Kong Min felt it in his chest where his heart should be: a sudden strain where all his muscles suddenly contracted resulting in a sinking feeling that literally sucked in all life and breath he could barely muster anymore: like an anchor docking a ship. He struggled to breath and he collapsed for a while, a little unsure of where he was and how he got there in the first place. He could feel the flush of his cheeks and the veins in his arm bulged out. A tight knot formed at his throat. Then, pin-drop silence. A stinging noise irritatingly buzzed in his left ear and when he finally rebalanced himself and got back on his feet, recovering his breath (suddenly remembering with an awkward realisation that he was actually human), he felt a sharp and powerful tug at the collar of his shirt. His eyes opened wide open as he was pulled two centimetres away just as a Bentley with an umber brown and white convertible rocketed past. Kong Min was still a little dazed by this and despite concerns from bystanders, he merely shrugged them off and continue to walk. His condition was of no surprise to him. After all, walking around with a human heart powered by the metal palladium in order to stay alive could mess with your head in excruciatingly creative ways. “Gods above, how much I hate this pathetic excuse for a home,” muttered the 19-year-old Malaysian as he trudged through the quiet and gloomy neighbourhood cobbled with stones that jutted out of shape. Checking that his Mercedes was actually locked, he continued down a new path down the smoothly paved walkway where yellowed and dowdy leaves paid no mind to the apparent disgusting décor that they had made to it. Unlike his usual raggedy style that he used to wear about himself overseas from home, he now made sure that he was dressed at his best as he smoothed his hands over his black shirt, black suit, black trousers and even darker wingman sunglasses. He had purposely parked his Mercedes far away from Father’s too. He did not need to know he had made a life for himself in Shenzhen, China. He had no need for his busybody relatives to ask him about his private life (god, he hated it when they had done that) and with crocodile tears, beg him for a tenth of his fortune because they had debts to pay, they had mouths to feed and just because they were his flesh and blood. Something had then caught his eye: he took four steps backward and peered down into the alleyway. There, he saw the kids shouting and jeering as a buff kid with reddened cheeks puffed hard and good as he tried to wrestle another kid, but muscularly superior to him, to the ground. In a swift and flurry move, the latter one rolled backwards and pushed the other kid away from him. Taking advantage of his opponent losing momentum, the muscular kid then brought him down. Huh , Kong Min reminisced. The kids in the neighbourhood still had fights in that alleyway. He remembered when he and Maven, his Indian partner-in-crime used to come here and go into the fights as well although Kong Min was more of a co-ordinator than wrestler or brawler. He hated that place: the street where the foundation was based on was made out of sharp pebbles and sudden depressions in which one would break their nose. He did. Five times consecutively. Kong Min carried on looking at his steps, one foot after the other. Then, from the corner of his eye, he caught a tint of dullish grey on a vehicle. Looking up, he saw the plate number clearly. It was Father’s car. Oh crap. He was home. Fifteen minutes later, he smoothed his hands over his suit for the millionth time. The procession was to take place soon. He would have to go in one way or the other. He could handle the body, he supposed. It was just some forgotten cousin brother from one of his uncles on Father’s side. Not worth coming back to, but his lover, Marsya Ali forced him to. “Pay your respects to your family,” she chided him. He knew Marsya was in the house already because he could make out her silhouette by his mother’s bedroom window on the first floor beneath the balcony. But he already knew that she was going to be there anyway. He wanted to take a step forward but he could not. He was paralysed at where he was standing. His lips trembled and his chest rose high and low, heaving. The attacks were coming back again. He cleared his throat and leaned against the car, waiting for it to subside. The car felt newly waxed and smooth like a baby’s skin. Of course, Father had it waxed. The old man was rich. In a way, he was grateful because most of the thirty-somethings that he knew got successful at life had rich fathers. A sturdy house must have a good foundation, he supposed. It was such a weird thing to think about as of the moment. Nevertheless, he was glad that his sunglasses had hidden the pain in his eyes when he heard the door click open. It was not Marsya nor his mother. It was his second aunt. One thing to talk about Second Aunt was that she was all old and wilted out. All of her logical sense of the world and how it usually worked had been blunted and she knew not sometimes the difference between black and white. With the same damned buzzing sound in his left ear, he coolly pushed himself away from his aunt’s embrace that may as well have disgusted him and walked himself in uninvited. He was not going to show any of them any big tears. Nevertheless, standing there in front of almost everyone made him feel like a gigantic idiot. Faces turned and mouths gaped open. Champagne continued to pour into glasses but the hands that held them remain as frozen as an ancient statue. Some disapproving eyes turned away from him and spoke behind their hands; some gave him the hairy eyeball. This was his family. The people who play their cards close to their chests and pretend to be as sorry as sorry can be whilst throwing darts at him behind his back. Just for the sake of it. His eyes went from relative to relative and solemnly nodded. However, a rather old and slouched figure of an Asian-like grandfather walked towards a direction parallel to him but both of them: young and old stopped in their tracks when their shoulders touched. The old man held out his hand and Kong Min shook it. “Father,” Kong Min addressed dryly. “Boy,” his father replied in a gruff tone. Suddenly, they heard some scuffling at the staircase. Father and son turned to those stairs and found that it was Kong Min’s mother and Marsya there. After a solemn embrace, Kong Min couldn’t take it anymore and pulled Marsya aside from the crowd. “What’s wrong?” Marsya asked, concern glimmering in her eyes. “I am not ready to tell them,” came the monotonous reply. “Look at me,” she said sternly. He didn’t. So, she made him do so and firmly held his face looking into hers. “Even if you are not ready, who do you think could stop time and let you just dig your own grave? You can’t just go on like this forever.” Pin-drop silence. This was the same thing he told his brother before. This happened years ago when he was just ten. His own brother shaking uncontrollably in his bed as spit drooled uncontrollably from the corner of his lips. His hands bent like a dog’s; he watched his brother pitifully as he descended into madness. Then, he told him he could not go on like this. Mom and Dad existed for a reason. You should have turned to them before. You should have turned to your friends. You should have turned to me. You should. You should’ve. But you didn’t. Kong Min gave a soft kiss on Marsya’s forehead. He wanted it to go on forever. Just the two of them. But now he had to reserve more time for someone else. Father sat next to the tea table at the garden and did not bother to see his son come up to him. Yes, his son: The Great Engineer, the da Vinci of Asia. He always remembered his boy as a thirteen-year-old arrogant rebel who wanted him to give away his inheritance to him first so that he could travel to China and do some research he knew not what. He had no time to ask. His son left without a goodbye. “I know you are still angry I left when I was so young, Father,” he sensed Kong Min’s dry voice. “But I had no choice. The doctors you sent me to are all bullshit. You were wasting your money. They couldn’t fix my heart. I could have died sometime in one of those ridiculous treatments the ‘doctors’ gave me. I was not going to let that happen. “That is why I took the money and ran. I knew palladium could be the answer to my heart problem. Thalassemia is hard to just ‘cure’, especially in an underdeveloped place like Malaysia. But I did it, Father. I did it. Now, I am tall, I am healthy and I am 19.” Then, Kong Min squatted in front of his father’s unforgiving gaze. “But I am dying, Father. Palladium is intoxicating my blood and is poisoning me. I thought that I could find a way to stabilise the palladium in my chest during those six years. But Heaven has a way of screwing with you at the very last minute, right?” His father’s eye squinted a little in shock, no doubt. But his gaze remained unwavering. Kong Min sighed and stood up, preparing to leave. “I am not expecting pity or sympathy, Father. I am just telling you to prepare my funeral arrangements soon. I don’t know when and I do not know how, but it will happen. Perhaps I really am just another thing that shouldn’t have existed under natural law. I just labour at the thought of having self, thinking I was somebody when I am nobody. In fact, everyone is, in a way. Human consciousness is such a bitch of evolution. But in the end, you will see, Father. How easy it will be to just let go of life at the very last moment. That holding onto it all your years was meaningless. And I want you to look me in the eye when you do find me, Father. I want you to think to yourself, “How much did you suffer, my child? Was it painful?”” Kong Min left before the procession even started. But he made a mess of the pantry. The glassware was smashed and the porcelain was flung all over the place. No one dared get in his way. Driving away, he muttered to himself, “Fuck... Damn this place... God damn this place...”


