Oliver. How do I explain who Oliver is? Well you see Oliver is a tall, handsome and mysterious guy. He is the perfect example of a stereo typical guy women fall for. And I would to, but I don’t want to because relationships are a whole lot of work which I run from. But I think the world is out to get me. This story starts with me, Rory, who after finding out her fiancé cheated on her decided to take a weeklong vacation on an island. Even my boss gave me a sympathy talk when I handed in my leave application, everyone thought I was grieving and needed some time off. But the truth is I knew my fiancé was cheating on me I just waited for the right moment to break it off and make him look like the bad guy. Now he gets the heat and I get a weeklong vacation on a tropical island. Coming back to Oliver so I’m on the tropical island and since it was last minute the hotel didn’t have many rooms. The hotel only had one room left and it was either mine or Oliver’s. Oliver didn’t listen to the receptionist when he politely asked if he could give up and let me have the room since I was “emotionally stressed”. “I don’t care, I am taking the room” he had said without a hint of emotion. I couldn’t take it anymore so I went to talk to him myself. “Mr?” I started. “Oliver Moscelot” he answered monotonously. “Mr. Moscelot I just broke of my wedding because my fiancé cheated on me and I’m not mentally capable of going out and searching for another hotel. I would appreciate it if you could...” he stopped me by raising his hand to my face. “Miss, your life is of no concern to me. I will be taking this room” I had no other choice and as the last restore I pretended to faint. I fainted right into his arms making sure everyone in the lobby had seen us. Before you think Oliver is someone I’m about to fall for, you are absolutely wrong. He is the stubborn man who refused to give into my sad story. And if I have to pretend to faint and make myself his responsibility just to get what I want so be it. Oliver after the scene at the lobby and aggressive stares he got from the by passer had to give in. He had to carry me and my luggage to the only room available. He placed me on the bed and my luggage by the bedside but didn’t leave. “Miss you can stop pretending now. Wake up” he said and I had a feeling he was staring at me. But I didn’t move I was going to stand my ground or just take over the bed. “Fine keep on pretending but I’m not leaving this room either” his voice was heavy and it felt like he was closer than before. Then the footsteps came, he was getting closer and then I felt him sitting on the bed. Without a second thought I opened my eyes and leaped to the other side of the bed. “If you want to stay, stay but do not involve yourself with my work and don’t expect me to give in that sad story. You don’t seem sad so expect me to feel sad for you” with that he opened his laptop and typed away. I ran out of there as fast as I could and spent the next 7 hours at the beach and shopping and dinner. It was the best exhausting day of my life. While shopping I had bought a really cute jumper which made me quite happy. On the way back to my room I had prayed he had left or developed a conscious because I wasn’t sharing a room with him. I entered and he wasn’t there. “He left. I win. I win. He left” I sang while jumping on the bed. It was totally inappropriate but worth it. I stayed in bed until I was half asleep. And then the window broke, the window broke and a tall dark figure entered. I screamed at the top of my lungs but he covered my mouth with his hands. “Shut up!!” he said until I went silent. He took off his mask and it was Oliver. “What the hell, why did you break the window?” “Grab your things” “I will not, if this is your way of kicking me out it won’t work. I’m not leaving!” “I’m trying to protect you” Before I could get the last word another man entered through the window. Oliver placed the mask back on, grabs the lamp from the side table and threw it at the other man. The man ducked and Oliver pushed him out and he fell 5 stories. “I’ll grab my things” I said and quickly stuffed 2 dresses, my sneakers, my phone and a few other things into my bag. Oliver grabbed something from his bag and led me out of the room. We took the back route out of the hotel and headed into the forest. “Where are we going and who were those people?” I questioned but he remained silent. “Say something, I don’t know who you are and that guy. What’s going on?” “Shut up for a minute. I told you not to get involved but you had to. And now you have these questions. I’ll take you to the airport and you can leave the island. So till then shut up.” It was pitch black and the best time to get to the airport but Oliver had to rest in the forest till dawn. He fell asleep the second he hit the ground. I on the other hand couldn’t stop thinking about the incident at the hotel. A few hours passed and I remembered Oliver grabbed something from his bag. I reached for his pocket to get it but he grabbed my arm and pinned me to the ground. “Oliver let me go” I said looking start in his eyes. My arm started to hurt from where I was pinned. He let go after few minutes. “Miss...” “My name is Rory” “Rory this is a dangerous business I’m in. I’m trying to get you out so please don’t make this harder” for the first time I could see worry in his eyes. “Ok” that’s all I could muster. An hour later we started to walk further into the forest. Oliver had held my hand the moment we started the walk. It was nice that he was so focused in protecting me. We walked until we were deep into the forest. Oliver kept looking at the screen of his phone. And I thought we were lost. “Are we lost?” I asked He kept his eyes on the screen and on the forest “I don’t think so, maybe that way”. We went in another direction and then another and now I was sure we were lost. We had been walking for two hours and we were still lost with in the forest. At last he decided to stop and we sat down on the ground. I sat in front of him, he looked very tired. I took a bottle from my bag and handed it to him. He took it and finished half the water in one go. He offered the rest to me which I gladly took. “Maybe we can go back to the hotel. Staying here is of no use” “We can’t. Going back is more dangerous” “But...Fine. Can you at least tell me why are we running?” “Fine. But take this to your grave because if you tell anyone you will be as good as dead” “I won’t tell promise” He took out a hello kitty pen drive and handed it to me. “This is what they are after. I work for a man called Rufus, he is the leader of a very dangerous mafia. The pen drive holds all the info against him.” “So you are betraying this Rufus guy” I asked skeptically. “Kind of. Yes. I’m handing it over to a friend who has a friend who can use it while I will go underground.” “Sounds like a plan and...I’m the variable that you didn’t expect. I’m so sorry” “Don’t worry. I’ll get you out and then be on my way” “Is your head getting heavy?” “Yeah” Our heads were getting heavy and my vision was getting blurry. Oliver fainted in front of me and the world went black for me after a few seconds as well. When I woke up Oliver and I were tied up. And a man with several bodyguards with guns surrounded us. “Mr. Moscelot hand over the pen drive” the man said. “I don’t have a clue of what you are talking about” “I don’t want to give out threats with her here but if you insist...” the man walked towards me, grabbed my hair and placed a knife in my neck “pen drive for her life. If you didn’t find value in her life you wouldn’t have kept her with you” “Stop, don’t do anything to her. I don’t have the pen drive I dropped it somewhere in the forest. I’m so sorry I got you into this.” His words got me all emotional. “It’s not your fault you tried to keep me safe but I kept causing problems” “Stop being so emotional, Oliver it doesn’t suit you” “Just let her go I’ll find the pen drive for you” The man dragged me and this time aimed a gun at me. “Last chance Oliver” “No!!! It’s in her pocket” The man shot me. Well pretended to shoot me. I was alive. The man kneeled down and untied me. I got up and took the pen drive out of my pocket and handed it to the man. Oliver looked at me in shock as the man handed me the gun. “Oliver. Oliver. Oliver. You tried so hard to keep the pen drive safe to keep me safe for what. When in reality you landed in my tarp. I know what you are thinking but I don’t work for Rufus. No. I AM RUFUS.” His life came crashing down on him, I’m assuming. “I couldn’t let you leave with that info. So everything I told you at the hotel wasn’t all a lie. My dumb fiancé did cheat on me but he was just a cover up anyway and breaking up with him gave me the idea of how to get you off guard. No one thinks a harmless looking woman could even run a mafia.” My whole life is a cover up, my job my love life everything. And because of Oliver I could have lost it all but now I’ll make him pay. “Good bye Oliver” I said aiming the gun at him. And then I shoot him, he was dead and my secret was safe. -The End-


We were in orbit. We had been for 2 days and 21 hours. It was so calm and peaceful up there. I looked out the window and saw the Earth suspended in a sea of black. It was like it was hanging on a piece of invisible string and I could see the faint, blue-grey haze that was Earth’s atmosphere. We could see whole continents with golden-green ground and deep blue seas. I could see the sun, brighter than a million light bulbs behind us. Trillions of twinkling stars sparkled all around us. The sky was darker than I’d ever seen it before, which only made the sun and distant stars seem even brighter. I turned back around and looked around the shuttle. The gleaming off-white walls were covered in panels, switches and levers. There were blinking lights and screens all around the walls with an area sectioned off for sleeping quarters. There was a huge jolt and we all bumped up and down. I looked out the window and saw that we had finally reached the moon after three days of being in that cramped shuttle. The milky surface gleamed in the sun’s reflected light, highlighting every crater, hill and valley. It stretched for miles and miles and all of it was covered in this white, milky light that felt like it was putting you into a trance, like staring into a fireplace. The effect was mesmerising. The hills, big and small, cast long shadows into the valleys and craters giving it an eerie look. I heard the pneumatic hiss of the door and snapped out of my trance. I jumped out of the shuttle and landed on the surface of the moon. There was a thin film of dust, hovering above the ground. That was one of the first things I learnt about the moon, that layer of floating dust. There is no wind, no movement up there to give any reason for it to be there like that, and yet it is. Our mission was to collect some small samples of rock to bring back for testing. This had been done before, so we had no