I could think of no one who could be at the door. Itcouldn’t apply to me, so I shrugged in confusion and continued to play with my homework. My mom stood up and slowly opened the door. As it creaked open I whipped my head around to see a tall man in the doorway. He was a police officer, with uniform and all He tipped his hat to my mom, then steadily took it off completely. He looked at my mom with a solemn expression. Without a doubt the next thing he said was what changed us forever. He said our father’s business jet had never landed, and they have no idea where it was. For all they knew it would have exploded. My mom gasped, and that’s when I knew she had looked at the cop then the floor appalled. She yelled at the cop demanding to know why, but of course he didn’t know. Mother shouted and cried in denial, no one wanted to believe it. Her shrieks were heartbreaking and traumatizing, I can still remember their shrill sound. The officer tried to calm her but nothing could break her mind free of her terrible thoughts. When I found out that my dad may never return I wailed. I never stopped, for I wailed because I didn’t want to believe it. I wouldn’t believe it. The police officers half heartedly looked where his plane had departed, the airport he was at, and where he went during his business trip. In my heart I knew they would never find him, because they didn’t really care. It wasn’t their own family member gone. They didn’t know I had fallen into a black void of sickening feelings, that brought me nothing but depression and atrocious thoughts. My mom and I fell together after his disappearance. We were a mess day after day, after day as we mourned his sudden perish. Our sorrowful feelings were like hands holding us in the dark, letting no sunlight shine upon us. After some mourning time I was able to condone myself in a respectable manner, in order to search for my father. Though I will never really be cured unless I find him, I am determined to find the exact cause. If I have to go to the ends of the Earth I will. I searched everywhere he might be locally, and after 2 years I had no more places to look. After steadily losing hope for 2 years, 1 month before now I had felt pessimistic. Would anyone ever find my dad? All signs were pointing towards no. I had almost given up, until I talked with my mother and got some vital information. “Hey Clem, could you come here for a second?” “Sure thing mom, what do you need? Wait! Are you okay, it looks like you’ve been crying. What’s wrong mom?” “Well I had been thinking about dad. Do you think it’s time we had a funeral? I mean it’s been 2 years, and I know everyone is trying so hard to find him, but I’ve seriously lost hope. We have no clues as to what happened. No one even knows where his plane went!” “I can’t believe you mom. Your own husband is missing, and you’ve lost hope.” I said in the most disappointed and grim way possible. “It’s been 2 years, Clementine Jones! 2 years! He is dead Clem, and the sooner we come to that conclusion, the better off we'll be in life. We should at least have a celebration of his good times in this world. I would be doing your father and MY husband a disservice if I didn’t give him a proper send off.” “We can celebrate him here, right now, privately. We can talk about good memories we have of him, in hopes of motivating us to find him, or at least the cause. I want answers mom! I need closure, and I won’t rest until I get it, or him back!” “Did he ever get to tell you why your name is Clementine?” mother asked so bluntly and sincerely. “Why are you trying to change the subject so quickly?” “You said you wanted to talk about him, correct?’ I nod my head in agreement. “Well your father and I took a trip up to London, because we had heard of this flourishing garden hike and we just had to see it. At first the surrounding area seemed like it could never have any foliage, but we stepped hundreds more worn down wooden steps, until we had made it. We made it to this large wall encapsulating our reward. Pushing open the large brass door it grated ajar, and we saw the most magnificent flowers. On our right side there were yellow begonia’s next to flourishing blush pink azaleas, in which both bushes of the sweet flowers came to my neck. Beneath our feet were sprigs of glacier white baby’s-breath. We had never seen anything more beautiful, until we saw a welcoming bench underneath a Clementine tree. We climbed a few more wood steps to reach our final destination. Your father and I plopped onto the bench and admired everything with veneration and awe. Above us was a solitary Clementine, your father reached up and grabbed it off the comfort of it’s branch. I put my hand over the textured surface, while it still lay in his. Then your father said, “It’s beautiful. Just like our child will be.” From then on out we knew your name, even before you were an actual human.” Mother and I both had hot sticky tears dribbling down our faces, but this time they were a mixture of happy and sad tears. My father was a great man, and whenever we thought about him it brought many tears to our eyes. “I wish to go there mother. I want to see such wondrous things, just as you and dad did. We might even find some clues there.” My mother explained how she wasn’t going to be able to supervise me on such a trip, but I had grandparents in London so it wasn’t a definite no. Before bed that night mother had called my grandparents’ explaining the importance of the trip. They had agreed to oversee my trip to London and my 3 night stay. I jumped up and down feeling triumphant, for I left tomorrow. When my plane skidded across the runway I was more anxious than ever. Even when I got into my grandparents car I wasn’t content. I needed to see this inconceivable place my father had ventured. I had asked my grandparents about it, but to their knowledge they have never seen, or heard of such a place. They said it should be noted that they could be wrong, and to just search on their home computer. When I did a search on the computer I found an unpromising hiking trail that had the familiar wooden stairs. Worn down to bits and pieces, waiting for it’s next splinter victim. The hike was going to be indeed a challenge, but I had just made plans with my grandmother to go tomorrow morning. One hundred paces in front of me I can see the imagined brass door. After all the suffering of this hike, I had finally come to my end point. There are faint smells of a sweet floral candle, which mesmerized me and pulled me to the door. I go to push the door open, and it creaks ever so shrilly with each step. Finally I fling the door open to see a place so charming, it's unfathomable. My mother hadn’t left a single detail out, and it had remained the exact same over the years. I brush my hands against the unfamiliar flowers as I make my way to the bench. Their pollen sticking to my fingers, but I don’t pay that much attention. I sit down on the weathered bench and brush my hands against the grass underneath it. The grass tickles my finger just as cotton would. As I rub my hand deeper and deeper into the grass, I feel something cold, and rectangular. Getting off the bench I crouch down and sift through the tall grass to see what mysteries lie beneath my nose. While searching I feel small drops of water on my head. Nothing could’ve motivated me more, for it was raining the last morning I saw my dad. I kept sifting through the grass as my hair became dense. The rain starts to turn the once soft dirt to mud, but nothing can stop me at this point. I need to know what this is. I forget it’s raining and find what my hand had touched. A plaque. It reads Matthew Jones 1970-2003: Never forgotten forever a mystery .