"No." The word fell flat. His face fell with it. "Oh my god--" She turned so as not to face him. The sun was in her eyes. She felt almost blinded by it, the tears collecting quickly and filling with sunlight. It was painful. Every feature about it. How could she have let it go on for so long? She should have left so much sooner. His hand on her shoulder reminded her of the pending explanation. The let-down. The break-up. Everything she had been hoping to avoid. Everything she was intensifying due to her long and silent gripping to what she had left. Her hands hurt from holding on so hard for so long. How would her knuckles ever regain their color from the hold she had on Thomas? And who was he to her anyways? A place-holder? A lover? A man. "Alice," he said, his voice quivering although he desperately tried to keep it together. "I, I, I understand, but..." With palms open to the sky, with a look of pure sadness and confusion, he uttered, "What did I do wrong?" She lost it then. How could she ever explain to Thomas that she didn't love him? The question was unsettling to her. Did she really not love him ? He was so fun to be in love with. His shaggy hair and the feeling of it between her fingers. The taste of his lips and how great of a kisser he was. The little tendencies he had to slip into Romeo. To sing to her, to take her to the top of a mountain or a high building and tell her he loved her. The way he held her at night. The sound of his humming as he buttered his toast in the morning. All these things she knew she loved. But then... Then there were those terrible nights. Those stone cold evenings where scarcely a word was spoken. Whenever he went home and didn't stay with her in her apartment. The songs that she listened to purposely whenever she was alone. The way she looked out her car window at the rain. When she'd put down her windows to feel the wet chill on her skin and remember that she was alive. And that love was still out there waiting. How badly she wanted to feel that again. After apologizing profusely, offering tissues, and getting Thomas to sit down and put the ring back in his pocket, she started the long and gut-wrenching descent. "You have done everything right," she said, blinking back a swelling ocean of guilt-ridden tears. "None of this is about you, Thomas." He wasn't looking at her anymore. He stared straight ahead, as if seeing through her. His head was tilted down and Alice considered if perhaps he wasn't hearing her at all. She was so worried about this. So worried about how he would take it all. He was a fragile piece of pottery to begin with. Darkly tinted. Beautiful. Broken. But never shatterproof. Like herself. She took his hand and massaged it gently. "Please look at me," she whimpered. A breeze blew through the tree above them and he gave out a sigh that struck her with sadness. "I would..." he whispered. "If I could. But if I do right now, I'd be a mess. And..." He looked up at the tree to avoid her eyes. She noticed tears collecting there. "I don't want you to see me like that." She nodded painfully and waited for the strength. He withdrew his hand from hers. He stood. Turned. Broke down and walked a few paces, his back to her. "Thomas," she half-moaned. "Please forgive me. I never meant for any of this. I did love you." "You did?" he half-shouted. "Then why didn't you say so? And when did you decide to just stop?" An evil half-chuckle escaped from his sarcastic and frustrated lips. Even now, she still wanted to kiss him. She'd give anything to have avoided this day a little longer. "It was never my decision. If I could make that decision, I would." "What are you even saying? Does it make sense to you!" "Don't patronize me." "You have the ability to make YOUR OWN DECISIONS! Who is making them for you, Alice?" The pungency of his sharp words stuck in the back of her throat. More tears that she didn't even know she had erupted. Guilt mixed with honest pain mingled and came flowing. His face softened as he watched her tangled and shattered heart lay there on the grass beneath him, writhing in an unforgivable and all too familiar pain. He couldn't bare it. He apologized. That was mean. He sat down next to her again and, for what might be the last time, held her gently in his arms. After a while of soothing her and kissing her forehead, smelling the aroma of her sweet hair, she finally came clean. "It's Carson." He turned to see her downward cast face. To watch how her eyelids shut, waiting for the blow. Her teeth gritting. Every muscle tense with the reality that she had never moved on. That Thomas was just nothing more than a rebound gone terribly, terribly wrong. "I'm still in love with him, Thomas." Her confusion was so innocent, so unflinching, so sad, that he couldn't help but empathize with her. "Hey, hey..." he said softly as she put her head to his chest. "Just talk to me, okay? I'm not going to yell. Not anymore. That was wrong of me in the first place to get so worked up. We can talk about this, baby." "No," she repeated, the word too soon reminding him about his lost dream. "I don't think we should. I don't want to hurt you anymore, or waste anymore of your time." She stood then, finding it very difficult to separate from him. "Just please know that what we had was love. It was always something so special to me. And that's why I can't say "yes," and make you happy. I so desperately want to make you happy. But I'll never be happy knowing that my heart is off somewhere else." He nodded, still shocked, still sitting shattered by the tree. "You can call me," she said finally. "But if I don't pick up, give me a day." And then, before rushing away she managed to echo his words of not too long ago, "I love you."


Martin was a very good kid with big brown eyes an brown curly hair. He lived in small town whit his beautiful mother and caring father. Martin went to sleep every night at 9:00 p.m. First, he will eat his dinner and help mom to clean the table. Then he would take a quick shower and brush his teeth, put on colorful pajamas, choose one of the picture books and sit on the bed. Mom or Dad would read him a story that he chose, sometimes they both would read it together, after story they will put blanket on Martin and he would go to sleep. One evening, after doing the same ritual, when mom read him story and put him in bad, Martin heard some pounding while he was under his blanket. At that moment he opens his eyes, he turned on the lamp and quickly looked around the room, but no one was there so Martin thought he maybeheard something outside the hous. He slowly turned off the lamp and tried to go back to sleep. But in an instant, when he was almost asleep, he heard pounding again. He jumped on the bed and quickly turned on the lamp, Martin was now a little scared, but he didn't move from the bed. He stood there and listened, listened and listened, when suddenly he heard pounding again. Martin was now very scared, he wanted to run to get his mom and dad, but the pounding was heard right under his bed. He thought that this thumping thing would grab his leg as soon as he hit the floor. Now he didn't know what to do, he was thinking what that sound could be but couldn't think of anything. Martin remained standing on the bed for some time. He realized that it must have been an hour since he should have been asleep and his kom and dad are probably already asleep too. He thought about peeking under the bed, but he was too scared. The sound of pounding was still coming from under the bed, buy then, something gets in his brain and Martin gathered his courage in an instant, put the blanket around his neck on his shoulders like cloak and pulled the pillowcase over his head for a helmet. He held his stuffed rabbit in his hands so he don't feel alone and maybe stuffed rabbit could help him and then he threw the pillow a little further from the bed. Martin's plan was to jump as far away from the bed as possible so monster can'tgrabhis legs, and since he didn't want to wake up mom and dad, he decided to jump on the pillow so they won't hear the jump. One, two, three and he jumped, falling right on his butt on the pillow. At that moment, Martin was very proud of himself and quickly got down on the floor with a cloak made of a blanket and a helmet made of a pillowcase and looked under the bed. He saw nothing at first. He began to crawl around the entire bed and crawled, and crawled, and crawled until he suddenly saw a shadow moving. Martin stopped but still feeling brave. Two large pointed horns on a huge shaggy head with four arms bearing large claws approached Martin. The shadow was getting bigger and closer and at that moment Martin jumped and forgot how brave he was. He started running and left the stuffed rabbit behind him on the floor next to the shadow and ran to mom and dad in hug. They were just planning to get ready for sleep and go to their bedroom. Mom hugged the scared Martin and told him to calm down, to slow down and tell them what happened. Martin quickly told them everything about the monster under the bed thet he was first listened him and how he tried to find it, but that the monster, in the time when he almost get him, jumped on him with big claws and horns and he start ran away becouse he was too big for him. After his story, dad praised him for his courage, he said Martin that he always can wake up them if he get scared of something and all three of them headed to the room to finde monster. Mom and Martin stood carefully at the entrance to the room and looking at dad, while Dad very bravely came next to the bed. He picked up the stuffed rabbit and put it back on Martin's bad and than he saw a shadow. He first little bit observed the shadow and tried to match it with Martin's description of the monster. He looked like it have horns, but didn't sow four hands. After a few moments, dad get down and reached under the bed. Martin got scared, closed his eyes and hugged his mom and waited, waited and waited. After a few minutes, dad laughed loudly, pulled out the big monster that Martin was scared off and called mom and Martin to come and see the monster. All three laughed when they saw Martin's monster. That was Rudy, their guinea pig. It seems that Martin didn't close his quarters properly after feeding him so poor Rudy wandered around the room and got lost under the bed, he probably was even more scared than Martin. They returned the guinea pig to the little house, and Martin went to bed with relief. Mom and Dad stayed with him for a while and wait till Martin fall asleep so he wont get scared again. That night Martin dreamed about himself, the brave knight that is going on adventure and his brave helper, guinea pig Rudy, how they defeated a big monster with four arms and terrible big horns. After they defeat a monster he got a big medal for being brave. His mom and dad was very proud of him ad they went on ice cream together, and little guinea pig Rudy gets his treats for being brave too.