idea why they wanted us to go up again, but they never told us, and we never asked. I guess they were paying us quite well to do this, as Nikola had so often reminded me. Martin was already jumping down the steps to the moon floor, so we followed him. There was no shortage of rock clumps and strange formations around, but none were small enough or of good enough quality to take back with us. I wandered off a bit, hoping to find an acceptable specimen. I walked behind a tall bit of rock to see if there were any small pieces, but there was nothing there. Even the dust had disappeared. I turned around and walked back the way I had come to the shuttle, but it wasn’t there. Neither were Martin and Nikola. They were gone. Everything was gone, except for a small building about 200 meters from me. I knew there was something off about this, but for some reason, I wasn’t afraid. Instead, I felt curious. There was a sort of gravity radiating from that squat little building, and I could feel it pulling at my mind, even from here. I slowly started to walk towards the building, which, as I got closer, I realised was glowing. I walked a bit faster, my curiosity almost a tangible thing by now. My heart was hammering, but still I felt no fear. It was the strangest thing, the building was glowing from a central point on the inside, like something, a consciousness of some sort was in there, and was trying to lure me in. I put my hand on the handle to the door, and even through the space suit, I could feel the heat coming off it in waves. The handle got hotter and hotter, but I couldn’t pull my hand away. The heat got worse and worse until I thought it might burn me through the suit but it stopped, all at once. I felt dizzy, almost like I had been sitting down for a while and stood up too quickly, but weirder. I looked around, and I was back in the shuttle. I stood completely still, listening for any sound that might indicate I wasn’t still utterly alone in this place. I heard nothing. There was absolutely no sound, not even the buzzing and clicking of the engines and power. I walked over the window, trying to peer out into the inky black, and saw the Earth. Only, it wasn’t *my* Earth, it wasn’t the planet I called my home. This was warped somehow, and the closer I tried to look the fuzzier the image appeared, like I couldn’t look directly at it. Like I wasn’t *allowed* to look directly at it. I could feel my dizziness turn into a pounding headache, and I sat down on a bed, realising I was in the sleeping quarters. There was still no sound coming from beyond my door, and that twisted Earth that wasn’t mine was still outside my window. It almost seemed like it was leering at me, laughing at my confusion and the fear I was just now beginning to feel. I wasn’t in my space suit, whatever had transported me back here had done something to get rid of it, so I lay down on my bed, trying to fall asleep in case this was just a nightmare, but I couldn’t. I lay there for hours, trying to sleep, but the more I tried, the more awake I became. I don’t know how long I lay there, but eventually I realised I could hear faint noise coming from outside my door, getting louder and morphing into the familiar buzzing of the inner workings of the spacecraft. I could hear people talking and walking around. I almost cried with relief, and ran to my door, out into the main room. Sat there were Martin and Nikola, looking for all the world like nothing had happened. So I asked them. I asked what had happened, where had they gone, what was that horrible building? But they stared at me blankly, and I could see no light in their eyes. Looking into their cold, dead eyes, I knew that whatever was inside that building, whatever was causing all of this, had gotten to them, and that for whatever reason, it had not claimed me too. Martin and Nikola got up, in total synchronicity, and walked towards me with their arms hanging limply at their sides. As they walked towards me, I knew. I could feel in my bones that even though that thing had not claimed me, I was not saved. My fate was to be much worse. I ran. I ran faster than I ever had before, straight to life module. I somehow figured out how to start it through my panic, and it roared to life. It was the most comforting noise I had heard in my entire life. The stress and fear took over me though, and I passed out. I woke up in hospital after the module had used autopilot to make it’s way back to Earth. And it was my Earth, not twisted and wrong on a fundamental level, but mine. I was released from hospital a week later, the doctors giving me a clean bill of health. It didn’t stop them though. Every night I have the same dream. I dream I’m flying towards the moon in the silent shuttle. I know which building I’m flying to, and I can’t stop it. I know that it will claim me eventually, and that I can’t do anything to stop it.


I am Scarlet, Scarlet T anager. A bird who hatched in the South and lost in the North. Here I was, told you a story of mine, not a good one but I hope it leads my way to you. I remember that afternoon, years ago before I turned one. When the leave has fallen composed with their dignity told me a story of an autumn that I have never seen. I was young and enthusiast. Every pain and failure were part of live experience. I believed that moment of time, those experiences will shape me into what’s best of me. Until it never stops. It starts to burn me part by part, stole every single piece of me. One day my friends, next day my freedom, and when I was sane enough to sort out my mind. It was gone, my confidence, my capability, my time, and my youth. No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t let myself free. I was lost the count after three winters. That morning, I was wondering around the forest, prepared for my long travel to went back to the South, avoid the harsh winter, when I was caught by human and spent my life in a cage since then. I tried for uncounted times to beats the bars that separate me with my freedom, but it never works. Every time I almost did it, the human that’s caught me would change the cage and I need to start again. At this point, I was forgot the reason I claimed my freedom. Here in the cage, I am safe, warm, and full. I just lost my right to fly and logically, it was unnecessary. Once all I need was provided, yet I’m still thirst of freedom. Yet it’s hurt, when you know that you lose yourself and forget your power. Nonetheless, the universe forgot to teach you, how to give up. You are holding the last piece of yourself and keep making steps. Sometimes even a step was too hard and you crawl instead. An untold pain like the leaves were forced to the end of their live, supports the young like they didn’t deserved a longer live. Their time was gone. Old dream just a dream, no longer alive to proves its existence. Until that dawn, a girl with blue-black hair and wide black eye kept her words. Her long-blue hair blew by the wind, a daughter of a man that caught me. Sometimes she’d talked to me with her teary eyes, the other time she’d gave me some grapes or oranges. She like to told me story of her life. Apparently, she also lived in a cage like me. Every time she came with her teary eyes, she’d told me ‘I will set you free once I remember how to cut my leash’, but it never happens. The dawn hasn’t come yet but she was holding her bag and I think, it finally comes. She was hastily open my cage door and whisper to me, ‘ GO! FLY AWAY GO! DON’T COME BACK HERE EVER AGAIN! DON’T LET ANYONE TRAPPED YOU AGAIN, GO!’ But I was just sat there in the cage. When the freedom I wish for was in front of me, I felt hesitation abused me. I had no idea why I couldn’t make a step away. It’s so easy, I just need to flapped my wing like what I always wanted, but I was forgotten by my own power. I forgot how to flapped my wings. The girl pushed her hand inside the cage, stable and warm. She gave me a sign to step on her finger and I clumsily make a step to her finger. Slow and steady, she pulled me out of my cage and swung me away to the air. I start to flapped my wings like my body always remember how, I fly again. I want to turned my head to say my grateful to her, but I had no brave to do so. All my focus was to fly ahead and didn’t looking back. Out of the cage, I could taste that winter soon will come. I was late in time, autumn was almost on its edge, mocking me with the flurries of wind. I believe, my flock wasn’t around anymore. They should had reached the gulf, left this place with limited amount of food. I couldn’t stand the howls of the wind and rush my flight to reached the gulf before winter without enough food. But my option was limited, then I fly and fly to found the forest that’s around, unfortunately I found none. I was tired and hungry, almost passed out when finally found few oak trees to lean on. I like to went down to the ground and hunts the ants, worms, or anything left but my fear of being caught by human again keep me on the top of the tree. There were some seeds left in the tree, it’s hard and taste bad. I was able to brave myself to get some food from park nearby, and after I filled my stomach, I start my journey to the South. After my third day on sky, I realized that there’s too many changed around. The canopy that I used to see along the way to the gulf has gone. The building looked like stairs to reach the sky. The red light was getting blurred, the stars were hardly seen, and travel at night seems so dangerous. One time, as I flew all by myself, passing through the forest of concrete, I was found myself drawn into a bright light and almost hurt myself and crashed to the skyscrapers. The world has changed. I finally reached the gulf but as I expected, my flock was gone. I need more rest before crossing the gulf. Luckily, I met another flock of blue-bird. “Hey, why are you still here?” asked a bird with blue feathers. “I was lost and left behind, I tried to catch the flocks now.” I said, “Where are you heading to? The south?” asked the blue bird, “The south,” I admitted, “Well, you can join us until you find your flocks, if you want.” I smiled bright fully, grateful by her offers. “Thanks! I am about to ask that. I will follow you silently. Thank you so much!” I said, “I am Rina, Passerina.” A beautiful name and soul of her called Rina. “Scarlet, Scarlet Tanager” I said, and that was my story until I met Rina and being my company through the rest of my journey. Travel with Rina’s flock indeed makes everything easier. They show me the way and listened to my story. Very kind of them, took me as their own kind, share the food with me and teach me how to sing their song. I was getting closer with the South and my excitement on its peak. Every tear and bruised didn’t felt bad anymore. What I cared the most was there in front of me. And that dawn, when the sky painted with a clear blue, I saw a familiar beautiful orange flock dominated the trees far ahead. It’s them, my flock!