I didn’t sleep well that night. Less than two hundred metres away was a man I had known my whole adult life imprisoned, sleeping on a rough wooden floor. Yet, here I was in luxury. A large bed, a soft mattress, and blankets that felt almost frictionless against your skin. All the physical comfort imaginable had been afforded to me. But mentally, rest was impossible. In just a few words I could walk into Jacob’s office, vouch for Thomas, demand my friend was released and he would be. I was certain of it. Thomas should be out by now. I should have gotten him out. I wondered if I could sneak over, get back in, and sleep on the floor by the cell. Suffer as he suffered. I had spent enough nights with splintered and uneven planks replacing my mattress. One more wouldn’t hurt. However, it wouldn’t help. Another’s pain doesn’t make yours any less. So instead, I compromised, deciding to be as awake and as uncomfortable as I could. No matter my physical surroundings, in my own head I was lying on the hot sticky floor listening to the rats scurry. I lay there listening to the nothingness, and staring at the inanimate ceiling. Everything was frozen. Time refused to move. I don’t how long I lay in that bed, vaguely aware of the shifting stars out the window in front of me, but at some point I heard a noise from outside - a break in the monotonous nothing. It started quiet. The faintest disturbance in the air, but soon it grew into definite voices. Alessia was fast asleep, her face planted into the pillow, her mouth agape. But the voices grew closer, and louder. Slowly I rose from my bed, listening to the calls like they were a Siren's song. I began to detect an anger in them. One shrill cry battling against stronger but calmer heads. I wrestled with tge urge not to investigate until curiosity got the better of me. I got dressed and headed down the stairs. Outside, the guard by the back door greeted me, before his gaze turned to the right where the voices crept around the wall towards us. Without the walls, the screams were crystal clear. The shouts cut through my skin and I could feel my pulse race instinctually. The curious noise that drew me here was now definitely a woman's howls. Her voice a mixture of despair and rage. It won’t do any good. You can’t stop all of us. We will come for you. We will dismantle all we have built.” She appeared accompanied by two guards wrestling her up the path towards the prison. She wore a sleeveless dress, and I could see symbols painted onto her arm - stick figures of animals and patterns of leaves. “You can’t just go back to the way things were. We have to change. We have to turn to the Earth.” “Shut it. It’s over,” one of the guards barked as he yanked her arm. She was momentarily silenced by the forceful jolt. Squinting into the darkness, I recognized his face. He was part of the group that had found us by my old house. “You can lock me up all you want. There’s plenty more of us. Nature will prevail.” I approached them till I was close enough for my voice to carry. “What’s she been arrested for?” The guard looked my way and nodded, seeming to recognize me. “Found her trying to set fire to one of the Council buildings in town.” His voice was steady and calm despite the woman struggling in his arms. “Why?” The woman turned to me, her mouth wide, and her teeth bared like a cornered dog. “Because we need to undo our sins. Undo civilization. Return to nature.” “Quiet,” the guard muttered. The woman ignored him, keeping her eyes fixed on me. “Look what technology brought us. These empty shells. These guards. It’s corruption. Nature is the only peace.” “Quiet!” The other guard shouted as he shoved her in the back, knocking the wind out of her. The first guard looked up at me shaking his head. “Her lot have been causing problems all over. We’ve got them though. Sorry to wake you. Have a pleasant night.” He turned his head away and continued dragging the woman away. She continued to holler. Not to be rescued, but instead a final battle cry, a recruitment call to the nighttime so that they may join her fight, replace her in the ranks once she disappeared. But there was no one to listen. Just me, a few guards, and the other prisoners she would soon be locked up with. ------------------------------------------ As we set off for the Yarmouth Pit the next morning, I could feel the tiredness cling to my bones, weighing me down. Despite a cool summer breeze, I still felt a damp sweat stuck to my skin like leftover glue, and my muscles groaned with each step. Despite not knowing the way, Alessia was out ahead of me, pace setting and dragging my unwilling limbs behind her as we headed to the western side of the island. She raced up the smooth dirt path as it crested at the top of a small hill. She stopped at the top, turning back to me as the morning sun glistened across her face. She looked down with a smug face, her arms folded. “You doing okay back there?” “Yeah. Just tired.” Alessia paused, picking up on my tone. Her smile fell flat “Thomas?” I nodded. Alessia looked out to the sea to her right, watching the waves crash against the rocks below. "What do you think we’re gonna find today?” I gritted my teeth. “I don’t know. Probably nothing.” As I caught up to her, Alessia began walking again, this time empathy slowing her gait. “You don’t think there’s anything odd?” I shook my head. But out of confusion not denial. “I don’t know. If I were to choose three people in this world I trust the most, it would be you, Thomas and Jacob. Not sure what to do when they disagree.” Alessia raised an eyebrow. “No Xander?” I let out a small chuckle. “Xander did try and kill me when we first met.” Alessia tilted her head back and clicked her tongue. “Oh yeah. Before I got there.” I looked at the path ahead as it curved out to a small headland. “I