!!TRIGGER WARNING BLOOD, GORE, SUISIDE, DEATH." Delilah I'm a Senior in High School. After the incident 2 years back with the Truth or Dare game in the library that My sister Risha had set off, I've been trying to gain back our family status here at school. So far it's been going Great that is until people started playing “Would you rather?”. Now, Like Risha I wasn't a Fan of the game, until my friends had me play for the first time. “Del Would you rather, Eat Sweets for the rest of your life or Eat Salty snacks for the rest of your life?” I think for a moment, “I would definitely eat sweets for the rest of my life.” I spit out smiling. Shelly smiles back then invites me to the Annual Senior party of the year, “Hey Del? I'm throwing the party of the year at my house, you're welcome to come if you would like.” Shelly grins before stating, “Danny will be there...” I wink at Shelly and walk away. I'm obviously coming to the party, wouldn't miss it for the world. I text her. I'm in my room dressing up for the party tonight when I see a crow stalking outside my window. I grab my megaphone, open my window a slight crack, then scream at the crow with all my might, “SHOO YOU UGLY LITTLE BIRD!” “DELILAH! NO YELLING OUT THE WINDOW I THOUGHT WE TALKED ABOUT THIS ALREADY!” My dad yells up the stairs to me. I roll my eyes, My dad is taking care and providing for me alone, he's been flying solo on the dad plane for a while now, My mother committed Suicide the day I came out of the closet as Bisexual. She never liked the thought of her precious perfect little daughter dating a girl, though I don't think I'll find myself in a relationship anytime soon. I'm just barely slipping on my favorite White mini skirt and pulling on my baby blue cropped tee-shirt with the little frill's at the bottom and sleeve holes. Pulling on white chunky sneakers I grab my phone and mini-backpack, then walk out the door. “Bye Pa!” I yell before shutting the door. I'm halfway down the street when I see Danny, “Hey Dan!” I wave enthusiastically. Danny smiles at me and waits for me to catch up, which is particularly hard considering I'm in a mini skirt. I laugh nervously and tug at my skirt as I close the gap between Danny and I. “So, you're coming to the party I presume?” Danny asks mysteriously, “Yeah, that's what it looks like.” I grin back. “We can start playing as we walk?" Danny suggests, “Sure.” I replied excited to be talking to Danny. “Would you rather have no eyes or no ears?” Danny asks me. I think for a quick second before shooting back, “No ears. I could learn to sign. And besides I think that would be a pretty fun skill to have. Don’t cha think so?” Danny grins and hands me a small Steak knife. I look at it and giggle nervously for the second time today. “What's this for?” I ask curiously. “You're not going to cut your ears off?” He asks seemingly sad. I shake my head and laugh, “Oh Danny! I always knew you had a wild sense of humor! But I didn't think this would be part of it!” I’m giggling now. Danny raises his eyebrows, “I wasn't joking. You chose to lose your ears so I expect you to.” I stare at Danny, “This isn't how we play the game. You're starting to seem like my sister Risha. Danny glares daggers at me. He grabs the steak knife back and stops walking. I keep going for a few more steps just to create a rather large gap between us. Danny shakes his head and burrows his brows, “Why are you so far?” He asks. “I don’t know...Maybe because you're holding a knife threatening to cut my ears off.” Danny seemed to take this offensively and he throws the knife in my direction. I know he doesn't have a horrible aim considering he's the high school quarterback, I try to duck but only result in the steak knife piercing my forehead. I grimace and reach up and grab the knife. “You actually threw it at me you psychopath.” Danny grins evilly, “Well what did you expect? You won't cut your pretty little ears off so I had to get you to stop, I was hoping you would have fallen to the ground in horrible pain so I can finish your Would You Rather answer, though you seem stronger than I anticipated.” I look at Danny and reply with, “Well I come from a family of mentally ill people. So I don't think a little prick in my forehead would hurt me too badly.” Danny glares once more, “Maybe this will help.” He reaches into his back pocket and I see a glimmer of metal, I turn around as fast as I could and start running down the nearest alleyway. Let me remind you the alleyways in my neighborhood are full of twists and turns, there would be no way Danny could find me. I bolt down the first right then take a left, I repeat until I reach the back of some run down house. I hop the fence Cringing as I hear my favorite mini skirt rip. I listen for a hot second and hear Danny ranting on and on about how I need to follow the rules. How I was disobedient just like My sisters friends. I shake my head over and over again willing myself to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill. Danny's footsteps stop right in front of the fence I had just hopped, I look up and cringe as I see a white piece of my fabric hanging from a loose nail. My heart is beating faster and faster with every deep breath I hear from Danny. I take a step back and a loud snapping sound comes from behind me, Looking down I see a twig that's snapped in half. “Dammit” I whisper under my breath. “Delilah Baby Girl. You shouldn't be scared of me. I'm only here to help you.” I hear Danny whisper through a crack in the fence. I give up on trying to be silent and Scream, “GET LOST CREEP!” and then bolt for the back door of the house. It opens, the hinges groan in protest, I walk through and sniff the air. My eyes dart around the dark room I've entered, I see a dim light coming from under the door. I cautiously open the door and Gasp when I see Shelly and the gang, baking fresh cookies. “S-Shelly...” I stutter out of breath, “D-D-Danny’s trying to k-kill me.” I gasp for air and reach for the cup of iced water Nella was holding. I nod my thanks and drink it slowly. “I'm going- to go- lay down.” I say slowly feeling groggy. Shelly smiles politely and nods. I shuffle to the neatly organized couch and plop myself down with no second thoughts. I wake up and hear the ocean. How long have I been sleeping?? I wonder to myself. I sit up and look around, I see a dainty little pink box with a red ribbon, a letter tapped to it. Delilah It says, I grab the letter and open it, In this box are your two pretty little ears. I can't believe you started the game without us. And then didn't go through with your answer. At the bottom of the letter are bloody fingerprints from each of my so-called friends. I scream, and reach up to where my ears should have been. Feeling a shallow hold in my head and dried blood, I feel like fainting. I grab the steak knife used to cut both my ears off and shove it into my chest, just to put me out of my misery. “See you soon Mama.” I say before everything goes black.


Betty turns and kisses her husband. First on the forehead then one for love on his bottom lip. She couldn't tell if what she smelled was her morning breath or him and she didn't care. Sometimes the things you hate end up being the things you miss the most. Betty takes his arm from around her and sets it next to him then stretches a little before getting out of bed. She makes her way through their bedroom tripping over clothes and shoes she had left on the floor the night before. The only light was a beam trickling in from between the curtains and Betty throws them open. "Rise n shine!", she says, seeing her husband laying there; the blanket pulled up to his chest. "Oh Sam.", said Betty, at that moment wanting more than ever for him to still be alive.


Harry’s shoe scraped against the coarse sidewalk as he shuffled towards the front door. He sighed with a slight quiver, and took a moment to compose himself. He slowly pressed his finger into the doorbell, producing a barely audible ring. Harry glanced at the window to his right, and through the shades he could see a figure approach. The doorknob jiggled a little, and the door swung backwards. “Harry... I didn’t know you were coming. I, uh... come in.” Harry stepped inside, the warmth of the house fighting back the chill of the dreary day. “I know I didn’t call or anything. I’m sorry Mark, I should’ve. But, you know, it’s been-” Mark put his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Harry. It’s been hard on us both. I just appreciate the fact that you came. It’s times like these where I regret how we have been with each other. But to see you here, it reminds me that we’re still blood. Here, let’s sit at the table, catch up a little.” The two brothers walked past the stairway and into the dining room. The bright light bounced off of the lime green walls, and highlighted the countless scrapes and nicks on the table. Mark grabbed the chair at the head of the table, while Harry slid into the spot to Mark’s left. The two sat in silence for a little bit, looking into each other’s puffy eyes. “Did you... get a chance to say goodbye?” Harry asked. “No, no I didn’t. They passed at the scene, along with the man who hit them. The guy was going sixty in a forty. All three basically died on impact, from what the police said,” Mark said. Before continuing his thought, he swallowed the lump in his throat. “I, of course, first thought it was Dad’s driving. I’m sure they told you he passed out a couple months ago walking up the stairs. I thought it was that when I first got the call. I felt so guilty for letting them go out. But no, it wasn’t their fault. Just someone not paying attention. They were on their way to grab dinner for all of us. I didn’t eat that night.” Harry nodded solemnly at his brother. “Yeah, Ma mentioned that you guys were having dinner to celebrate your novel. Congratulations, by the way. Big deal to be published, Dad and Ma sounded really proud.” They both glanced at each other for a moment, an awkward silence hanging in the air. Harry started to continue, somewhat painstakingly, “You know, I thought Charlotte would be where I broke out. With writing. I thought as long as I could make ends meet, grind out a little every evening and on the weekends, then I would eventually hit my stride and take off. And here you are. Been successful since college, making six figures. To top it off you got a book published. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous, but I’m also happy. For you, and for Dad and Ma, because I know how excited they were.” Mark glanced to his left. “Well, Harry, it takes a lot to say what you’ve said. I appreciate that immensely. We’ve always had an issue with competition, but now’s not the time. Don’t even worry about the novel... it’s honestly not that good, and I don’t think it’s your taste anyway. Besides, we both have a lot going on and a lot to do.” Harry cracked his fingers, and looked at a picture on the wall. He and Mark were just kids in it, forced to stand next to each other and smile for the photo. “I’m sorry. I have one more thing. I was just curious if I could stay here for a little bit. I know you’ve already been very gracious letting Dad and Ma move in after the fire. I don’t know if they told you, but I got laid off last month. I have some money, I could’ve lasted a couple more months there, but with everything else on top of this...I’m moving back around here. I won’t be here long, I’ll get back on track, get a job, get an apartment. I hate to intrude, I just don’t know where else to go.” Mark seemed a little taken aback, and seemed to ponder things for a moment. “Yeah. Yes of course. It’s the least I can do. Be good to have someone in the house right now anyway. I have most of their stuff in their room, but the guest bedroom in the basement is empty. Feel free to use that for now. Nobody uses the basement bathroom anyway, so you can pretty much take it over. You have your bags?” Harry stood up slowly. “Yeah, they’re in my car,” he said softly. He approached Mark, and opened his arms. Without a word, Mark rose, and the two embraced. “Alright Harry. I can grab your stuff for you, if you want to take a look upstairs. I have most of their boxes out on their bed, but there are a few things on the floor and in the closet too. A lot was lost in the fire, I’m sure you could figure, but there’s certainly some things I’m sure you wanna see.” With that, Mark led Harry to the staircase, gesturing towards the right. Harry began up the stairs, handing Mark his keys. Soon he found himself at the top. An ajar door was directly to his side. Peeking inside, he could see scores of boxes with various labels in permanent marker. He took a step towards it, but not before glancing to his left. There, at the end of the hall, illuminated barely by the hallway light, were a set of lone double doors. They too were slightly open, and Harry could barely make out what appeared to be a desk laden with papers and electronics. He figured that was Mark’s office. He shrugged and went for the bedroom door handle, but stopped himself as his hand grasped the metal. An urge bubbled within his soul, begging to see the office. It was where all of Mark’s magic happened, apparently not just in his business dealings, but also his newfound authorship. Harry just had to see that special space; whether a vain attempt to find some secret to success, or just to help reconcile his inferiority, he wasn’t entirely sure. Within moments, he found himself in the office. The room had a dim lamp light to light it. The shelves behind the desk were dark and filled to the brim with knick knacks and books. On the corner of the desk lay a novel titled The Sparks of Clockwork . Harry found that very interesting, as his novel was tentatively titled Machinations of Clockwork . Perhaps he and Mark had more similar minds than he thought. “Hey Harry, your bags are at the top of the basement stair! I’m going to make some food for us, you take your time up there!” Mark shouted. Taken out of his focus a little, Harry remembered Mark telling him not to worry about the book with everything going on. Mark is right, Harry thought; their parents are recently deceased, and there is so much both emotionally and practically to handle there. He knew that’s what he should be doing right now. Yet, now he had a near irresistible urge to read at least the first few pages of the book. He had to know. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking for, but he just had to know . Harry sat in the padded swivel chair and scooped the novel off the corner. A small crate of identical copies at his feet, probably meant for friends and such. He studied the cover of the book, which showed an array of cogs and gears, alight from the sparks flying off the title. A fairly clever and eye-catching display, certainly indicative of Mark’s graphic design proficiencies. Harry flipped open the first few pages, looking for the first chapter. As he read through the opening sequence, he started coming around to a realization. Mark’s main character was an untenured professor, and so was Harry’s. Mark’s story was set in Manhattan, just like Harry’s. Harry then made a prediction: if, in the next few pages, the character receives some news of his family being kidnapped and held for ransom, then it will undeniably be the same story Harry was writing and abandoned while in Charlotte. Sure enough, it happened. The only difference between Mark’s novel and Harry’s draft was that in Mark’s novel the kidnappers spoke with a Ukranian accent, while Harry had them as Russians. Harry tossed the book on the desk, trembling. He thought of all those nights in Charlotte, on the phone with his parents, spilling details about his story. He had practically told them everything; every character, every change, every plot point. He even had sent them a few old drafts, though as he thought the story wasn’t working out and the project was going to be unsuccessful he had talked about it to them less and less. Of course they said it was great, but that was their job as parents. Harry thought his work on this novel was subpar at best. Apparently, though, it was publishable. He figured that Dad and Ma must’ve shared with Mark everything Harry told and sent to them. Mark essentially took Harry’s entire novel, and now it was being sold in bookstores and web stores with his name instead of Harry’s. Harry sat in silence, a nauseous feeling growing in his stomach. He was frozen, his body and mind in a state of shock. He didn’t even hear Mark come up the stairs, asking for him. It took a little while for Mark to realize Harry was in the study, and Mark walked in. By the mixed look of guilt and anger plastered on his face, it was clear Mark knew Harry had discovered the truth. “I told you not to worry about the book, Harry. We’re both not in a place to deal with this right now.” Harry ignored Mark, not even lifting his gaze to meet Mark’s face, instead staring blankly at the book’s cover. “You stole my book, Mark. You stole everything. You took my one gift, and acted like it was yours too. It wasn’t enough that you were the diploma-carrying breadwinner of the family. It wasn’t enough that you had the better social skills, the better looks. It wasn’t enough for you. You had to take the one thing I had going for me you didn’t.” Mark stood rigidly, and attempted to respond. “It wasn’t like that, Harry. I didn’t steal, really, I just took inspiration and-” “No!” Harry suddenly stood up and leveled his face to Mark’s, while slamming his palms on the desk. “You couldn’t stand that I was better at something! You just had to win at everything, didn’t you? All those late nights I spent in my one bedroom apartment, typing until my fingers went numb a passage I’d rewrite the next day, all for you to take the credit. I can’t believe you would do this, but you know what? Part of me can. I don’t even... I just can’t even stand to look at you right now.” Mark moved forward and pointed at Harry’s face. “Now you listen to me, alright? Life hasn’t been all peaches and cream for me either. My girlfriend denied my proposal and left me. Dad and Ma had to move into my house, where I had to take care of them alone. My business is starting to fail, I’m in debt. And let’s be honest about something. If you were actually going to get something done, get that out in the world, you would’ve. It was going to sit in your harddrive, collecting digital dust like all the rest of your half-baked projects. I can’t write like you can. I don’t have that kind of mind, I admit it. But I know how to market things. I have contacts. And I have follow through. I actually had the capacity to make something out of your ideas. Why let that all go to waste?” Harry walked out from behind the desk, behind Mark, looking down the hall. “You’re right about that. I didn’t have the guts or confidence to get it published, really. But that’s not an excuse. You know what you could’ve done? You could’ve reached out to me. We could’ve worked together. I may have been guarded about it, but at the end of the day we could have both benefitted. You had the gall to listen to our parents talk about my novel and copy it all down. You had the balls to peruse the documents I sent to Dad’s email and save them for yourself. And you had the stomach to do all this while you knew I was suffering paycheck to paycheck in a moldy piece of shit place. But you were too prideful, too ashamed, too much of a fucking prick to reach out to your brother. Most of all, you were too stupid to think I wouldn’t find out. Maybe not too stupid. Just didn’t care enough, because you knew I would find out when it was too late and you could deal with the consequences then.” Mark shook his head and sat down at one of the chairs in the room. “Look, I know I fucked up bad. I don’t and never did feel good about this. I just, Dad and Ma were showing and telling me all these great things. And you weren’t doing anything with it. I needed an opportunity. We haven’t spoken in so long, we were already on such bad terms, I felt justified not involving you. But we have to move forward. Look, I mean I’m giving you a place to stay. I’ll give you cuts from the novel, more than half even. Just... what do you want from me? To make things okay, at least?” Mark placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder, who promptly shrugged it off and turned to face Mark. “I want you to retract your publication, admit the work isn’t yours, and republish the novel with my name. I don’t know how that process would work, but that’s all I’m accepting.” Mark’s voice started to shake, and his energy seemed to get a little desperate. “You know I can’t do that. My reputation would be ruined. Not even talking about my authorship, but no business firm in the state will deal with me either after that. I might even get into legal trouble! Please, there’s got to be something else! I know I fucked up but I’m your brother, you’ve got to let me make it up some way else!” Harry remained stone cold. “Should’ve thought of that before you plagarized my fucking novel. And if you don’t retract it, I’ll find a way to bring the truth out.” The two stared at each other. Mark’s pleading energy faded, turning instead to a sort of ruthless, malicious aura. “Well, Harry, I didn’t want you to find out so soon. I didn’t expect to see you until at least the funeral. When you arrived, I was a little scared, but it made me feel like I could make things up as long as I kept the secret. But I guess part of me knew you’d find out. Since I figured you’d never look at this project again, I took the liberty of clearing all related files from your laptop. Password on your sticky note. Replaced them with some bullshit copy-and-paste from the web. It seems we both went behind each other’s backs in the past half an hour. My tracks are covered though; you don’t have the resources to prove anything. So if you’re going to be hung up on it, you can get out of my house.” Mark pointed towards the door. Harry shook his head, lip trembling. “Or we can cut a deal, forget about it, and move on. The choice is yours,” Mark continued. It didn’t matter though, Harry had already started for the staircase. Mark walked to the top of the railing, arms crossed, watching Harry haul his bags through the door. “I thought we were blood,” Harry spat at Mark as he exited the house, door wide open. The cold from the night seeped into the house, surrounding Mark and filling him with a dark frost of the spirit.


My Mum was born with seven hundred million. She could talk all day everyday and still live to see old age. Dad, well his number was a little lower but that suited him fine. He was the type of guy who could have a whole conversation with nothing but a look and a grunt. Me, well that’s a whole different story altogether. I’m one of 387 people in the history of the world to be born with a one. Our condition is commonly known as being a oneword. We are a lot like mutes, except they are born with zeroes and go on living regardless. In a world where lives are measured in sentences mutes are the exception that makes the rule. Onewords, well we fit the system. We are as limited by our number as anyone else. Most onewords pass away quite young. I suppose toddlers don’t know not to say Mama or Papa. So where does all of this leave me? Well I am one of sixteen onewords to have made it into adulthood. Of the other sixteen only two are still alive. There is Tiao-Su, who works as a programmer in Hong Kong. As a child Tiao-Su was stopped from talking by his harsh but loving parents. Then there is Jodie, she’s a Canadian zookeeper. I have met both of them a couple of different times. The first time we all met was at a research lab in the Germany. We were subjected to an array of different tests. Scientists trying to work out if sighing, whistling, humming count as words or not. For the record, they don’t. As a matter of fact I am quite the whistler. The second time we all met when we were brought on to a TV talk show. Dad got a real kick out of it. Imagine a talk show having three guests who wont say anything? It was ridiculous! The interviewer kept asking and answering her own questions. I did enjoy the trip though, I mean who would say no to a free holiday in California? For most of my life being unable to communicate has held me back. I was forced to go to an all girls school for mutes, but I never fit in. Most of the other girls would hassle me and try to trick me into speaking. Outside of the mute community wasn’t much better. Normal people always assumed I had wasted all my words. There’s a fair bit of taboo around word-wasters. It comes from the old days when life was harsh. Everyone had to live as long as possible so they could give back to the community. Back then wasting words was a grave sin. One day, the whole world changed. An amazing man, a genius inventor by the name of Nikolai Chimpon changed the world with a single invention. Nikolai built a device that reads brainwaves and outputs speech. It was finally possible to speak without the need to actually talk. For most people in the world this was a neat way to increase their life expectancy. For me? Well it was the start of my life. No longer held back by my single digit I took on the world. I became a singer and well known media personality. Soon after a romance between Nikolai and I blossomed and were soon married. In our third year of marriage we had a son, we named him George. Life was beautiful and glorious. That was forty-eight years ago this May. Nikolai and I watched our son grow and start a family of his own. Unfortunately Nikolai developed dementia in his sixties. The disease caused him to ramble. He passed towards the end of last year. Nowadays I am left alone. For the first time in my life it is not that I cannot speak but instead I have no one to speak to. George visits from time to time but he can’t waste his life chatting away with an old lady. I have lived an amazing life and I am content. All that is left for me now is to say “Goodbye.