If I were a betting dog, I'd wager you've never heard of a K-10? The next step in the evolution of my parent K-9 species. Now before you think I'm a robot, or some genetically engineered designer doggie from some sci-fi breeder, hold your cats (you humans would use the word horses, but I like cats). My name is Ajax and I am a K-10! I don't know how I happened, I just happened. From the time I was born the sixth in a litter of seven pups and immediately understood the importance of pushing your way to the teat to get to the life sustaining milk I knew I was different. Hey, I knew that the others were my siblings, but nourishment trumps brotherly love when you can't even see yet because your eyes won't open for another two weeks. Now as the teller of this story you must bear with me, for though I can think and reason, tense isn't my strong suit, so as I recount this tale you may find my narrative switching from past tense to present tense to something in between (is there something in between past and present tense? And where does future tense fit in), but remember... I'm a DOG! A special dog to be sure, I may look like a chocolate labradoodle, with killer brown eyes, that can make any bitch go into spontaneous heat, but I can figure things out, like any human. As a matter of fact I'm usually able to think rings around my human master: Trip Ariadne (yeah, from the Greek story about the thread). Of course no one with a name like Ariadne had Trip as his proper name, but given the boy's free spirit and downright bouncy way of being, the name: Theopolis, ill suited him. Trip also brought new dimensions to the word: KLUTZ, so his nickname fit perfectly. He was a good master. Of course one trait I had kept with my K-9 brethren predecessors was the philosophy in reference to "good masters." If they praise easily, scold rarely. and always have treats at the avail... They are GOOD MASTERS. We lived a mundane, pedestrian life in our small town of Shipper's Cove, on the Southern coast of Oregon. Trip relentlessly skating his way through High School with grades that would make me blush were I allowed the expansion of my mind that would come with a formal education. Trip was a classic underachiever. Cleverly smart, but no genius, he still could've made better grades than most of his schoolmates, if he only applied himself. If only he put learning on the forefront of his thinking like say, pizza and video game playing most often were. From everything I'd read (and yes I can read, a habit I picked up as a pup listening to Katie, Trip's mom, read stories to his little sister Kylie. Poor Mom never quite understood WHY I always stationed myself behind her, straddling the back support of the sofa so that I could not only hear what she read, but could follow along with the words on the printed page) it was merely a matter of adjusting Trip's priorities. Many a slice of pizza I scarfed down to keep him from reveling too much. I can't count the number of times I used my nose to push a book he was assigned to read towards him, or out and out brought him a page of an unfinished homework assignment in my mouth (being careful to NOT get drool on the ink, runny ink would be just another excuse for him NOT to finish it). I was happy caring for my young master, his WAY too handsy little sister, and Mom, until the day our lives changed. The day I encountered another of my new breed. And I don't mean another bitch magnet chocolate labradoodle, but another K-10! Lobo was a K-10, that I could instantly communicate telepathically with, a huge French Mastiff with a severe slobbering issue, but my dear K-10 brother had been and was being... Abused. Trip and I had made an unscheduled stop at a Farmer's Market on the other side of town to get some fresh veggies for Mom (she really liked it when Kylie "helped" her toss a fresh salad, even though a good portion of it ended up on the floor). It was there, as I sniffed around, checking my pee mail deposited by K-9's all around the marketplace, that I first saw Lobo... Heard him really. I don't know what she wants of me. Everything I do seems to be another excuse for her to hit me. I'm so tired of being hit, and thrown outside all night, or tied to a stake in the heat of the day. She doesn't enjoy making me suffer, but she is always in so much pain herself. Lobo thought to himself, thinking those thoughts were private. Are you alright? What can I do to help? I thought to him in response. Lobo looked as shocked as such an expression could show on the stoic, wrinkled face of a French Mastiff. Who is that? he thought to me. Over here! The chocolate labradoodle with the tall, lanky, blonde boy master. Trip took that moment to run into and knock down a display of tomatoes at the booth he had gotten too near, and I had been too preoccupied to shield him from. The clumsy one? Lobo thought, looking at Trip from head to toe. That's my boy! How can I hear you in my head? Not sure yet, but you must've figured out by now that you are no ordinary dog. Yes. I don't see other dogs as depressed as I always am, because they can't seem to reason that it should be any other way. But, you do, don't you? I'm Ajax, or powerful eagle. And the destroyer of displays over there is Trip my proud Greek owner. I'm... The air was cut with the screech of a very angry young woman's voice. “LOBO! You idiot! What do you think you're doing? Leave that other dog alone!” she said as she switched him with the slack in Lobo's leash, on a spot on his back that already seemed to have a fresh cut. My lead, as always, was much more lax and I had stretched the expanse of its extent as I communicated with Lobo, getting very close to him. Lobo! Are you okay? I asked. It stings. You get used to it. But you shouldn't have to get used to it, my brother. It's all I've ever known, Ajax. Is there another way of being? At that, Lobo was yanked away by a young woman whose muscular biceps made Trip's arms seem all the more thin and inadequate in comparison. Where do you live? I communicated quickly. Like a burst, a mental picture of a map of the neighborhood surrounding the Farmer's Market appeared in my head clear as crystal. Don't worry, Lobo. I'll find you. Lobo looked back at me forlornly, and was given another whip of the leash across that sore spot on his back for his perceived insolence. I felt so horrible. I pulled at my leash. Trip pulled back as a farmer yelled at him. That was when I turned my attention back to my young, well meaning, but oh so ungainly master and sent a distinct protection growl in the direction of this old guy in the coveralls. The farmer noticed and deescalated his demeanor quickly. I knew I would have to get Trip to take me back to that Farmers Market. It dawned on me that I would have to destroy every vegetable in the house to get us low on them again after today's shopping, but I would do it. Every veggie I could get my paws on MUST DIE! Once Trip got me back to the Farmers Market it was up to my sense of smell, after I checked my pee mail of course. My K-9 tracking skills (and yes I kept them, they were even somewhat enhanced because I knew what I was sniffing FOR) helped me track Lobo to a small ranch style house about ten blocks from where I had met him. I must admit the map that Lobo had put in my head that day helped too, and Trip was a good sport to take me on this LONG unscheduled walk with two sacks of assorted vegetables in his arms. Lobo's master was Aubrey Janes, a background check I did online with the use of Mom's American Express card (sorry, Mom, but it was the one she owed the most on and would never notice one extra charge) revealed that she had been a soldier, and had fought bravely and often in Afghanistan. Lobo was issued to her as her emotional support dog to help with the post traumatic stress disorder she had come back stateside suffering from. Even though I understood and sympathized with the plight of Sgt. Janes, I was more concerned with a K-10 that aced all his support dog training courses, because of what he was, but that now was serving as a surrogate for all of Janes' rage issues. I had to do something, but I was limited. I needed