don’t know why Thomas is in there. I can’t understand it.” Alessia pursed her lips. “Jacob put him there.” “I know But... Jacob. He saved me. If it weren’t for him risking his life I’d still be back in that prison hoping to survive the day. I’d never had gotten out, never traveled the Archipelago, never met you...” I turned to Alessia with a frown. “I owe him everything. Including my faith.” As the path turned left, the new citadel - the Estates - came into view once more behind us. My eyes looked to those homes down on the coast and the hope they contained. A patch of cloud rolled across the hills beside it, the homes highlighted in the gaps between the shadows. The light glanced across the red slate roofs, before brushibg against the wide windows of the upper floors, and rolling across the shamrock colored grass. Somehow the homes were more beautiful than the ones I had imagined at the Citadel. “How you feeling about your speech?” Alessia asked. I turned to take in the whole island anf the contours of the land I knew so well. “This place needs to calm. If I can help with that. Jacob needs it. The island needs it.” I threw my arms up into the air. “I need it.” “You don’t have to give that speech if you don’t want to. We’ll get the information on Sannaz.” I remembered the woman last night, and the path others might take the island down. “I’ve got to do what I can for this place.” I said as I forced my feet to keep moving, breaking from the pensive inaction. It took another hour of walking until we reached the Yarmouth site. The once great pit dug down into the earth, like the claw mark of some ancient god. Where once hundreds of workers could be found either scraping away at the rock or dealing with the output, over the years the lines had run dry. Now Yarmouth was a relic. A lonely place where a handful of workers spent their days digging away, hoping for a fresh vein to make their efforts worthwhile. It was remote, uninteresting and uncared for. And as we approached the office door I was certain that we were alone. As alone as Thomas would've been when he left the documents here. I momentarily paused as my hand grabbed the door handle. I took a quick breath and forced my arm down as the space opened in front of us. Thomas's old desk was in front of him. As I looked at the chair half drawn out from the desk, I wondered when Thomas was last here. At some point, he had sat at this desk and worked unknowing of what was to come. At some point, his life held a routine. It was my actions that had caused that pattern to be unravelled, for the predictable and certain to be replaced with the horror of his speculative imprisonment. Shaking the thought from my mind I walked over to the cabinet at the back of the room, bent down next to the cabinet and pulled out the bottom drawer. I could see several stacks of papers. Most were old books. The same type I had used when I managed the pits. But in the far left there was a folder, its sides thick, the front bulging with papers jammed inside, a taut string keeping its contents from spilling out. I lifted out the folder and walked it over to the desk, letting it land on the table with a thud. I undid the string and the lid flew up, the contents seeming to breathe a sigh of relief at being let free. Alessia looked at the stack of papers pushing out. “Any idea how we go through this?” I frowned. “No. Just... go through it and see what we get, I guess.” We began laying out the papers on the table, separating them into various categories. Almost two-thirds of the papers seemed to be applications from islanders, people pleading to be allowed into the Estates. They spoke of their family’s efforts, how hard they strived, and named those who could be contacted to vouch for their work ethic. I only gave each one cursory attention, but still I noticed page after page of people boasting of the extra hours they worked, how they had volunteered to help build the park after the Citadel was seized, or how they’d sacrificed time with friends of family to the greater cause of Pomafauc Reset. Others had taken a different tactic. Merely begged or detailed stories of their own suffering. Then of course there were those that tried bargaining, offering their own meagre house to the Council in return, or suggesting donating funds to causes the Council deemed worthy. After the applications, the documents began outlining the construction proposal for the Estates, the number of homes and the square meterage of each building. There were a few letters of correspondence, messages sent out to the towns to declare the application process open, or clarifying the new open nature of the Estates. Then there was a memo titled “Projected Earnings.” I scanned the document. Most of it focused on the costs, going into detail how to calculate the expenses of the project; totaling man hours, materials and the inevitable setbacks. Then at the end there was one line. “Jacob, I know after our last meeting you asked me to be certain of the return value. As I presented the other day, I can confirm each home should be able to return double its investment cost and more than make up for the downturn in the islands’ exports in recent months.” I stopped and read the sentence a second time. I blinked slowly, trying to take it in, being sure every word was as I saw it. “Have you seen anything about income from the homes?” Alessia turned to me and shook her head. “How would they be making money off the homes? They’re awarded.” I began to feel a sour taste in my mouth and a lump in the back of my throat. I contemplated putting down the papers, walking out the door, and trusting that there was an answer that made sense. But then I looked down at the documents still to be read. I began turning over the last few pages. Near the very end, there was one final