Some people are so well-known that when they enter either a fancy restaurant, a 5-star hotel, an opera theatre, or any place of wealth or notoriety, their names will be spoken or, at times, whispered. They could be C.E.O's, movie stars, people in Congress, the Kardashians, athletes, or my wife--Wait, what?--*MY WIFE*?? These V.I.P's are acknowledged as soon as they enter a building. Paparazzi will be taking their pictures. They will buy the most expensive tickets, get the best seats, draw in other well-to-do patrons, tip well, and be really good for business. But, why my wife? How did she become a person of notoriety? As far as I know, she isn't any of these things. Does she have a secret life that I don't know about? Once she was on a women's bowling team where she maintained the lowest average among her teammates, and another time, she played one inning for a women's softball team before she pulled a muscle running to first base; I would have liked getting a picture of that but if I had, we probably would have been divorced by now. So she couldn't be known for her athletics. She did own a hair salon but *certainly* was not a highly paid C.E.O. She has never been in a movie--not even the home family video kind, nor was she elected to be a class representative at any time in her life. She is not, and will never be, a fan of opera and the only glasses she owns are for reading. She is not even remotely related to the Kardashians, lest know who they are. In N' Out is her favorite place to eat. Her finances are limited. So, how is it that she appears on the list above? It is because *they know her name!* They know her first and last name. When she enters their establishments, they greet her with "Hi Pat!". It is similar to when Norm would enter the bar on "Cheers" and everyone would acknowledge him by yelling out in unison "**Norm**!". Apparently, she was well-known. She was greeted upon entering Walmart, Big Lots, and who knows what other stores. When are they going to roll out a "red carpet" or announce her arrival over the loudspeakers? Why would they do that unless she was often there? She must be spending a great deal of money at those places. Thank heavens she wasn't known at the Broadway or Macy's or some of the stores on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. *Phew*! I don't like to shop, but I went to Walmart with her once. The greeter at the door knew her name, and they began to chit-chat while I went to get a cart from outside. Upon entering, the greeter called me by my first name as I passed. I had a feeling she probably knew where I was born, my height, weight, school subjects I taught, and how long we had been married. I didn't see my wife because she was off and running. She was going to *birdwalk* today, and I would have to look for a while to find her. But, as I passed the cashier, she said, "Oh, you must be Mr. S... ! Pat started down that aisle just a few seconds ago. If you pick up your pace, you'll have a 50/50 chance of catching her." She could be anywhere in less than a minute. The garden area was to the left; straight ahead were Christmas trees and ornaments and to the right, the rest of the store. Where would the birdwalker go first? Luckily, she had no cart and could only carry a few things. I had to find her quickly. It was like looking for Amelia Earhart, like finding a needle in a haystack, like Stanley searching for Livingston. "*Pat, I presume*," I said, as I tapped her on the shoulder. It had taken me only 10 minutes, a new record. She dumped her findings in the basket and continued to wander, or should I say birdwalk. This was going to be costly! I always try to go to Papa John's Pizza by myself for a good reason. I usually order one large pizza to take out. But when my wife goes with me, the pizza cost triples. I always ask her to wait in the car while I go inside. She invariably gets out saying that she will just "*window shop*" for a few minutes. But I know better. She has an infrared radar like a bat. She could find Big Lots blindfolded. All of her five senses kick in: sight, smell, sound, touch, and taste. Papa John's does recognize me some of the time, but I am only there for one item, pizza. My wife has no limits when it comes to purchases. With terror on my face, I encourage them to speed it up. Turn up the burners, skip the pepperoni I would say. Maybe if I offer a tip, I could get it baked before everyone ahead of me. It could save me money in the long run. I order, and they tell me it will take 20-25 minutes--must remember to always phone ahead. I know it will cost me dearly if it takes more than 10 minutes, and I let them know that this pizza will cost me at least $50 if they don't put it on rush; an anxious husband waiting. I tell them my wife is on the loose, and my bank account is going to be bled. I have to apply direct pressure. I know my wife has gone into Big Lots, a store that has lots of "**things**" that, obviously, she desperately needs! The longer it takes, the more it costs. I get the pepperoni pizza in around 12 minutes, put it into the car and run to Big Lots. Crashing through the front door, the only cashier on duty sees me and says, "Pat is in aisle #3." She knows I'm Pat's husband! She has seen this scenario before. They know her name. Walmart, Big Lots, and others know her name. She most definitely is a major personality and must be part of the V.I.P's that this world has to offer, at least in my world. But, can I afford it?! I will try to tell her that that rug, lamp, coffee pot, and bird feeder are not needed; the rug won't fit in our bedroom, the old lamps were a wedding gift from my parents, the coffee pot's color doesn't match our kitchen's colors, and there is no place on the bird feeder for the hummingbirds to sit. She only listens maybe 46% of the time, and when the cashier tells her that she was thinking of buying some of the same items herself, I can't win. **We should stop eating pizza altogether**! She may not be Maria Sharapova, Kim Kardashian, or some other famous lady, but we must take note as to whether or not the stores are greeting our wives with their names as they enter. We will always need a strategy.


I jumped, and I immediately regretted it. I watched as news of my death spread. My boyfriend rushed to the bathroom, slammed it shut behind him, and went straight to the toilet bowl. His body felt weak, and he had to cling onto the seat to stop his body from crumpling. He felt the bile rise up from his throat and was soon throwing his supper up. He did not cry at my funeral. For the days after the funeral, he went through his daily routines, emotionless and zombie-like. He spent his days losing me, over and over again. He would hear a song that would remind him of me, and he’d lose me again. Something would happen that he wanted to share with me, and he’d lose me again. He would chance upon something in his room that was mine, and he’d lose me again. Only when he visited my grave in the columbarium, half a year later, did he cry. He slammed his fists against the marble tablet with my photograph on it. He let out a cry of frustration. I had never seen him like that before. “You were supposed to call. I would’ve been there, I would’ve held you. I would’ve kissed you,” his voice began to quiver, then lowered to a growl. “Was it so fucking difficult to give me a call instead of giving up and leaving me?” He hit the tablet one last time and placed his fingertips gingerly on my photograph. He continued to lament, his voice now subdued, “We were supposed to grow old together. I need you now. I need you to hold me, and you’re not here. I miss you. I miss you so much. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you enough reason to stay.” He was finally crying. He let himself fall apart as the hot tears streamed down his cheeks. He was finally crying, six months later, when he had found it in himself to forgive me - and to forgive himself. “I still can’t believe you’re gone,” his voice was barely a whisper now. “*You promised*.


The Archipelago publishes every Wednesday. See the pinned comment for links to the contents. \ I knew I was safe. Nothing more. Days came and went where I could only stay awake for a few minutes. I couldn’t find the energy to speak, or move. My world was just thin moments of consciousness spread amongst nothingness. Time was detached. I was dying on an uninhabited island, and now I lived through moments of consciousness on the Deer Drum boat. To me, it was instant. In reality, it was likely weeks. The moments of wake kept lasting longer, until I came to with a greater degree of strength. I peeled my eyes open to Xander sitting in a chair reading a book. For the first time, I could feel the nerves in limbs come to life, primed with that impulse to use my muscles. I twitched my arms. They moved. Snaking my back, I writhed, pulling myself up in the bed. Xander broke from his reading and ran to my side. “Careful. Take it easy.” I tried to speak, but my throat was croaky, and only the middle parts of words came out cleanly. “...fine. Just getting comfy...” “Gentle now. You’re lucky to be alive.” Xander reached behind my back and repositioned a pillow. “...how...” Words struggled to escape. “...get here?” Xander understood. He walked to the edge of the bed and sat down, grinning with relief and pride. “We found you on that island. You were in a bad way. Hardly conscious. Didn’t seem to recognize us.” “...why...” I stopped, my throat to dry. Xander leaned over and passed me a glass of water. I tried to hold it, but Xander refused to let go. He held it to my lips and let the water trickle into my mouth as my palms feigned grip on the tumbler. I swallowed the water and my larynx croaked again. “Why were you looking?” “Alessia got hold of us. Sent us off searching for you while her boat was repaired.” I jolted, my heart lifting my whole frame. “Alessia?” The words caught my throat, and I was overcome by a coughing fit. My back arched as my dry lungs heaved up barren air. “She’s fine,” Xander said, placing an arm on my shoulder. “Little storm wouldn’t stop her.” He waited until my coughing subsided and I leaned back against the bed frame. “Is she here?” I glanced around the room in vain hope. Xander shook his head. “We just got a message to search the western Anmanion Islands for you. She was going to get her boat fixed, and then go look for you at the rest of the Anmanions. Said she’d catch up to us at Vexids Receives.” My head leaned back in the bed, my shoulders slumped. Xander noticed. “I imagine you were worried about her.” I didn’t respond. Since the confession to myself on the Anmanion Islands, I wasn’t quite sure how to speak about Alessia lest the secret spill to others. My eyes glanced to the side, refusing to meet Xander’s. He nodded, seemingly reading me already. “You two are close. Ever since she arrived on Deer Drum you two always looked to each other. Not sure how you’d cope without her, or her you.” The corner of his lips flickered upwards. “I know she’ll have been worried about you too.” My face flinched against my own wishes, but I tried to keep the thoughts to myself. “How long till we reach Vexids Receives?” “Already here. Got in last night.” He stood back up and looked towards the door. “You need to rest. But before you fall asleep again, I’m going to find Eir. She’ll want to check you over.” Almost the moment he left I fell asleep again. But lightly now, enough that the sound of a cane thudding against hardwood floors woke me from my