a human, but my human wasn't quite up to the task... Or so I thought. It was a dreary, rainy weekend as Trip played his game in the family room on a TV screen big enough for me to sleep on were it laying flat against the floor. I was feeling particularly blue (even though I was chocolate brown, and--as a dog--I was colorblind and couldn't tell the difference anyway) about not being able to help Lobo. If only I could communicate with Trip the same way I could with Lobo. I could explain what was going on. I know he would help. My boy had a good heart to go with those two left feet. Wait a minute! I had never tried to think AT Trip, a concentrated attempt. I screwed up my determination and thought a word at my young master: Trip! Again and again. Trip! Trip!! TRIP!!! And finally... “Ajax! Shut-up, I'm about to beat the 17 th level!” That was when he froze as his controller dropped from his hands just as quickly as his lower jaw dropped, leaving his mouth agape. “Ajax?” he said as he turned to me. Yes, Trip. It's me! I should've tried this a long time ago, but I never even knew I could do it with one of my own kind until just recently. “One of your own kind? Then you're not really a dog? Are you an alien?” No, Trip. “Are you gonna suck out my brain and leave me like Uncle Roger after his stroke?” No, Trip. “Are you a poltergeist inhabiting the body of my dog?” This kid had some imagination, I made a mental note to try to get him to take a creative writing course in the next semester. NO, Trip! Now will you please calm down and listen to me? I grabbed the controller in my mouth and gave it to Trip so he could play while he listened (after all he was on the 17 th level and before this soggy Saturday he'd never made it past the 15 th ). It seemed to calm him. I explained about K-10s. How I was one. How Lobo was one. What was happening to Lobo. I tried to be slow and gentle with my delivery so as not to inundate him. Trip paused the game and put down the controller as he turned to look at me. “You mean that big, drooling mutt at the Farmers Market a few weeks back? I remember the way you two were staring at each other. No butt sniffing, just staring. I would've noticed more if I hadn't been getting my head handed to me by that old fart about the tomato display disaster.” Yes, gravity has that effect on tomatoes. “Wow. I got me a sarcastic dog.” With your grades and lack of effort, sarcasm is the only thing that's kept me sane! “Hey! Remember who feeds you, makes sure you get all your shots?!” I wouldn't remind me about the shots! I growled, low, just a bit, for affect. “Keep your teeth in your mouth, big boy! It's not like I don't try.” Not near enough and you know it. The look on Trip's face told me without thoughts or words that he knew I was right, and in that moment I loved him more than ever for that honest realization. It was going to be different now, but this bond we shared, that was always there was sure to grow with this newfound ability to communicate. I could see the wheels turning in Trip's head, ever the pragmatist he got back to the root of the situation. “Okay, but how do we help, Lobo. I'm just a kid, and you're a... You're a... Well, they're less likely to listen to you. Uuuuuh... Can other people hear you?” I'm surprised you can at the moment. The short answer is I'm not sure. But as a K-10... “You really like calling yourself that, huh?” What's wrong with it?! I was trying very hard not to seem as defensive as I felt. “Nothing." Trip had always been a lousy liar, but I appreciated the effort. "So, again, how do we help Lobo?” Trip said, earnestly. I've done some background checking on the sergeant, but I'll need you. "Uuuuuuh... How?" Trip gulped, uneasily. Don't worry, it's not like you'll have to bite somebody or anything like that. But you see... I can't call Maj. Rachel Henson, the psychologist treating Sgt. Janes, anonymously. But you can. I could almost see the light bulb forming over Trip's head, as he started making loud guttural sounds to deepen his voice for the impending call (I already had the phone number committed to memory). He was a good boy, and he was my boy. The call, ever so brief and rather stumbling, had the desired effect. Lobo was removed from the care of Sgt. Aubrey Janes. Trying to place him with another wounded warrior didn't pan out and Trip and I learned (quite by accident) Lobo had been tossed aside and placed in that doggie death camp known to you humans as the local pound. Trip, with me at his side, happened to be doing a bit of community service at said euthanasia facility (mostly so I could scout for more K-10's among the inmates) when Lobo was brought in, thinking that his life was over. He had no idea that after Trip and I adopted him that those thoughts were far from true. The three of us, Trip, Lobo and I, spent many years seeking out and finding more K-10's around our town and eventually around the country. It wasn't the beginning of the end, but it was definitely the end of the beginning! Okay, so I ended it on a cliché to tantalize you for more stories ahead, but, hey, I'm a DOG!


Luna drew the blade from Sir Fariah’s shoulders and wiped it on the tawny grass. He slumped onto the ground, heaving ragged, shallow breaths. “That thing is evil,” he said. She said nothing, walking to the dragon lying still against the stone. “He has killed many,” Fariah said. “He has stolen what is not his.” “I am his,” Luna said, climbing up the dragon’s haunches, “And he is mine.” The creature arched its fire-red back, stretched its wings, eclipsing the setting sun. Then it rose up into the sky unevenly, blood splattering from one side, and the last Sir Fariah saw was the girl with the silver hair disappearing into the stars with the dragon he had sworn to slain. As they flew, Luna’s thoughts wandered. “You can still go back,” the dragon said after an eternal silence. “You are not unimportant, Princess.” “I can not,” she said, hugging his neck, her eyes stinging in the thick mist and fog. Suddenly everything was clear. Above them bright stars hung like lamps in the night sky. She could see Mount Tarkan and the Two Weeping Ladies in the north, their tears streaming in great waterfalls down to join the Martyrs’ River which swept all the way south to join the sea. Yes, the sea was somewhere far back where she could not see, and beyond that, a castle where she had had warm roasts and fig puddings brought to her, and magnificent rooms in which she had hid from Tutor Mary with the thin voice and flute lessons and hands so spidery she had always shuddered when they suddenly clapped from behind upon her shoulders. “Quiet,” a voice echoed, “She’ll find us.” For a moment Luna was lost in a great long corridor with velvet curtains, the hand of the tutor’s son pressed in hers as they hid in the cupboard stifling giggles. She could almost feel the warmth of the fire behind her mother’s chair-- A blast of wind from the east rushed against her face and snagged the scarf from her head. Her shoulders were cold but she was not aware of this. She watched the bright orange reminder of her childhood flutter into the cloud down below, and then meander out of sight like a sad lost bird. In front of her loomed the Great Mountains, and beyond that, darkness. The dragon dipped over the snow-capped peaks and into the shadowed valley. He landed unevenly at the mouth of a cave, and slowly limped in, blood streaming from his side. As he reached the far side of the wall, he suddenly shuddered and collapsed, and Luna tumbled off onto the ground, on which hay lay scattered as a makeshift bed. She ran to the dragon and held his head in her arms. “Hold on a moment,” she said, “Stay with me.” He nodded slowly, with effort, and she tore a large strip from her dress and used it to bind hay to the wound. Then she pressed her body against the dragon’s side with all her might, until slowly the wound stopped bleeding, and the dragon and girl fell slowly asleep. In the morning, when the sun rose and filled the cave with its golden glory, the dragon shimmered and turned into a sleeping boy, who awoke and blinked in surprise. Luna smiled and kissed him.