correspondence. I immediately noticed Jacob’s signature at the bottom. It was a statement declaring that the winners of the first round of homes at the Estates had been declared. Beneath that was a long list of names. I began reading. South, Willem Naudain, Tess Lombard, Hannah Waverley, Ronald My mind paused, stuck on the last name. Waverley. I had heard it somewhere before. I didn’t know anyone on the island with that name - no colleagues, no friends. Yet it flicked a spark, a little sequence of thoughts that brought me back to Kadear. Yet it wasn’t Ronald Waverley I knew. I had the sound of an Alice Waverley in my head. An Alice that tied to a Waverly. Distant thoughts. Small pockets of memory that I couldn’t make connect. I read on. Pine, Wilbert Panama, Melle Delancey, Michel That name I knew. This time not with some distant connection I couldn’t make out, but as clear as day. “It’s got to be a coincidence,” I muttered. “What?” Alessia furrowed her brow. I turned away from the desk, back to the cabinet, pulling open the upper drawers. I grabbed one of the old large books, and dropped it onto the desk, a thin film of dust dispersed into the air as it landed. Inside was a list of substantial sales; bulk orders from traders on other islanders. I flicked through the pages, skipping over the tonnage and delivery dates, just glancing at names, until I saw one. Michel Delancey. I closed my eyes. I could feel that lump in my throat fall down to the pit of my stomach, and down further until my legs felt like stone. “What is it?” Alessia asked. I pointed to the name in the book. “He’s a massive land-owner on another island, runs a bunch of factories. Used to be one of our major importers.” “He’s got the same name as...” Alessia trailed off. I shook my head. “I bet you if I keep reading that list I’ll find more of them.” Waverley. That name came back to me. Alice Waverley. I could hear the name being shouted by an impatient mother, keen to use every syllable to get her point across. “Alice Waverley, you come down now or we’ll be late.” I remembered the shout. Steadily the picture grew clearer. The woman was right next to me as she called out, but paid me so little attention I could’ve been a ghost. I had grimaced as the noise reverberated around my ears, but I didn’t flinch. It was in one of the homes in the old Citadel. I had ignored my ringing eardrums and continued polishing the cabinet in front of me, certain not to cause a scene. Now the image was crystal clear and all the details came back to me. The who - the mother; the where - the Citadel; the when - I was a prisoner. I could see that family so clearly now. One daughter. Mother and father. He was on the old Council. His name was... Ronald. There was a bubbling in my gut, as bile made of stress and dread began working its way up my throat. Another moment flashed before my eyes. Our first day here, when we toured the Esates with Jacob. The woman who I saw scurrying up the steps to the building. I knew her name. I recognized that face. I looked down at the list of awardees. The very next name. Spruce, Christine. “FUCK!” The words left my lung like a stab wound. I hunched over, clasping myself against the desk. Alessia reached out a hand, placing it on my arm to stabalize me. “What?” I pulled myself back up as I felt my knuckles spasm with the anger. My hands burned, as thoigh the bones inside were trying to leave my body through fury. I stared at my palms, trying to regain my thoughts, my heart pounding against my chest. The rage overcame me again. “GOD DAMN IT!” I bent over placing my face in my hands. “Ferdinand.” Alessia placed a firm grip on each of my arms, gently stroking them. Part restraint, part soothing. “Ferdinand. You’re going to have to explain this to me.” I forced my head out from the sanctuary of my hands. “They’re selling the homes.” “What?” “The homes aren’t being awarded for hard work. They’re real. But they’re just being sold to whoever can afford them. Tycoons from other islanders, people with stolen artefacts, even the old council members themselves.” “The old council?” “Ronald Waverly. Christine Spruce. They lived at the Citadel. I cleaned their homes.” I could feel the nerves in my arm convulse, until my hand shaped into a fist and slammed into the desk. The old wood shook and a few sheets of paper fell to the floor. “But why not just build the houses and sell them.” “Same reason as ever. Keep people working. Keep everyone striving for something and trying to please you." I clenched my jaw and my throat. Words boiled up, pushed out my mouth like steam pressurised by the heat in my chest. "That’s probably the only way they could’ve built those homes in five months anyway. Builders working round the clock believing it could be them on the inside.” Alessia looked to the ground. My mind was racing. “Nothing changed. The old council fell, and everything stayed exactly the same, except now the man conning the entire island was one of my best friends. I’m complicit in it this time.” “No you’re not” Alessia tried to interrupt. I didn’t stop. “I’m part of it. I released him. I was glad when I found out he was premier. And I left the island so he could stay here and do to the island exactly what the people before him did.” “This isn’t your fault, Ferdinand.” I turned away, facing my body back towards the Citadel. I couldn't see it, yet I turned to it like a magnet facing north. “How did I not realize the second I saw Thomas in that prison? How did I accept that for one moment?” “Because you trusted Jacob. Trust is good.” “That trust was stupid.” I spat the words out “What do you want to do?” “This ends. Now.” I looked at the papers strewn across the desk. “Grab the evidence we need, and take it to Jacob. This ends today.” ------------------------------------------------------ The closer