slumber. Eir semed more frail than she had been. Her movements were slow, and she leaned heavily on the cane with each step. As she grinned at me, smug with her skills, I could see the folds on her face roll over each other. “How do you feel?” She said, her voice almost as hoarse as mine. “Fine.” I croaked. She looked at me, her head tilted down. “I feel like I died.” I corrected. “You nearly did,” she chuckled. She leaned her hands down and touched my head, then my neck, then undid the top few buttons of my shirt to check my chest. Her hands felt cold, the blood not quite reaching the tips of her fingers anymore, and there was a slight tremble to her movements. Despite being one of the most certain about leaving Deer Drum, I suspected that this new life was not for her. It was a decision made for the next generation. She began pressing on my abdomen, asking me to tell her what did and didn’t hurt. “I told the others you had about a fifty percent chance of making it. But I said that trying to give them hope. In reality it was much worse than that.” She frowned, deep lines running across her brow. “So trust me when I say you need to rest. You understand?” I let out a grimace as she prodded into my sides. “Pain around your kidneys.” She nodded to herself. “Dehydration. We’ll be sure to make you drink lots.” “When can I leave the ship?” I asked. “Whatever for?” She scrunched her face. I strained a smile, hoping charm and blood rushing to my cheeks would convince her of my health. “To explore. See the island.” “Good grief.” The words came out in a groan. “You did hear when I said you nearly died?” I nodded. “Normally, I’d say not for another week,” she said.. “But I’ve seen what you get up to out there. So I’d say two weeks at least.” She stood back up and began shuffling towards the door. “In the meantime, rest. You’ll feel better for it” Part of me was determined to prove her wrong, and I spent the next few days willing my body to heal as fast as it could. I began taking tentative steps around my room, building up the strength in my legs. Soon I could venture unaided down the length of the corridor, traipsing the winding halls of the hull. However, as I continued my limbering walks around the boat, I was aware that it wasn’t just a desire to explore than meant I spurned relaxation. I didn’t want to admit it, it was a thought shrouded in illogicality and vanity, but I didn’t want Alessia to see me like this. Weak. Infirm. My skin pallid, and my muscles wasted away. Not that I was ever strong or masculine or that I thought I could fool her for a second as to my physical state. But that confession on the stony beach was playing tricks on my mind, making me think and act foolishly. And now, there was a small voice in my head telling me that any day now, her boat would appear on the horizon, and I needed to look my best. I needed to look like I hadn’t nearly died, alone and unable to make it by myself. I constantly caught myself simultaneously hoping Alessia would arrive, and also wanting her to give me more time. So when Kurbani came by my room, and I asked her if there was any news, I wasn’t even sure what answer I wanted her to give. “No. Not yet.” She smiled. “Lot of islands she’ll be checking for you. Give her time.” I nodded. It still hurt to talk and so I kept words to a minimum. Thankfully, I learned from Kurbani’s previous visits, that she was happy to fill the silence, keeping me informed of the other islanders, the new refugees from Granite Vowhorn, and the places they’d visited. I was grateful. Although I physically needed to recover, the loneliness from being stranded needed healing too. To experience another voice speaking at me, to make eye contact, to feel the muscles in my face react to another’s movements and words - this was all part of my rehabilitation. “I hear Novak has been keeping you entertained down here.” “He has.” “He’s gotten a lot better these past couple of months. He practises everyday. He’s determined. I think it helps him process what happened, to Lachlann and back on Deer Drum.” She paused a moment, her own memories running past her eyes. “He’s been trying to learn to play the nightingale song, but he can’t quite get the hang of it. Still a bit too complex. I hope he’s not been bothering you?” I shook my head. “Good. He looks up to you. A lot. Both the kids do. And I think Novak’s enjoying having you captive.” She laughed to herself. “I’m sorry you’ve not seen much of Mirai.” “It’s okay.” I whispered. “She’s been off on the island every day since we got here. I think she’s gone a bit stir crazy on the boat. She’d usually try and set foot on every island. But we’ve hardly seen her since we got here. Wakes up at the crack of dawn, eats breakfast, and then we don’t see her till sunset.” “She likes it here, you think?” I said, leaning forward. “She seems happy as a pig in shit.” She shrugged. “I’ll make sure she comes by soon though. It’s rude of her not to stop by more. Girl could do with learning some manners” Mirai didn’t visit; the invalid man deemed less interesting than whatever the island had to offer. I didn’t blame her. I wanted to be out there too. And Mirai’s absence, her change in behaviour, just made me want to visit all the more. I counted down the days on Eir’s timeline till on the fourteenth day, I rose early, and made my way to the deck. I puffed out my chest, and held my back straight. I marched up the steps through the hull, and opened the doors to the deck to find Eir sitting on a crate, hands resting on her cane. “Wondered how long it would take you to clamber up this morning.” I grinned. “You said two weeks.” “At least,” she grumbled. “Still. You’ve got your physical strength and your mental strength. Don’t think I could stop you if I wanted to.” “I feel good,” I said, looking down at myself, focussing on the strength in my core and ignoring the weakness in my limbs “I’d rather you spent a few more days. But at least take it slow and steady, okay?” “I will,” I said with a smirk. “I mean it, Ferdinand.” The smile disappeared from my face. “I know.” I looked out to sea, across the empty horizon. “Any word from Alessia?” She shook her head, her neck seeming to creak with the movement. “Don’t know how long it will take her to search those remaining islands for you. She’s probably terrified for you. Doesn’t know you’re here disobeying my medical advice instead.” My head dipped as a small embarrassed chuckle escaped me. “You said two weeks.” “At least,” she repeated. “Be cautious.” I walked over to the side of the boat and stared at the sea just in case Alessia’s ship was on the horizon. I could see a few boats out in the distance. None of them were her. Even from miles away I would know the cut of that hull. I took a deep breath of the salty air, feeling it cleanse my lungs. I was still processing the visions as I lay dying on the Anmanion Islands. I knew they weren’t real, just hazy thoughts halfway between sleep and death, but the emotions within, and the way it left me thinking of things differently, that was still true. Lachlann and Thomas, good friends, were gone. Lachlann would never learn how tightly Novak had clung to his guitar. Thomas would never know that he was right, and that the papers proving Pomafauc’s con were loose on the island. The story, for them, ended. And what could I do but try and continue? I still had my own story to write. And they would forever be an important part of mine. I turned to the island. There was one great rocky hill in the middle with large cliffs sticking out the ground covered in resilient green shrubs. But elsewhere, the island seemed mostly flat, with only gentle slopes. Perfect for still recovering legs. I found the netting down to the rowing boat, and checking the strength of my legs, climbed down the ropes, ready to see Vexids Receives for myself. \ The Archipelago publishes every Wednesday. See the pinned comment for links to the contents.


The air smelled like dish soap. I gave the janitor a polite, forced nod and stepped over the disgusting soapy puddle, holding my breath. My mother had always thought the smell was fresh and lively, but to me, it was horrible. It smelled like white hospitals and washing machines and lateness, my three least favorite things. I glanced at my brand new watch, it had cost a fortune, mind you, noting that my big presentation was in 7 minutes. I had prepared a slideshow, and I couldn't help but hope that everybody else would like my presentation. I straightened my skirt, taking comfort in the fact that I was pulling off the "work-chic" look absolutely perfectly. I walked into the elevator the second the doors slid open, accidentally brushing shoulders with the man who was already inside. He looked about two years younger than me, somewhere in his early twenties. His sharp jawline was what drew my attention to him, but he didn't even bother to take a single look at me when I smiled at him. I widened my smile to show my teeth, parting my red lips. "The fourth floor," I said, widening my smile even more, and waited for him to press the button. He did nothing but glance at me, unimpressed. Perhaps he hadn't heard me, I thought. "The fourth floor," I repeated, my voice a good amount louder and firmer, but he didn't even bat an eyelash. I'm sure he heard me this time! I looked down and cleared my throat softly, now feeling like an absolute idiot, and stepped forward to press the glowing number 4 on the set elevator buttons. I heard a mumble behind me and I spun around, almost tripping in my new high heels. I hadn't quite gotten used to them yet, but I knew that I had to look good for my big presentation. "What. Do you want?" I asked, trying to make my voice sound as uninterested as possible. Sure, he was definitely handsome, but if he was rude to me, then there isn't a single reason why I can't be rude back. "All you had to do was say please," he said shrugging his shoulders coolly, like saying that to a complete stranger was okay. An involuntary scoff escaped my lips. I had done absolutely nothing wrong to him, and he has the nerve to act like this? How dare he! I glanced at the number 3 lit up at the top of the elevator. My floor was next. I could see that he had to go to the 21st floor by looking at the illuminated numbers on the button. I started pressing all the numbers starting from 5, avoiding his confused glare. "What are you doing?" he spat loudly, stepping towards me. "Stop it! Now! I have somewhere to be, you know!" I smiled sweetly at him and kept pressing, enjoying the face he made whenever he heard satisfying little clicks. When I got to number 19, I paused, looked at him, and said, "All you had to do was say please." His jaw dropped open and if we were cartoons, you would practically see the smoke puffing out of his ears. I reached towards number 20 just to tick him off even more, when I noticed something very odd. The buttons weren't glowing anymore. I shot a confused glance at the man, which he returned with a sneer, when all of a sudden, the inside of the elevator went completely black. I felt myself falling before I could even start to register what was happening. I heard ear-shattering screams, although I couldn't process whether they were his or mine as I grabbed onto the elevator bar. I felt a sharp shard of glass fly into my forearm, and then two more shards flew into my leg. Even as I was falling, I understood that they were from my watch, which was now broken Something, or rather, someone clasped my leg tightly and I screeched