It was a dark and stormy night. Really stormy. Amos had never seen a storm like it in all his years. Thunderous waves crashed against the rocks as he fought to secure the boat against the pier. With every wave and gust of wind she tore against the ropes, wrenching to be free. He did his best, the wind whipping the constant rain into his face and blinding him. It would do. It would have to do. He could do no better. He looked up at the light beaming from the top of the lighthouse, followed its steady arc across the water. The dark of the storm was powerful, but not as powerful as the light. Where there was chaos, the light was steady. Where there was danger, the light was safety. Amos nodded at the light. Aye. All was well. He picked up his lantern and climbed the stairs towards the lighthouse, fighting the wind to move at all. He could see no more than two steps ahead until the arc of the beacon passed over him and lit up the stairs like daylight, before just as quickly passing on and leaving him in darkness. The wind howled and tore at his clothes, blowing his macintosh open. He put the lantern on the step to close and fasten his coat again. Suddenly, a gale near blew him off his feet and lifted the lantern as easily as a fallen leaf in the breeze. Amos watched the light float weightlessly up, curve twice, and start to fall towards the rocks below before being lifted again and hurled into the top of the lighthouse tower. He heard the distant crash of glass as one of the windows shattered. He crawled up the last of the steps on all fours. The voice of Old Lawrence, the previous lighthouse keeper, echoed in his head. “Take it slow. Rushing makes for accidents.” As he reached the top and felt his way to the door, the beacon of light passed over him again. Aye. All was well, for now. He had to use all of his body to push the door closed on the storm. Finally safe inside, he took off his wellington boots and hung his macintosh and wet weather hat. They dripped water onto the stone floor. He took the towel, almost clean, that hung nearby and wiped the rain from his face and hair. As he had been trained him to do, he updated the logbook. Boat secured to pier. Beacon room window broken in storm. Lantern destroyed. He pulled on his knitted woollen cardigan as he made for the stairs. 20 years ago Old Lawrence had warned him, “Never run up the stairs. No matter the emergency. Take it slow. Rushing makes for accidents.” Amos had made the mistake of ignoring this advice only once, and never again. The stairs were steep and narrow and any misstep could cause a long and nasty fall. His hip still ached in weather like this, and every time it did he was reminded. Take it slow. Rushing made for very painful accidents. So it was that it took several minutes for Amos to reach the beacon room and inspect the damage. As he neared the top of the stairs, he could hear the wind howling through what should have been a solid plate of glass. If the storm broke the huge kerosene lamp, the light would go out. He opened the trapdoor into the beacon room and, as always, was briefly blinded by the brightness of the light. Aye. All was well still. As his eyes adjusted, he saw the broken glass on the floor. Thankfully, only part of the window was broken and most of the pane of glass remained in place, although with ominous cracks through it. What was left of his small lantern lay battered and bent near the fuel pump. The wind whistled loudly through the hole in the glass, and he could feel the whole room shaking in the strongest gusts of wind. Rain pelted sideways through the window onto the giant lantern that provided the light for the beacon. Amos methodically made his way around the lamp, inspecting it closely for any damage. It was basically the same as his little handheld lantern, which now lay unrecognisable at his feet, only at a much larger scale. He caressed the gas chamber, fuel line and kerosene gas tanks with his fingers, feeling for cracks and leaks his eyes would not see. Slow. Take it slow. It was essential they were not damaged, or the lamp would dim. The lamp could not dim. As he inspected, the focal lens continued to rotate, lighting up the sea through the storm and periodically lighting Amos at his work. He would close his eyes each time it passed over him, as Old Lawrence had taught him to do, so it didn’t blind him. He was so in tune with the rhythms of the light, it was like blinking to him. He turned his attention to the window. With every gale force gust of wind, the whole lighthouse tower moved and the cracked pane of glass shook. It would not hold through the night. The window would break and the full force of this storm would assail his lamp. The light would dim. Amos wiped the rain from his face as he sought for an answer. This light had burned for 99 years, it would not go out on his watch. The wind howled, shaking the pane of glass, the cracks threatening to shatter everything. Can’t replace the window. Even if he had a pane of glass big enough, which he did not, it couldn’t be done in this storm. Old Lawrence’s training came back to him. “If it’s broken, fix it. If you can’t fix it, patch it up until you can.” Patch it up, Amos thought. Patch up a six-foot-high pane of glass in a torrential storm. How do you patch up a pane of glass in a storm? Tape? Tape could cover the cracks, maybe they might hold. Maybe not. But the hole. How to patch up the hole? Something large enough, and strong enough, and it must be waterproof. He thought of his macintosh, dripping on its hook downstairs. Another gust shook the tower, and he watched one of the cracks stretch and reach the pane. Now. No time. He must hurry. Save the lamp. He turned quickly towards the trapdoor and tripped on the unseen broken lantern lying at his feet. As he fell, he reached out blindly to find purchase, save himself, and his hand desperately gripped the first hold it found. The pump handle attached to the two large kerosene tanks that powered the lamp fell with him, tearing the pump mechanism from its machinery. As he hit the floor, his eyes rested on the kerosene lantern, it’s glass shell now lying shattered on the floor, the still burning flame of its wick exposed. He smelt the kerosene gas. He heard the ‘whoooosh’. He knew what came next. Aye. Should have taken it slow. XXX Inspector Lawrence Todd stepped off the pier and looked up at the charred pinnacle of the old lighthouse. What in the name of all that is holy happened here? “They say you could see it 60 miles away,” Jeffery said behind him. “Like a comet, they say. Even the storm couldn’t dim it, and that was some mighty storm we had.” Inspector Todd, or Old Lawrence as most of the keepers he supervised called him, hadn’t seen this old lighthouse or Amos for almost 5 years. “Amos was a good man, and a good lighthouse keeper,” he said. “Check the logbook. He will have made records.” “And take it slow,” he called as Jeffery rushed up the stairs to the lighthouse. “Rushing makes for accidents.” Old Lawrence made his way slowly up to the beacon room. Take it slow, he remembered, just like Old Thomas had trained him all those many years ago. He opened the trapdoor into what should have been the beacon room but was now open to the bright blue sky. What was left of the beacon assembly was blackened and charred, the smell of fire and smoke heavy in the air. Old Lawrence took a knee and gently touched the charred remains of his old friend. Jeffery popped his head up through the trapdoor. “I found the logbook,” he said, handing it to his senior officer. “Wow. The whole lantern assembly has gone up!” Old Lawrence opened the logbook to its last entry. Boat secured to pier. Beacon room window broken in storm. Lantern destroyed. “Well. That about covers it, Amos,” he thought.


The woman shivered in the oversized trench coat, hiding her ruddy-tinged hands in the deep pockets. Standing to her left was a man, not one she had known for a very long time. Actually, she couldn't recall if they had ever met. "Do you want to hit this?" The man brought a cigarette to her cracked lips, watching the smoke plume around her sunken, ghost-like face. "It will make all those problems go away." Go away. She yearned to say those words, but they stopped at the edge of her tongue. "Yes," she agreed, accepting the smoke. Placing the filter between her lips, she inhaled like it was natural, as if it was... expected. On the opposite side the parking lot, a woman walked with a child in tow--a little girl with big, green eyes and a pair of purple rain boots. The moment the woman's eyes met the couple, she drew her child closer, like a bear with its cub. "They fear the unsullied," the man whispered, leaning closer to her, "and because of that worry, they will grow to hate you. Why do you think they take pets? They want to be catered but to also do the catering." A brush of fingers swept across the shell of her ear, and her legs shook under the weight. Before she could duck away, going off into the store like the other humans, he clicked his tongue. "Until they put you to sleep. Soon enough, you'll become nothing more than another bedside picture or a jar of ash resting on a lofty ledge. The thought process of humans is unsettling; it can make them happy enough to worship or angry enough to kill." To kill. The woman smiled happily and handed the cigarette back over, not realizing that she had stained the bleak white. Strings of black hair split like rivulets down her shoulders, covered by the droppings of ash. But when she tried to blow the remnants away, they remained. "Can we go inside?" She asked. "Not today, maybe tomorrow?" She noticed a different tone when he said tomorrow, which sounded restrained, tempting. Not his usual manner, she thought. Did he have a regular way? "Do I know you?" She asked. "Not today, maybe tomorrow?" ------- Inside the grocery store, the woman and her child went through the checkout aisle. The woman was holding a jug of milk, and the child was carrying a pack of chewing gum. Harold, the store attendant, watched as the woman refused to get the gum before giving in to the child's tantrum. Parents had no backbone these days, and he recalled a different time. A time where a yes meant no, and a no meant no. Good times, he thought. Beautiful times. He watched the world become filled with a bunch of useless pansies, wanting handouts and chewing gum. He, by no means, was a pansy. He was what his great-granddaddy would call "a real man." "You ready to check out?" Harold held the scanner like a revolver; after all, he thought he made a good John Wayne. Hell, he might even be better than John Wayne -- too bad this town didn't take him seriously. "Yes," the woman said, snatching the gum from her child, "this is it." Harold scanned the items flawlessly. And as the fluorescent store lights beamed down on his bald head, he felt a genuine purpose. He would be under the movie lights one day, not far from today. "John Wayne, my ass," he exulted. "I beg your pardon?" The woman juggled the boat of a wallet before handing over two perfectly crisp dollar bills. "This should cover it." Harold accepted the money like a vigilante taking the kindness of the people. His enormous belly jiggled as he shoved the cash into the drawer before he ripped the receipt off. "You have a wonderful day, mam," he said with a hero's smile, failing to realize his beer belly was bouncing enough to reveal some skin. Harold noticed the woman shooting a nasty stare at his exposed stomach. Eagerly, he pulled down his maroon store t-shirt. "Sorry bout that, been trying to shed a few pounds." Harold watched as the mother-daughter duo exited the store. He would be out of this discount price prison in two more days. He tapped his stubby fingers on the register and hummed a glorious tune of freedom. It was only then he noticed, in the corner of his eye, that weird couple that had been outside all morning. Weird folk, he deduced. Not from around these parts. "Probably don't even fear the lord, those types," he mumbled. But why were they approaching that mother and child? And what was in that guy's hand? This can't be good, Harold thought. This could be my moment. Grabbing the nearest weapon he could find, Harold marched out of the store with a broom that could be considered a sword. A sword of wood and straw, Harold valiantly snickered. In life, there were only specific opportunities to show the world who you genuinely are - and Harold had found his chance. The rain-slick pavement did little to help the traction on his holey sneakers, and Harold did everything possible not to fall before his moment. "Get away from them," Harold declared in his most exemplary manager's voice, "go back to the gutter where your type belongs." The couple came to a slow stop, their matching boots scraping against the concrete, and they turned to look at him. Harold felt like he could piss himself with the look they were giving. A look that seemed too feral to be human. "Humans are the most feral of all creatures," the guy standing next to the woman said, "look at his shiny head and thick neck. That's feral." Harold waved the broom in front of him like a shield bestowed to the best warrior. And for a moment, he longed to be back inside the discount prison, and it was safe there with the cash register and the emergency response button situated just beneath the counter. The mother and child quickly tried to get in their van when the woman zoomed closer to them. So fast that Harold didn't even have the chance to piss himself. Snap. A scream that pierced the air like a balloon popped with a needle with helium hissing. Harold turned to see the mother on the ground with her eyes almost out of her skull. He watched as the little girl desperately tried to shake their mother, but it was too late. It didn't take a doctor, a scientist, or John Wayne to see she was gone. Harold rushed forward and grabbed the fragile child as if he was capable of protecting anything. And as he patted the girl's hair, reassuring her that help would be on the way, there was a laugh. Horrified, Harold asked, "are you laughing?" The little girl pulled away from his shoulder, sealing her glowing green eyes on him. A row of tiny teeth that appeared like little pine needles grew to be much larger than her mouth. Harold released his grip, trying to toss the girl far away, but she wouldn't budge. "Not today, Harold. Maybe tomorrow?"