we got to Citadel Park, the more people we saw. And each face brought with it another flicker of anger. I didn’t mind the faces that looked grumpy or displeased. It was the smiles that hurt. The bodies dragging uneven heavy carts across pothole ridden roads, grinning with wide eyes as the sweat poured down their faces. They would die doing this, die pulling that stupid cart, the grin still wide on their face. Slowly all that bitterness that had nowhere to go developed into melancholy. And my feet dragged slowly along the ground. “Do you think I’m to blame?” I muttered, my eyes staring at the dirt. “What? No?” Alessia replied. “If I hadn’t left when I did... in the way that I did. Maybe things would be different.” “You didn’t do this, Ferdinand.” I shook my head, scrunching my eyes shut. “You said it to me. All the way back on Tima Voreef. The truth isn’t enough. You have to build something after. I didn’t see it through.” “You were running for your life, Ferdinand.” I opened my eyes again just in time to see a couple walking away from the park towards us. I stepped around them as they silently marched by. They passed me as though hypnotized, disconnected from my presence. Turning to Alessia, I scrunched my face. “Do I see it through this time? Should I stay here?” I could see Alessia take a momentary pause in her step. “That’s up to you. Can’t make the decision for you. But I will say... I hope you don’t. And I don’t think leaving is wrong.” “I could’ve done more.” Ahead of us I could see more people heading down the path towards us. Their eyes fixed forwards down the hill. Alessia gritted her teeth. “Ferdinand. When you escaped. You came back and freed the others. You could’ve kept running. But you handed them the island to do with what they wanted. You gave them the blank slate. Them screwing it up isn’t your fault.” Part of me listened to Alessia, but I was caught by a growing crowd leaving the park. They all had the same fixed expression on, hollow eyes that were forced forwards, their necks refusing to rotate as though screwed in place. Some instinctual part of my brain, hardwired to the behavior of others, was alerted. There was an abnormality in the air. The mixture of our surroundings not quite right. There were two women ahead of us. They walked briskly, as one held a small child on her hip. The kid was three or four, capable of walking on their own, and large enough that the woman shifted awkwardly with the weight on her hip. Yet she insisted on carrying. “I know it’s the rule of law. I just don’t want my kid seeing it, you know?” Alessia was eyeing up the pedestrian traffic as well, her eyes shifting and focusing on different people, trying to parse a meaning. “First one in a while, I think. Right?” a man said to another. “Yeah. Was starting to worry the Council had gone soft,” the other laughed. I picked up my pace as ahead of me I could see the great arched sign that welcomed you to the park. A family walked out from under the archway. The man had his hand on the shoulder of a young boy in front of him, the child’s face glued to the dirt. The man shook his head, and turned to his wife as they passed. “I guess it’ll be good for him in the long run. See justice served. That crime doesn’t go unpunished. But...” The scaffold. I began running, charging underneath the large archway, weaving between the bodies meandering down the hill. Ahead of me two young women walked idly in gossip, hogging the center of the path. “Move!” They parted, jumping out of the way with, their lips turned upwards. “Rude!” one of them shouted. I didn’t care. I sprinted until my legs told me they could sprint no more. And then I still kept sprinting. I had to collapse the unknown into truth. The limitations of my limbs were irrelevant, a greater physical force propelled me forwards. The prison building grew closer, the walls masking the blue sky. My skin grew hotter, and my eyes stinged with sweat the fear of what lay around the corner. I ran past the building. I stood. I paused. And I wailed. A long desperate sob left my lungs. Saliva spluttered from my lips as my lungs heaved, coughing out every ounce of grief and anger and regret I could find. There in front of me, hung two bodies. The woman who I’d seen brought in last night. And next to her, Thomas. Alessia arrived, keeping a few paces behind, giving me space. “I’m sorry, Ferdinand.” “Give me your knife.” “What... why?” “Give me your knife.” I held out my hand behind me. “Ferdinand, what are you-“ “I’m cutting him down. Now give me the knife.” My tone had lost all respect, all humanity. It simply demanded the world bring me what I need. I felt the metal blade land in my palm. I wrapped my hand around it, feeling the sharp edge scrape at the skin, a small pain that served as a welcome distraction. At the base of the slope, I climbed up the steps to the gallows. Somewhere in the distance, people would be turning to look - confused and concerned onlookers, gawkers, even guards, unsure if they should intervene. But they were all a haze. An indistinct blur. There was only one figure I could see. I wrapped an arm around Thomas’s torso, feeling the heat dissipate from his limp body. Stretching, I reached up, and grated the knife firmly against the taught rope. After three strong slashes there was a snap, and Thomas’s full weight fell upon me. We staggered back, and I fell down, landing in a seated position, with Thomas’s body lying on my lap. There was a look of pain on his lips. But I couldn’t help but notice a small smile at the corner of his mouth, and how relaxed his body seemed. Wrapping my arms across his chest, another convulsion of grief rose from within me. I spluttered his name. I tried to apologise. It was all for nothing. I sat on that stage, for the whole park to see, as I held my oldest friend.