even louder as I was suddenly pulled down to the elevator floor. "LIE DOWN!" the man screamed, pinning me down next to him with his elbow, pain running through my arm. That's when I felt the jolt. It was terrifying, I was thrown upwards as I crashed into the side of the elevator, my knee taking the full blow. The man rammed into me and we both fell down in a heap on the floor. Tears were streaming down my face and I was shaking uncontrollably when the doors crashed open. "Are you okay? Evacuate now!" A deep voice called, but I couldn't bring myself to move. My eyes stayed wide open and frightened, and I felt like I was frozen in time. I could barely process strong arms lifting me up and carrying me bridal style out of the elevator and onto a stretcher. I was loaded into an ambulance and then I blacked out. #-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#_#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#- I was still curled up into a tiny little ball when I woke up in a white hospital bed, but at least I had stopped shaking wildly. "Water," I croaked, to anyone who would listen, blinking slowly, the bright lights blinding me. "Please," I said, my voice cracking and hoarse from all the screaming I had done when the elevator was falling. I noticed a familiar face in the bed next to me. It was the man from the elevator! He had white gauze that had turned a little bit red on his head and leg. He handed me a glass of water from his bedside table, wincing a little as he stretched over to my bed. "See?" he said, smiling slowly, still obviously in lots and lots pain. "All you had to do was say please." And for the first time in what felt like forever, I smiled back. A_A_A_A_A_A_A_A_A_A_A_A_A_A_A_A_A_A_A_A_A_A_A_ Thank you so much for reading! This is my first writing contest entry on Reedsy and it was so much fun to write! - Shriya


Raul searches through the forest for the origin of that distorted yet beautiful soft tune. The melody hums like a long lost friend, yet he can’t understand the words sung by the feminine voice. Though Raul’s thoughts slip away with each second, he knows he’s been here before. He picks up his pace to a run attached to the rhythm of the song, realizing there’s only so much time he has left to find her before it’s too late. Some moments flow slower than others. It feels as though the dream song envelopes him in molasses within those instants. Somehow, he reaches the clearing in time. She sits on a boulder right in the middle of the circle of trees. Her long, wavy dark brown hair kisses the edge of the cherry acoustic guitar. The pale woman continues singing and playing as though he weren’t there at all, but he still can’t understand the words despite seeing her full lips move. Her eyes meet his for a brief second, and the music stops. “Felicity Sp-” Raul jolts up from his bed, cold sweat running down his forehead. It’s dark. He reaches for his phone on the bedside table, pulling it off the charger to hold it closer. 4:44, the front screen reads over the abstract art image wallpaper. “I saw her this time,” He mutters to himself. “But she couldn’t be real.” Raul unlocks the phone screen and searches Felicity Sp. Brands pop up in the search results alongside many Facebook and Instagram pages. None of the social media profiles look like the woman from his dream. ***** Felicity rushes to the back of house to see if table twenty-three’s order is ready yet. The older woman of their party has already called Felicity over twice to check on the wait time for her Chicken Caesar Salad. “Hey Stan!” She calls. “How’s that chicken breast looking?” Other servers swerve by her, some picking up full hot plates and placing them on trays for their tables. Without glancing at her, the cook says, “Almost ready. The customer probably doesn’t want a side of blood with their salad.” Felicity holds her tongue. She’s noticed some of the other servers giving the cooks attitude after customers give them attitude, and she doesn’t want to add to that. She taps her foot and waits for the order since her other two tables already have their food. Stan smiles as he places the salad next to the two other orders of table twenty-three. “Thanks for waiting doll.” She’s never felt entirely comfortable when anyone she’s not close to calls her by a name like that, but she simply smiles back and places the food on the tray. “About time!” The graying slender woman exclaims as Felicity places the food in front of everyone. A few hours later the last customers finally leave the restaurant, and she lets out a deep breath. Lana, who Felicity barely had a chance to talk to all night, strolls towards her. “So, I saw you have tomorrow off too!” Her friend smiles, short red hair curling over her rounded cheeks. “Yeah,” Felicity replies, merely a small smirk over her tired face. “Let’s go out tonight.” “Oh, I don’t know. I’m so tired tonight, and I’m in the process of applying for grad school. Next time though?” Lana sighs and says, “Fine. But next time really means next time, like next week. Okay?” “Okay. I’m going to work on the application a lot tomorrow, so I should be good after that.” Felicity barely even remembers the drive home as she sits in her apartment’s parking spot. Once inside, she glances at her guitar for a second but continues straight to the bed instead. It’s been a long time since she’s been inspired to write about something anyways. ***** Felicity awakens in a forest, but words flow around her as though on multiple invisible screens. They spin so fast that they’re illegible in the moment. She looks in every direction, and there’s nothing but words and trees. She tries to touch some of the spinning white words, but her hand zips through just the same as it does through the air. “They’re lyrics.” A masculine sounding voice says from behind her. “Whose lyrics?” She turns around and sees a handsome tan man with slightly shaggy black hair. “Yours, mine, ours.” “I’ve never written with anyone before, and I don’t even recognize you.” She replies. “Time isn’t linear in the dream world. Not even so in the waking world, but it’s more obviously scattered here.” “So these are from the future or something?” She glances at the words, then realizes. “Wait a minute. I know I’m dreaming now.” She jumps, trying to fly. Though her leap is higher than normal, Felicity still falls back to the ground. He chuckles. “There are still some rules to this particular dream world. I guess you could say I’m from the future though compared to your timeline. Listen to Mr. Firefly.” “That name sounds familiar.” She says, as everything fades away. ***** Raul shuts the laptop he uses for work, mind still swimming with code. Sometimes he wonders why he studied computer science in college, but then remembers he has to make a living somehow. His music’s started gaining some traction on the internet, so maybe he can quit his job soon. Only time will tell. He walks into the music room. A few electric guitars, one acoustic, and a ukulele lined on the grassy green wall. Today feels like an ambient electric kind of day. He lights the lavender scented candle before setting up a microphone next to his desktop. Muscle memory of each note connects to his soul’s communication, and he makes a new tune in the moment. Longing to know the woman and music of his dreams. The tempo starts slow, curious. Still ambient style, it grows into a faster sound enveloping the entire room. It’s almost as though the fire of the candle swerves to his rhythm. Hours pass without him realizing the time. In the deep night, Raul’s recorded a few takes of the new song inspired by his dream. Still in a focused state, he stays up to edit the music. It’s about four in the morning by the time he finishes, and he immediately publishes it to YouTube along with a few streaming sites. He names the song Felicity. ***** Felicity recognizes she’s awake, but remains under the covers with her eyes closed. It can’t already be the next day, can it? Eventually, she decides it’s futile to try to fall back asleep and gets out from under the covers. The alarm clock says 4:44. A vague memory crawls to her from the other side of consciousness. She walks over to her laptop and searches for Mr. Firefly, opening the YouTube page that pops up in the results. She gasps at the song that was posted merely thirty minutes ago and clicks on “Felicity” on the artist’s page. The video screen is a blue abstract background, reminiscent of the sea. The opening welcomes her into another world, and the music blossoms into a new setting after the first minute. It calls to her like a siren, and she writes the first comment on the video. “This is beautiful, and my name is Felicity. I only have one song posted on here, but I would appreciate it if you would check it out.” Her writing doesn’t do justice to how she feels about the music, but she posts it. A notification pops up on her phone ten minutes later. Mr. Firefly wrote back, “I listened to your song. I would like to do a collaboration if you’re able to. Email me at mrfirefly@music.com.” She stares at the reply for a few extra seconds, is it really possible her dream led her to this? She’d never thought of fate much before, but maybe it is real. Felicity takes a deep breath and types, “Hi Mr. Firefly. This is Felicity. I’m emailing about your request to collaborate. First, what’s your real name? And second, how exactly are we going to collaborate?” His email reply is quick too. “My real name is Raul Garza. You can add me on Facebook if you want. It might be easier to collaborate from there, because we could video chat. Also, here’s a picture so it’s easier to find me, and I live in Cayucos, California.” He actually lives really close to her. Felicity’s in San Luis Obispo. His picture is posted below the message, and he looks just like the man from her dream. Her mouth drops slightly. She logs into Facebook and searches for him. A wave of tiredness washes over her as soon as she hits the add friend button, and she falls back asleep for the rest of the morning. ***** She looks just like the woman of his dreams. Raul tugs at his ear as he thinks of what to write for the first message. He starts typing out, “Hey Felicity, glad you-” then deletes everything. He tries a few more times and ultimately settles with the waving emoji on Messenger. She doesn’t respond right away. After a few minutes pass, he decides to log out and finally get some sleep. ***** They both wake up in the forest clearing, standing face to face. Raul’s eyes widen at the site of her, and she glances down. “Hi,” He says first. “Is it still you from the future?” She asks. His eyebrows furrow in confusion. “We’ve never actually talked in these dreams before. Have we?” “I saw you just last night. You said you were from the future, and it’s what got me to listen to Mr. Firefly.” “Well, guess I’ll have to thank future me one day.” His smile is charming, teeth pearly white and straight. Felicity glances to the side and notices her cherry red acoustic leaning against a boulder. “Maybe we could try out our first collaboration here instead of through the internet.” She gives him a grin. “Sounds like a good idea to me. Though, I wouldn’t mind meeting you while we’re both awake one day. Make some music and record it. I noticed your profile says you live pretty close to Cayucos.” “What are the odds?” She asks. He shrugs. She picks up the guitar and starts finger picking. He hears everything clearly in the dream for once, and they take turns singing to her peaceful tune.