Chapter 4 Emotional Hairs  My eyes watched the alarm clock shake in place making a dreadful noise letting me know it was time to get up. What a fruitless night I thought to myself in annoyance as I rubbed my legs vigorously back and forth trying to wake them up feeling the terrible sensation of the pins and needles running through them. It turns out trying to take magic in my body rather than pushing it out was more difficult than I could have possibly imagined. In the other world, my body was like a glass of water that kept replenishing itself overtime and my only jobs was to regulate how much was in my body making sure I never used all of it or else I would die and the other job of pouring out the metaphorical water and shaping it to my desire. In this world, my new body was like a water balloon that had no water in it. I needed to figure out how to fill the balloon up with water while also making sure I did not overdo it causing the balloon to burst. I assume if this happened bad things would occur to my body like no longer being able to use magic or possibly just dying all together both scenarios equally terrifying. I stood up from the floor stretching feeling dizzy with a mild headache and shut off the alarm by my bed. “Breakfast is ready!” Called the delightful feminine voice from the kitchen that I was growing accustomed to thinking as my real Mom. I don’t know when it happened but, for some reason I no longer wanted to think of either of them as my new Dad or my new Mom, it seemed wrong to call them that even if it was just inside my head. Even though they were peasants in my eyes when I first met them, I strangely feel more connected with those two than I ever felt for my previous parents. A genuine non-malicious smile that I was still growing accustomed to creeped on my face as I yawned again walking out my bedroom door. My nose picked up the lingering scent in the air of one of the most delightful treats that I had come across in this world causing my mouth to salivate and the tiredness in my body immediately evaporated. I sat in my chair at the dinner table and three big fluffy steaming pancakes with butter melted on top sat in front of me almost pleading me to bathe them in the dark sugary syrup that enhanced there flavor tenfold. After eating breakfast and catching a few minutes of TV I was dropped off at school again and the tiredness in my body started to creep in slowly again making my head feel light. Gods this would be a long day I thought as I walked into my first class of the day. I made it all the way to third period before having to be woken up by one of my classmates, I wiped the drool from my mouth and rubbed at my eyes still feeling the heaviness my body protest against me wanting me to close my eyes for just a bit longer. The bell rang signaling everyone to line up for recess and I bumbled my way towards the line bumping into desks like a stumbling drunk. I made it to the playground and scanned the area for the girl with my eyes while doing some routine exercise trying to get the blood flowing to my brain. The numbness that made me so tired began to recede from my body probably only temporarily and I spotted the girl sitting by the biggest tree in the whole playground alone curling her knees to her chest. I made my way over there and stood in front of the little girl. She had a sad expression of hopelessness and curled her knees of tighter to her chest looking like she just lost a battle that would decide a war. “Girl, what’s your name?” “Elizabeth.” She whispered sniffling slightly. “Did something happen to you today?” “No one wants to play with me.” She said with tears in her eyes. I sat down next to her feeling uncomfortable. Cheering people up was never my strong suit, in fact, I usually was better at the opposite back in my homeworld. “Do you know any magic Elizabeth?” The sadness in her eyes fled from her and she looked up with a grin. She jumped up from her position and made a weird stance pointed at the ground and screamed. “Zaptosis!” She made a buzzing noise with her mouth and gave me a beaming smile and put her hands on her hips declaring the monster that was about to attack me was vanquished by her secret special electricity spell. I starred at her unamused and wondered if what I had sensed from her previously was just a fluke. I rolled my eyes. “No girl I mean real magic not pretend magic.” “That was real magic!” She screamed and made another weird pose and screamed another ridiculous made-up word and claimed she had just made a twister out of thin air destroying yet another monster. Gods I thought to myself I had made a mistake, I thought she knew real magic instead it was just a fluke. I started walking away annoyed that I had wasted most of my time for recess when I could have been planning out how to harness real magic. “Where are you going?! Don’t you want to play powers with me?” “Not interested,” I said waving my hand in a goodbye gesture. “Why does no one want to play with me!” She screamed in a shrill cracking voice. I whipped my head around sensing energy gathering and sparking all around her. I scanned her with my senses focusing on what was causing the energy to gather around her. My eyes widened and I inhaled sharply. “It’s that simple?!” I excitedly said to myself not caring if the girl heard me or not. She was using one of the two types of emotional hairs that all humans possessed, and it was attracting energy like a nail would to a magnet. I imitated what I was seeing the girl do with her emotional hairs and within seconds energy condensed and popped around me as well, I excitedly added a final step to it confident that I had figured out how to use magic. I dragged the hairs back into my body, energy attached to each individual hair and I felt the vibrating energy coursing through my veins and a large grin crept on my face as I celebrated inside my head that it had worked. Suddenly I froze all the joy vanished from me when I started to feel something in my body mixing with the energy that I had never felt before. “No!” I gasped when I realized the energy was converting parts of my life energy into pure magic making my body feel cold and tingly. Ice ran through my veins as I realized that this could indeed kill me if I didn’t act quickly, I put my hand to the ground my vision becoming blurry and pushed all the remaining energy in my body that had yet to convert into magic into the ground and panted chest feeling tight and out of breath. I looked up at the girl and she no longer looked angry or sad. Instead, she had a horrified expression on her face. The world went out of focus again and everything went sideways as I blacked out.