Even a Blind Man Could See It A Short Story by Mackenzie Littledale 05/20/2021 “So what did the doctor say, Mom?” I asked over the phone and plunked my purse down on the sofa. “I’ve been trying to reach you all day.” “You were? I was home. Must not have heard the phone.” Her nonchalance didn’t sit well with me. “What were the heart monitor’s results?” “I don’t need the pacemaker after all,” she said. I could hear the smile in her voice. It reminded me of a kid with a kazoo. Not that her voice was twangy, but sheer childlike happiness came through. “That’s great,” I said, but something was off. Her heart rate had been slow and somewhat irregular, so her cardiologist had her wear a monitor for two weeks. Everything about a pacemaker made perfect sense, so this verdict from the doctor left questions hanging. “Then what’s causing your slow heartbeat?” “I don’t need the pacemaker,” she repeated in a firmer tone of voice. I sighed and rolled my eyes. Subject closed. My knuckles ached and I realized I was gripping the cell phone way tighter than necessary. “Very well, Mom. What are you going to do next?” I eyed my red apple and strained to reach it. I could just about taste its sweetness and feel the crunch in my mouth. “You know I’ve always wanted a sporty Mazda.” I dropped the apple. “Oh God, Mom, what did you do?” “I had the money and I’ve been trying to think of one good reason why I’ve been waiting so long to get what I want.” I gestured with my hand the way a logic professor might. “You’re eighty years old. You’ll be too old to drive it before you even pay off the loan. You’ve never handled a sports car. Your eyesight isn’t great. You can barely hear the other cars honking.” “So says you, smarty pants. Well, I can’t think of any reason. I had the money,” she said. I got up to pace. Any one of the reasons I just rattled off was reason enough, but she hadn’t considered any of them for even a second. Not that elders can’t drive whatever car they want, but Mom was anything but world-wise, attentive, observant, or quick on her feet. A sports car with her behind the wheel would be a disaster. “Are you saying you bought the car?” I held the microphone away from my mouth and took a vicious bite of the apple, perhaps like Eve in the Garden of Eden with a misguided belief that knowledge would magically sprout to life in my head. What good is knowledge without the wisdom to know what to do with it? “You’re going to take me to the eye doctor. I’m having surgery next week.” “Wait, what?” Where did she come up with these bombshells? “Since when did the ophthalmologist say you needed surgery? Surgery to correct what and what are the chances of success?” “This surgery is to correct the glaucoma in my right eye. I failed the vision test for my driver’s license renewal and now I can’t even drive my new car. You have off work on Thursdays, so you can take me, right?” It wasn’t so much a question as a done deal. “Of course, sure,” I said, and left my mouth hanging open for a few seconds too long. I rubbed my forehead and resigned myself to add the details to my calendar. “I’ll see you Thursday morning, bright and early,” Mom said. “I love you.” “I love--” but she’d already hung up before I finished. “You, too.” I bit down hard on my apple and chewed furiously as my mind raced in overdrive for questions to ask the doctors about this surgery. Throughout the week, I went to work as planned but with my mother on my mind. Worries about an eighty-year-old woman behind the wheel of a Mazda faded to the background. Eye surgery seemed so dreadful. Thinking about a literal needle through the eye made me shudder. On Thursday morning, I drove the eight miles to my mother’s place. She walked out of her door, steadying herself with her three-pronged cane. Even though she didn’t have arthritis, aches, or pains, sometimes she had dizzy spells. Her attire didn’t betray the occasion. A navy suit jacket with gaudy baubles and simple makeup. If she didn’t want anyone to know she was on her way to eye surgery, mission accomplished. I helped her get in my car and got back in the driver’s seat, donning dark sunglasses to block the glare of the harsh summer sun. “Do you have questions for the doctor?” “Like what kind of questions?” she said. “Mom, didn’t you discuss the pros and cons of this surgery with the surgical team?” I glanced at her over the rim of my sunglasses. “How many of these procedures do they do each year, what’s the success rate, what determines success, do patients have recurrence of glaucoma, can patients drive again, will you need more of the same surgery down the line? Those sorts of questions.” “You worry too much, Amina. Just drive.” She looked out the side window. “The landscapers do such a nice job maintaining the property. The plumeria are going to bloom soon.” “Yes, Mom.” I pressed the gas and took the wheel with both hands. She provided directions to the outpatient surgical center and twenty-five minutes later, I pulled up to the entrance. Their pineapple logo made me think we’d gone to the wrong business. Pineapples are a symbol of hospitality, as in hotels and inns, not hospitals, but we were at the right place. Inside smelled vaguely antiseptic, not like a full on hospital. Hints of pine, bleach, and lemon breezed by in bursts every time someone opened a door behind reception. Mom and I took seats in the waiting area. Overhead windows ringed the walls holding up vaulted ceilings. Tons of natural light shone on the elm fixtures and furnishings. Mom turned in her forms and we waited some more as patients and their companions came and went. I never liked the sight of bandages, especially over people’s eyes, but several patients left with dark plastic glasses as if the most invasive procedure was dilating pupils in the back room. I crossed my fingers and slipped a prayer skyward for everything to be easy. I didn’t want Mom’s procedure to turn into a case study on outlier events. A plump woman with frameless eyeglasses opened the door behind reception and called out. “Leticia Lawrence?” I tapped Mom’s forearm. “That’s you.” I waved at the woman while Mom gathered herself and her cane. We followed the woman to an examination room. After we answered a series of perfunctory questions, the lady asked me to return to the waiting area so my mom could change into the gown. An hour later when I could rejoin my mother, I found her in a surgical bay hooked up to various machines. She looked like an old-fashioned doll in a bed much too big for her. The air was impenetrable with medical knowledge, an invisible barrier to everyday people. Beeping machines, flashing lights, salves, balms, and latex gloves. Everything in the space had some purpose toward healing and none of it made a lick of sense to me. I looked at the nurses as they flipped through charts and notes. The beeping machines and flashing lights didn’t alarm them. They knew