The warehouse was old and in a state of disrepair. The back of the building had been renovated several years prior. An upper level was added with a two bedroom residential apartment. I remember this kind of thing being fashionable in previous decades, as it allowed the business owner to live on the property. Kayla was being held in one of the bedrooms. She was tied to the chair at her wrists and ankles respectively. It was hard to believe that this now thirteen year old was the same girl who was three when I met her father Diego ten years prior. Earlier that day I'd felt both of them calling out to me. When I arrived at Diego's place, he explained that these three had kidnapped Kayla and the ransom was him pulling a job for them. He was supposed to crack a safe full of diamonds at a high end jewelry store in town. I told him not to go anywhere near that place, and promised him that I'd bring her home safe, and deal with these thugs. I followed Kayla's mental distress signal to this place. I floated through the apartment walls, and out into the warehouse. Her three captors were all downstairs. There were two men and a woman. The woman, I'd heard one of them call here Piper, was the one calling the shots. She had one guy in the office of the warehouse with her, and the other was to stand guard outside. The guy inside the office wore a black t-shirt bearing the image of a local rock band. I had heard this band play once, so I could tell immediately that he had terrible taste in music. During their conversation he mentioned that he wanted to "have a little fun" with Kayla. Piper told him he'd have to wait until after the job was done. I decided right there that his chances of surviving the rescue were going to be incredibly slim. Piper also mentioned that Diego had an hour and fifteen minutes left to pull the job and call them to confirm. This hastened things a bit. I would need to be in a corporeal form to interact with the environment. I would thus need a host body. The easiest approach would be to take over one of them, and just let Kayla go free. Maybe take over band shirt guy, and drive her home safely. When I arrive maybe encourage Diego to put a few bullets in the body. I couldn't use any of the three though. I could sense that inside of them they were all completely given over to their inner darkness. That was the biggest limitation to this ability, I couldn't take over a person with too much darkness in them. Of course everyone has a dark side, but to be able to override them I needed a host whose dark side was small. I'd have to find someone fast. I floated outside and went high above the building. I flew a couple of blocks away and saw the corporate office building of an insurance company. It was 4:30 PM and some people were leaving work for the day. I floated down to the sidewalk outside of the main entrance. I spotted a young guy as he walked out. He looked to be about 6 '2 and seemed physically fit. He was wearing his letter jacket from his recently completed high school days. I could see that he graduated two years ago, and got the letter for football. Excellent, he'd have good reflexes, and was likely to be quick on his feet. His name was also embroidered into the jacket. Brian Cromwell. I could sense that the darkness in him was small, almost microscopic in size. This was the kind of guy you'd hear about running into a burning building to get someone out. Usually I prefer to research a host more thoroughly first, but time was of the essence here. "Alright Brian, " I thought to myself. " you get to be the hero today." I entered Brian's body, and could see through his eyes, and hear with his ears. I wiggled his fingers for a moment. In my experience that was usually the fastest way to get a feel for how to pilot his nervous system. After that I reached into his right pocket and found his car keys. I saw the make of the car on his key fob, and then looked out at the parking lot. I could see three different models of that make, so I pressed the unlock button, and saw the lights blink on a blue four door sedan. I made my way to the car. I got in and started the engine. I looked around the car for a moment for anything I could possibly use as a weapon, or helpful tool. That's when I discovered that he kept a folding knife in the center console. I took the knife out and clipped it to his belt. I then put the car in reverse and backed out before throwing it into drive and departing for the warehouse. I parallel parked the sedan about fifteen feet up the street from the warehouse. I walked along the sidewalk until I came up on the guy standing guard. He was a few inches shorter than my host which worked to my advantage. "What's up?" I asked him. "Chillin Man, what about you?" "Dude, I am so lost right now. I'm supposed to be going to this place on park street, and my phone died, so no gps." That's when he made the mistake I’d wanted him to make. As he began to give me directions, he pointed toward Park Street. I knew exactly which way it was when I asked him. As he pointed he turned his body facing away from me, and that was the moment I made my move. I removed the knife from Brian's belt, unfolded it, and dispatched him before he knew what happened. I dragged his body into some nearby bushes, and took the pistol from his waistband. I checked it and found nine rounds in the magazine, and one in the chamber. That would likely come in handy shortly. With the guard now removed from the equation I turned my attention to the warehouse again. I made my way to the front door, and stepped inside. To my right were a pair of restroom doors. The men's room light shone through the edges. I waited for a moment, and then the door opened. The guy in the black t-shirt stepped out. I made quick work of him with the knife as well. As I approached the stairs Piper emerged at the top. "Who the hell are...?" She didn't have time to finish the sentence before I drew and fired. She stumbled back, clutching her abdomen.She then drew her own pistol and returned fire. I got out of the way and used a nearby vending machine for cover. She fired four rounds. I leaned out from behind the machine and saw that she had herself propped up in a halfway sitting position. She was a smaller target now, and the shot was risky, but I took it anyway. My effort paid off and I saw her fall back down again. I slowly ascended the staircase with my weapon still drawn and ready. As I approached the top I could hear her labored breathing. The wheezing sound seemed to indicate that I'd punctured one of her lungs. I got visual confirmation of this as I reached the upper landing. She was in bad shape, and wouldn't make it. I put a final round in her head to finish her off. Regardless of what somebody has done, I don't like for them to suffer needlessly. I made my way to the apartment on the second floor. I entered the living room, and took a moment to check my surroundings. After I made sure that the kitchen, restroom, and second bedroom were clear I made my way to the one where Kayla was being held. I opened the door slowly and called out. "It's okay, it's me, Simon." I heard a sigh of relief from the other side. I entered and quickly cut her makeshift restraints free. "Thank you Simon." "No worries. Let's get you home. Oh, and you might not wanna look on the way out. Your captors are, um, expired." She chuckled slightly at my choice of words. I got Kayla back home, and chatted with Diego for a little bit. He offered to get rid of the gun and knife for me. I knew he could dispose of them in a way that they'd never be recovered. I took the opportunity to wash the gunshot residue off of Brian's hands before I left. I also cleared the GPS history both from his car, and phone. That would be enough to get rid of most of the evidence of him being there. He wouldn't remember what happened today either, so that also would work in his favor. I took Brian back to his apartment, and settled down on the couch. I could feel the adrenaline wearing off, and the crash setting in. I leaned him back and relaxed his body. I then left him asleep on his couch. I floated through the exterior wall and into the hallway leading to his front door. I left the apartment complex and went up to a higher altitude. A couple of blocks away I noticed a new sandwich shop that I hadn't seen before. I made a mental note of it, so next time I had a host who was hungry I'd give it a try.


It was the year 1782, the year Maria was to wed one of the many eligible bachelors in the country. She didn't have her mind on anyone in particular but herself, but the thought of having to share even a ballroom with a man riled her up to the point she felt on the verge of a terrible illness. Her guts had been tying themselves in knots ever since the Queen had announced the courting season opened, and her home (well, her father's) had suitors pouring in at even the most unusual times of the night. It was expected anyway. While she had what men wanted in aesthetics and body build, her father was a rich person with connections that reached even the King himself. Who wouldn't want to be related to someone like that? Maria yawned and continued to think about her case. What was going to happen after the marriage? She would live as her husband's *marionette* for the rest of her life? Or she would serve as some sort of servant? Answering his beck and call? She wanted more for herself, but society spoke for everybody, even though those who were the society never really agreed with all they said. *What do I do?* She flipped herself in such a way that her upper body faced the nicely painted ceiling, the delicate strokes of different colors of paint somehow calming her frayed nerves. She felt she could be more than she was, more than society had predicted she was. She turned her head to the side and jumped up immediately when she realized her makeup might stain her pillowcase. Turning to the mirror, her eyes met those of her reflection. *I guess that's the end of the day. The makeup isn't necessary anymore, is it?* She mustered some strength into her body and pushed herself off the bed and walked toward the sink in the bathroom. She tapped the tap handle as water gushed out almost immediately. She stared at her image in the mirror one last time. Maybe it was best that she and her family members knew exactly what was going on. It didn't matter anyway. Whatever season she decides to get married would be the beginning of the end. And somehow, everyone in her father's care was prepared for it. Her palms were cupped as she placed them under the running water and brought it to her face. Her eyes stung from staying awake so late. Not like she cared. She couldn't just be bothered. Her hands did all the work, scrubbing her eyeliner and mascara from her eyes, cleaning the lipstick off of her lips, giving her the natural look she was born with. There was a reason why she was called Bruixa. Although it wasn't her name (because she was never given one), it told the truth about what she looked like. She had given herself the name but not once had she answered anyone that called her that. The girl with the heart of gold. But the face of a witch.  \ Please comment if you want more parts of this.


Thanks for taking the time to read. This is a rough draft and I likely won't be returning to it to finish but I got it down in about 40 minutes and wanted some feedback on tone and pacing. I am really just starting to write. Divorce sucks. I always told myself that it would be easier to just not get married than go through another. Three was one too many for a kid and it never got easier. I must have spent my entire adult life figuring out who I was outside of that pain. I was really blessed to not go through the usual trappings of separation. No court dates, no arguments over time, no vindictive pursuit of support. It was probably the amicability of our arrangement that stung the most. Why couldn’t we just make it work? I always know the answer is me but it’s still a question that makes me ache.  Divorce sucks, but it didn’t stop me from having a kid and a breakup anyway. Salem, the most perfectly lovable child, became my world. Time eased my fears and I inevitably ended up dating again about a year after the breakup. It didn’t take long to start up my new life and even move in with my new partner Andrea. Our space was modest but cozy, a single wide two-bedroom trailer just big enough to run through on little toddler legs. Only getting Salem on the weekends Friday to Monday meant that the house was awfully quiet during the week. Looking down the hallway at her door during the week never feels good, a constant reminder my family isn’t together. I heard somewhere that the more pain and guilt you carry the more likely you are to experience a haunting.  “Could you help Salem get in the habit of shutting off her light when she leaves?” Andrea mentioned one night after taking Salem to Mom. “I swear I did so myself, I will definitely be more mindful of it” I told her. The next night I came home a bit late, Andrea still working. “I know I shut it off yesterday, did you go back in?” I texted Andrea. “Nope, haven’t been down there today” she told me confidently. Oh well, I thought to myself and just walked down and shut it off. I dozed off for a half hour or so after a glass of rye only waking to an odd sound. Was that Legos? Distinctly so. Someone or something was absolutely playing with Lego blocks, and I felt my stomach drop immediately. Fuck I locked one of the cats in the bedroom. I ran down the hallway and opened the door ready to hear some protest from one of our fur friends only to find an empty room and nothing out of place barring the light being on again. I went around and took inventory of the cats and confirmed they were all accounted for before closing the door and shutting off the light once more. This time making sure to take a mental note of me deliberately shutting off the light and closing the door. “I always knew I was a little crazy,” I joked to my giant tabby who started following me around in hopes of some attention Later that night while Andi was making her way into the house, I came out to greet her “Hey cutie how was work?”. She let out a heavy sigh “Another one of those days, just glad to be home. I didn’t know we were getting Salem or I would have stopped for dinner!”. Salem? “What do you mean?” Now I asked a bit weary and feeling fear creep inside me. “I can hear her in there playing with her Legos right now and her light is on you should have said something to me!”. I slowly walked toward the back hall keeping my steps quiet to hear what Andi was hearing. Approaching the door it became clear as day, those were Legos being put together. Beginning to shake I start to reach for the door but pause and called out with a tremoring voice “Salem?”. The sound of blocks being assembled suddenly stopped “Uh oh dada is here". Now trembling with Andrea standing behind me looking confused, I slowly opened the door. Silence and a stillness that haunts me even now settled in the room for what felt like an eternity. I had to find something out of place, some reason for what I was hearing. A voice rattled through the house shaking both of us and the windows around us “I WANT THE LIGHT LEFT ON”.