For a few moments in the lobby of the Viking Hotel, Anton Perfume forgot that it was winter. While he was not a busy man in the colder months, he made it a point to vibrate a few times a week. It consisted of drinking a nice scotch at the bar of a hotel like the Viking. Something with character that remains mostly empty until the summer tourists return. As he sips his scotch, he sends a pulse throughout his body. Nobody would be able to see what he was doing, but he could feel it. Across the globe, an old woman grabs her heart. She feels as though she’s in a state of arrest. Anton Perfume doesn’t know about the woman. He only knows that outside it’s below freezing and he has nowhere to be for an hour to two. The generosity of time in that instance gave him a warm feeling. Something unique from the vibration. Something that smelled of jasmine and salt. A young couple was checking in at the front desk. Anton supposed they could be getting married. Winter weddings were more du jour as summer weddings on the island had become reserved for the ultra-wealthy. Anton saw these people come into his restaurant earlier and earlier each year. Memorial Day was no longer the beginning of the season, it was the middle. Now, tourists could be found walking on the cobblestones as early as Easter. Those without children decided to celebrate as soon as they could, and why not? For them, money may be plentiful, but life is still short. There are places, however, where the volume of life is slightly higher . Anton Perfume finds that hotels with character always resonate with him on a kind of seismic level. Before he owned a restaurant, he worked in a hotel with character. It was also in no short supply of characters . He’d take their luggage to their rooms, and if they were a woman, and traveling alone, he’d linger in doorways and wait for them to notice him. Some gave him tips. Some rolled their eyes. More than a few invited him to come back after his shift for a nightcap and some conversation. Women traveling alone always told him that he reminded them of their fathers. It didn’t matter what the women looked like or how old they were compared to Anton; to a one, they would always say that he was the spitting image of their fathers. Looking back now, he supposed he could read a great deal of psychology into that, but instead he sips his drink. Free time wasn’t as free as it used to be, and the past was the only thing that could eat it up faster than human analysis. Still, Anton wondered which of those women from his youth were still alive. There was one that jumped to the forefront of his mind. A Nebraskan in town for her sister’s wedding. Her husband wouldn’t come along, because he said he had too much work to do at home, but the woman confessed to Anton that her husband and her sister simply didn’t get along. She was around fifty-four or fifty-five, and Anton was twenty-four. “I’m old enough to be your mother,” she kept saying, as he poured her another glass of wine, “Don’t you know that? Don’t you know that I could be your mother?” With her hair down, she looked somewhat medieval. Like the Lady of the Lake. Her hair spread out over the hotel pillows and down over the side of the bed. Anton stayed with her all morning, and when she left to go to the wedding, he stayed in bed so he could keep smelling her on the sheets and on the blankets. He wanted that smell to invade his skin. He wanted to smell like her forever. There was that jasmine, but no salt. Coconut. She smelled like coconut--and Shalimar. That year, his father grabbed his chest at the breakfast table and took his last breath. Anton Perfume gave the eulogy. It was not short. A woman sits down next to him. She is around fifty-five, but that makes her around twenty years younger than Anton. She has a travel bag at her side, and she orders a negroni. Anton signals to the bartender, and he’s brought a second scotch. He has another hour or so before the meeting at the restaurant. There have always been discussions about selling to a group. Selling the name. Franchising. Consolidation of debt. Minutia like the cost of scallops rising and which server has a bad attitude. Anton used to sit in his office and wait for these kinds of meetings. He’d have to get into a zone of administration. He’d find himself rolling pens across his desk. He’d torment cuticles. He’d ask himself questions without answers. Now, he found no reason to worry about meetings. Meetings simply led to more meetings until one day you were no longer invited to meetings you never wanted to go to in the first place. The woman sitting next to Anton Perfume clears her throat. He looks at her. She’s a beautiful woman. Her fingers showed no sign of a wedding ring, but that wouldn’t have deterred Anton. He would have started a conversation with her. He would have asked her what she was visiting from and how long she’d be in town. He would have put his hand on his chest and caught his own breath. Instead, he took another sip of his scotch. The woman retires to her room. Anton Perfume looks over a photo on the wall behind the bartender. It’s a black and white photo from the day the hotel first opened in 1926. Everyone in the photo looks stern. It’s as though they forgot they were at a celebration. People back then were different, Anton thinks to himself, they didn’t make a show out of everything. It’s possible they thought those landmarks in time were nothing special. That there would always be something new to celebrate. That there would always be time. Anton Perfume tastes the way the ice waters down the scotch. He doesn’t dislike the taste. He just prefers to notice it when it happens. At a restaurant across town, preparations are being made for a meeting. It’s going to be someone’s last meeting, but it’s still too early to think about all that. There’s still time for something to change.


October 2143 720 Ion Ave. Uranium City, Mare Imbrium, Moon of Earth Dear Alex, I know my previous e-mail to you left many things unfinished and that was for a good reason - at that time I was still frightened out of my wits, and had a hard time composing myself. I apologize for scaring you with my hastily writings about “the most horrible thing I have ever seen” and many other such vague and uninterpretable things. Now that I am more thoroughly constituted please allow me to explain how I have come to fear being near the endangered female. But don’t you dare accuse me of being some raging bigot towards the disfigured - surely you’ll understand where I come from. Even a week or so after this incident, I still find it most unpleasant and grating to be near one of them. Something so horrible has been burned into my mind, into my very core. I become deeply disturbed when I see one milling about on the street, and I often have to turn away or simply stare at the ground. The sight of one reminds me all too much about the things I witnessed about a week ago. It all began when I remembered my old friend Dallas from my teenage days. We got into contact, and we planned to have a meeting. It had been a while - oh, perhaps 30 or 35 years - since we had last seen each other. We planned to convene at the nearest coffeehouse to his residence, and then from there we would go to his house and listen to old jazz music or just another dusty record from the collection he inherited from his grandparents. We planned to discuss how our lives had progressed and changed. If you were not aware, something that made Dallas stand out was that he had acquired some unknown and undiagnosed genetic disease from the gestationary. For whatever reason, it prohibited him from receiving sufficient gender therapy from a young age until the malformations already took their tolls. I believe it’s one out of every 10,000. Thus, he lacked any of the defining traits that us “normal” people have, such as not bearing a penis (not even a vestigial one), having strange, enlarged breasts, being shorter than average, a disproportionate shoulder-to-hip ratio, lack of any facial hair, and all other kinds of disfigurations that confound the common eye. One could go as far to say that he was much like an archaic Woman before the corrective therapies became available to cure people from being forced into those strange bodies. I’ve seen pictures of these so-called women before the early 2060’s that frankly look a lot like him. But it wouldn’t be accurate to make the comparison. After all, he has since received some hormonal therapy to counteract the influence of this disease, but the damage has been done. And if that hadn’t been bad enough, on top of the disfiguring gender-related illness, he had been diagnosed with another affliction, which was some flavor of cardio-vascular disease. But otherwise he was very normal and kind. He didn’t deserve any of the bullying that came his way. In his childhood, these malformations made him an outsider, and a target for the cruel and apathetic classmates to use him as the social punching bag. Truly, some of the worst bullying that I remember seeing in highschool was directed towards Dallas. Instead of the neutral and proper pronouns of “he” or “him”, they would all refer to him by the slurs, “Woman!”,“Birther!”, “Menstraloid!” and some of the most awful names you could imagine. I remember that they would oftentimes stand behind him and point at his wide hips and rounded shoulders, or pull off his shirt and snicker at his swollen chest, yell him death threats down the hall, and other indescribably horrible things that I simply cannot find it in me to put down onto this message. But the worst part--not even the teachers or administrators would do anything about the bullying other than an indifferent “we are doing all we can to take care of the problem.” It was only I and a few of the more openhearted and understanding folks who looked beyond the biological costume he was forced to wear by birth and simply accepted him as just a man with a disease.   Anyhow, I remember sitting there in the coffeehouse in rapt anticipation of meeting Dallas after the decades, to hear his stories, his life, and the old warm personality I used to love. I recall the moment when the door opened and he appeared out from behind, and I felt as if my stomach no longer had weight. I believe I jumped up from my seat with my mouth permanently set into smiling, and we greeted each other with the usual greetings. It’s always nice to meet with an old best friend. My memory already seems to be faded at the edges, but all I can remember is that I was the only one who drank coffee. And we talked for a while about menialities and small stories. Then we walked a short distance to his house. I noticed that he carried an umbrella, which was weird because it wasn’t even raining at the time. I didn’t ask about it, though. When we arrived at his house, nothing had really stood out as strange until we began to talk about more complex and personal things. He seemed as if he was an actor trying to play an unfamiliar role. When I asked him about Charlie, another close friend of his, he looked nervous and claimed he didn’t know who that was. Then all attempts to refresh his memory with pictures and stories were shot down rapidly with the same “no, I don’t know who that is.” And I noticed that the way he talked had the strangest and most uncanny textures to it. It nearly sounded like he was blankly reading poetry. But I couldn’t pinpoint what it was, so I ignored it, until I realized what it was that had made me so on edge. When it came to me, I started up from the cushions of the couch and began to hyperventilate. He asked me what the problem was, but I found everything to be so unspeakably morbid that I couldn’t even imagine a response. In the flurry of terror I needed to prove to myself if it was true or just my imagination about what had really happened to Dallas. Perhaps my inner psychology wanted to justify my newfound fear of Dallas with evidence; I don’t know. I wasn’t very rational in those moments. In that moment of true horror and surprise I poured the remaining amount of my scalding coffee onto the pale skin that stretched across his face, and ran to the other room to hide from his rage and confusion. Immediately, I heard him scream. When I peeked my eyes from around the corner, I saw it-- the horrible thing I mentioned. He had begun to silently twitch there on the couch, with his glassy eyes staring blankly at nothing. His eyes looked like lifeless marbles. And I still vividly remember his face curling into bizarre shapes of emotions, as if something inside had begun to pull and stretch the multiple muscles in his face. And the twitching! --it would have nearly been cartoonish, funny even, if it were not so morbid. And when the terrible twitching mass stopped moving and fell lifeless on the floor, his head made a lifeless, metallic *clunk*. My best friend, the only actual ‘woman’ I have ever known, dead! I tried to feel for his heartbeat in his neck, wrist, and chest but nothing. The main flaw with his behavior wasn’t just the indescribable tranquility in his voice. I heard no breathing when he spoke, I never saw that swollen chest rise or fall, and the way he would move his body when he walked was unnatural, even for a person with the phenotypic wider hips. I knew what this all meant when I remembered the other detail I mentioned from his teenage years. The condition with his heart. If memory serves me correct, there was a large underground problem of sick persons receiving unapproved and illegal thermoelectric organ implants from unlicensed doctors around when we graduated from highschool. There were rumors that some of the most ill, destitute, and damned would go over the top and become entirely electric, but I never believed it. Dallas was a good guy, and I thought he would naturally know that he should avoid those sorts of things, but somehow, just somehow, I know that he must have received this surgery, and bought himself more years. I am furious to admit that this now has completely changed my perception of him, but I cannot help how I feel. It’s permanently burned into my mind. **But don’t you dare say that I murdered him**. It’s not me who’s at fault. You must understand, if my deductions are correct, then Dallas actually died several decades ago on an unlicensed surgery table.