something I didn’t - when to and when not to panic. All of it unnerved me so I directed my faith in them for reassurance and calm. All the while, my mother lay in the gigantic bed between the steel rails with a placid smile on her face as she periodically nodded off. How could she think of sleeping now? Now? They’re going to stick a needle in her eye! One of the machines let out an uninterrupted beep and I turned my attention to it. I had no clue what it was for. “Excuse me,” I said to a nurse standing behind my mother’s bed. “Why is that machine making that noise?” The nurse looked from her handheld notes to the black machine. “Your mother’s heart rate is slowing down to less than forty-five beats per minute.” “That sounds too slow,” I said, raising my eyebrows as my own heartbeat sped up. “You can discuss it with the anesthesiologist,” the nurse said and returned her attention to her notes. “Okay,” I said, swallowing down panic since she seemed so cool, calm, and collected about it. “When is the anesthesiologist coming out?” “He’ll come out soon with the whole surgical team.” My mother continued dozing until I caught her open one eye briefly and grin. The situation unfolding around her must have amused her. Great. The steady beep gave way to intermittent beeps again and my breathing slowed back down. My stomach had knotted up, but I only just then became aware of it and relaxed. As Mom’s eyes opened, I took her hand. “Are you comfortable?” “Oh yeah,” she said, smiling. Four doctors with clipboards came from nowhere and approached my mom’s bed in the cold surgical bay. They dressed just like doctors on TV in light blue scrubs. “Hello, Mrs. Lawrence,” each one said as they introduced themselves. “Which one of you is the anesthesiologist?” I asked, eyeing each one. The tallest waved. “I’m Dr. Jenkins, the anesthesiologist. Who are you?” “I’m Amina, her daughter. That machine,” I said, pointing an accusing finger at the black contraption, “was beeping, but then it made a steady beep. Why is her heart rate falling and is the procedure safe?” Dr. Jenkins flipped through a one-inch-thick file that he held under his clipboard. “Hmm, Mrs. Lawrence, you’ve been to a cardiologist.” “Yes,” Mom affirmed. “What’s the problem?” “Your heart rate may be slowing down too much,” said Dr. Jenkins. “Tell me about the pacemaker.” My mom waved that away with a smile as sweet as apple pie. “Oh, the cardiologist said I didn’t need it.” I looked at her suspiciously. Something wasn’t adding up. Dr. Jenkins shook his head. “That’s not what the doctor’s note says. It says you declined the pacemaker.” My jaw dropped open and my shoulders slumped. “What? Mom, what did the heart doctor actually tell you?” “He said I don’t need a pacemaker.” I flattened my lips into a straight line and frowned. I turned to Dr. Jenkins. “What does that note say?” A shorter doctor with hazel hair in a style like Joey from F-R-I-E-N-D-S stepped forward. “This is a concern because during the procedure, we’ll push a needle through Mrs. Lawrence’s eye and it’ll tap the vagus nerve, which may slow her heart rate down. The anesthesia will also slow her heart. If, however, it slows too much, we’re not equipped for emergency service. We’ll have to call nine-one-one and wait for an ambulance to take her to the nearest ER.” My stomach sent a warning salvo that if my mother didn’t give the right responses, my morning’s breakfast would be returned as projectile vomit all over my white blouse. All my muscles tightened. “Mom, do you understand what might happen? You have a lazy heart and a pacemaker will force it to beat every second like a drill sergeant. Everything could go wrong. You could freaking die . There’s nothing they can do here and if we need an ambulance, we start running out of time.” The doctors and nurses nodded, urgency written large across their faces. Dr. Jenkins held the file up. “Mrs. Lawrence, the cardiologist’s note is clear that you need a pacemaker. When you had the monitoring device, the decision could be delayed, but not declined. After this conversation, I’m not fully confident in going forward with your procedure.” “But I need to see to drive,” Mom said. Then almost inaudibly, “My Mazda.” Of course, I heard the longing in her voice like a violin. I hung my head and rolled it side to side to stretch, to buy time, to hope the doctors would send us home. “Mom. Listen, please? You’re not having the eye surgery today. I’m taking you home and we’re calling the cardiologist to make an appointment about a pacemaker. Once you’re cleared by that doctor, you can get the eye surgery. Got it?” She screwed her face like a petulant child. “I don’t want a pacemaker.” The lead surgeon stepped forward. “You can’t force us to perform a procedure if we’re not one-hundred percent comfortable.” I turned to the team of doctors. “Thank you. We’ll be in touch soon.” The team stood straight and tall while the nurse wheeled Mom back to the room where she could get dressed. I waited in the sunlit reception area, my nerves shot to hell. I glanced at my reflection in a compact mirror. My makeup hadn’t held up well against beads of sweat even though the outpatient center couldn’t have been more than seventy degrees. Leaving the bleach smell didn’t bother me one bit. They could try to smother it with lemon and pine all day, but it clung to my clothes and nose hairs. On the way to Mom’s place I asked, “What is it about a pacemaker don’t you like? You’re reluctant for some reason. Talk to me.” “I’m not afraid,” she said in a voice that no one could possibly count on. “Tell me,” I said. “We’ll write down all your questions and grill the doctor until you’re satisfied that it’s safe.” Her shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. “I want to know if I can shower with it. Will I have to sleep in a certain position with it?” “Good, we’ll write it all down.” I hoped we’d find some answers online rather than wait to ask the cardiologist. We were only twenty minutes from her apartment, but worry and anxiety made the drive drag on as if the asphalt was taffy. I couldn’t show any negative emotion for fear my mom would catch my fears. She stayed quiet, but the worry wrinkles deepened across her forehead. My job had to be the picture of calm. “Knowledge is power. We’ll look up some answers on the internet, too.” “I can’t even drive my car without the eye surgery.” “That’s true, but you can’t get the eye surgery without the pacemaker. Everything is going to happen in the right sequence, okay?” I patted her arm and she smiled a thin, weak smile. The following week when I was off work again, I drove Mom to Dr. Santini’s office. While we waited, we looked up FAQ about pacemakers online from my phone. As she scrolled through the questions and answers, she had her own list of questions folded in her palm. The cardiologist came into the examination room. “Hello, Mrs. Lawrence. Amina, I haven’t seen you in a long time.” “Hi Doc.” I’d remembered him taller, but Dr. Santini couldn’t have been more than five-foot-five in platform wedges. He brushed his dark hair back, though not a strand was out of place. “What brings you in?” he asked, pulling out a rolling stool and sitting down. I sat with Mom on the exam table and opened my mouth, but she spoke up. “The reason I’m here is I was scheduled to have surgery for glaucoma, but my heart rate slowed down too much, so I’m here to find out more information about pacemakers.” “I see,” Dr. Santini said, leaning forward on his elbows. “You declined that even though I advocated for it. It’s obvious you need it.” “I’d like the monitor again to see how my heart is doing.” “That won’t be necessary,” he said, leaning back. “Your heart hasn’t suddenly started beating properly.” “If the pacemaker stops working, how would my mom know?” Mom’s eyes widened as if she were struck by lightning. “That’s a good question.” She turned her gaze to Dr. Santini and folded her arms. I knew it was a good question. It had been burning a trail in my mind for days. The cardiologist chuckled. “Every three months, your mom will come in and we’ll ‘interrogate’ the pacemaker to make sure it’s still performing.” He continued on to answer all her questions. She could bathe and shower as normal. She could sleep on her stomach and toss and turn all night if she had to. The device would force her heart to pound out sixty beats per minute. Twenty minutes later, we were walking back to my car.“How do you feel about the process now, Mom?” The plumeria ringing the doctor’s parking lot was in full bloom. I paused to admire it. “Much better. I’m going to do it.” She got in the passenger seat. “You know what though?” Oh Lord. I took in a deep breath, bracing myself. “What?” “I got to drive my car a couple times already.” I side-eyed her as I clicked my seatbelt. “And?” “It gave me quite a thrill. I hit the gas a teensy-weensy bit and it took off like a racehorse.” She faced me, laughing with a schoolgirl blush. “It made me feel young again.” My heart bottomed out and floated at the same time. She felt young. I couldn’t take that away from her, but she was a danger behind that car’s wheel. “Mom, are you keeping the car?” “Of course I am.”


Dec 18 No sun today. It appears the polar night has finally set in. If I am where I think I am, the sun should reappear in about 10 days. I am stocked up on firewood, although it is hard to stay awake without the sun to look forward to. The only reason I awake at all is to stoke the fires and cook food. Speaking of food, my rations have run lower than expected. I have decided to attempt to hunt something. I have a 300 yards of fishing line. I have attached it to the spur of rock that shields the entrance to my cave so I can find my way back. I am going to leave first thing in the morning. when I wake up. Dec 19 I managed to kill something. I’m not really sure what. I shot it in fright when it startled me. It was so dark. I hacked it to pieces with my machete and buried the chunks in the snow outside my cave. The fire was almost out when I came back, but I’ve stoked the flames. I’m so tired. After all the activity in the cold I was numb and now my thawing limbs are feeling exhausted. I don’t think a day has passed, my watch broke during the hacking and I couldn’t find it in the dark. I will take a nap and assume it is still the same day when I awake. Dec 19 continued I awoke feeling very well rested. Better than I have in days. Yet it could only have been a few minutes. The fire was full force when I awoke. I brought in some of the meat from this morning and started cooking it. It was delicious, but it may just be that I haven’t had non-jerky meat in almost a month. I stored some cooked meat in the cave to have for breakfast, stoked the fire again. Time for a real night’s sleep. Dec 19 continued again I just woke up. I think an animal was in the cave. All of my meat is missing and some firewood is gone. The fire is still going strong, so I figure I was only asleep for a little while. Must be late night or early morning. The knots on the tarp over the cave are still tied, but I am going to try and cover some cracks to keep out whatever stole my food, then go back to sleep. I’m not very tired, but I need to sleep more than two quick naps or I’ll lose my strength. Dec 20 I think I’m stoking the fire in my sleep. I awoke today and found more wood missing and the fire still warm. It must be the 20th though. I cooked more meat. I ate well, and then chipped out a shelf in the ice on the back wall. With the meat up there, I shouldn’t need to worry about anything getting in and eating it. I managed to find some more fuel for the fire. I found some uprooted plants that should burn well not too far when I was digging up meat outside. I cut them up and placed them near the fire to dry. I will be tying the zipper on my sleeping bag so I don’t waste firewood anymore. Dec 20 continued Ok, I think I’m imagining things. I awoke to a well stoked fire. The plants I chopped up had all been used. I estimate that for the fire to maintain this size and be going 24 hours a day, it would be the 23rd but that can’t be right. The meat was gone from the shelf again. I cooked more meat, but only enough for today. Since nothing was digging in the snow, I figure it’s better to only cook what I need right then and save food. I need to go home. Once I see the sun I will head back. If I move quickly and leave my supplies here, I figure I can make it within sight of the outpost within the brief light we get on the 28th. Since I have no idea what day it is, I’ll be checking for pre-dawn light every day from now on. **MORE MEAT** Dec 21 I’m scared. I awoke to a stinging in my eye. Somehow my forehead was cut, and that was written in my notebook using blood. The fire was built up much too high, the ice around the walls of the cave was melting. It was so hot that I had to wait at the back of the cave for it to die down a little. This all started with that hunting trip. I went out and dug up all of the meat and dragged it out a long way from the cave. I forgot to tie the string and ended up lost in the dark. I was wandering for a while before I finally caught sight of the light leaking out from the cave. I came back and the fire was stoked, as usual. The meat I had dragged away was neatly laid out in the entrance. My rations are missing. I cooked enough meat for the day, I’m going to try to make it back in the morning. *That’s the last entry. Jason’s body was found on Dec 28th. A search party had started looking when screams were heard coming from the direction he had left in on the 25th. It was on top of the firepit in his cave. All of the meat was picked off of his body. The entrance to the cave was still covered and tied shut from the inside, but no sign of another person was found.