“Do not be startled Tallfellow Halfling, you have come to wield two sentient weapons. I am Thrash, a short sword made of mithril, silver and gold empowered with a unique set of abilities. Accompanying me in your discovery is the poniard, Swagger.” “My name is Tanixx, Tanixx Wildfire. What do you mean by sentient?” “Both of your newfound weapons are able to empathize with you; feel and perceive your needs as well as form a mental bond. We can communicate with telepathy; it's what we are doing at this very moment.” “This is amazing! I have never had weapons like you two before. I heard of such things being possible and traveled with a few people that possessed similar weapons, but never been fortunate enough to own any. Own...hmm...is it proper for me to address you that way?” “Yes. We are honored to serve you in any way possible. Being all three of us are ethically, morally and spiritually aligned; we will make a fantastic team.” “I concur, Thrash. Your keen blade has runes and sigils artfully inscribed upon it, what are their purpose?” “Let me begin with my origin story and through this tale you will learn much about me. I was physically forged by a colossus. Then magically enchanted by the Archmage Karoth-Synn whose intent was to make artifacts that would help his party destroy the powerful lich prince, Abakiith Darkseid.” “Incredible, Thrash! What you speak of is mythical. Stories of Karoth-Synn and his eventual conquest over Abakiith and the lands of Nightwyer are told by bards and storytellers throughout the land.” “You are correct, Tanixx Wildfire. I was given to Dillon Longstrider, a Halfling with superior dexterity, much like yourself. Our appointed task was the destruction of any undead creatures that presented themselves as a threat while we penetrated the lands and lair of Abakiith. My ability to detect, deal formidable damage and provide a protective barrier against undead is some of the attributes Karoth-Synn imbued me with. I am also enchanted to give my wielder remarkable speed and quickness in battle. My razor-sharp edge can sever limbs and pierce or slice through all but the hardest of materials.” “You are truly an impressive weapon. Is there anything else you can do?” “Yes---I can dispel certain magics and cast a brilliant light in a radius around us. I can also provide invisibility against undead and speak with the dead. My rune covered, steel and silver scabbard will heal most of your wounds sustained in combat as long as it's in contact with your body.” “That's awesome! You're awesome! How is it I had the good fortune to retrieve you and Swagger from beneath the capuchin monolith on Obsidian Island?” “I have had several owners before you, Tanixx Wildfire. The last one, Maxum Dent, a human, who became lost along Alaadin's Cape while treasure hunting. Shipwrecked with a few others, they came across these monoliths and discovered each possessed a riddle which, when solved, revealed a command word allowing access to an underground labyrinth. For some unknown reason, Maxum concealed us in a wall compartment, wrapped in his cloak, beneath this very monolith base; he never returned. For many years we remained hidden, until you found us.” “Well Thrash, I want an account of all your previous owners, in time, as we adventure together. I'm sure you'll have many stories to tell over campfires.” “That I will, Tanixx Wildfire.” “Let me turn our communication over to Swagger.” ************ “It's a pleasure to be owned by you, I am Swagger, a poniard of piercing. My mithril steel construction was made by the same colossus that gilded Thrash. An important point Thrash failed to mention is how our sentient force is imbued from the plane of living energy then forged into precious metals by magic. Archmage Karoth-Synn summoned Thrash's energy from a complex living radiance that is dutiful and predominantly straightforward in its nature. I, on the other hand, am a bit more rambunctious than my short-sword counterpart. You will find me livelier and a bit more talkative.” “Livelier is a matter of opinion, Swagger.” “Ha! Ha! Hah! Do I note a touch of jealousy from you, Thrash? I am the more charismatic weapon you know.” “Whoa! Both of you can argue and I hear it inside my head?” “Yes, Tanixx Wildfire, but my sentient power supersedes Swagger's.” “Got it, Thrash.” “Continue Swagger, you were telling me about your abilities.” “Yes...the way I was forged, my blade has a very good chance of puncturing through all non-metal and most hard metal armors. Karoth-Synn inscribed my blade, hilt and pommel with runes allowing the possessor to decipher many languages, magical writings, riddles and most codes; you will find me very adept at finding patterns in words.” “You can read and speak Ancient Drow? Ancient Elvish? Ancient Dwarvish...” “Yes, and many others you will discover as we adventure together.” “Is there more to know about you?” “I have spell capabilities that allow me to imbue my possessor with detect magic, make powerful leaps and glide through the air. I can also produce light in a radius around us.” “That's outstanding and most helpful to a champion thief and acrobat such as myself.” “You will find my ability to adapt your body mass for adequate buoyant forces in the air or water are advantageous. Many times, I've helped my possessor float like a feather preventing death from a perilous fall or had them bob to the surface while swimming with a large sack of gold across a fast-moving river.” “Fascinating, Swagger! Most impressive! Does your scabbard offer healing like Thrash's?” “Not healing, but protection from poisons, venom's, toxins and the like. However, the scabbard must be touching your body to effectively work. Please understand, protection doesn't mean immunity. I have lost a couple of owners to creatures like the cobra naga and viper hydra.” “Geez, looks like you have lots of stories to share as well, Swagger. I haven't heard of either of those monsters.” “Absolutely---I tell my best tales during campfires.” “Tonight, you can begin storytelling. For now, I need you to read this ancient Drow inscription in this labyrinth's alcove.” “Sure. It's a riddle.” “What belongs to you, but other people use it more than you?” “Get ready Thrash and Swagger, to adventure further inside the monolith with me, Tanixx Wildfire, because I know the riddle's answer; my name.”


My life was perfect until I met the new boy in town. Summer vacation had just begun. When the seasons changed, our landscape transformed almost overnight, from crisp, cool blues and the spirited aroma of pine trees to warm ambers, pink skies and campfires wafting through the air. No matter the time of year, one thing stood true in Celestia; there was always a sense of cheer. Our slogan wasn’t “The World’s Happiest Town” for nothing. Everybody knew everybody, and we all got along like milk and cookies. The day I met the newcomer, I had been at the park. My three girlfriends and I all got strawberry ice cream cones and played tag in the spacious, flourishing fields. Just a typical, carefree summer day in Celestia. I was wearing a rosy-pink sundress and brown sandals. Annie had put my blonde hair into a french braid. We were picking flowers when I saw him. He was probably close to sixteen-years-old like me, and he was sitting on a bench, watching people walk by. I thought he looked interesting, tall with reddish hair and little speckles on his face. At one point he and I made eye contact and I smiled at him, as most Celestians do. A few minutes later he walked up to me when I was saying bye to my friends. “Hi,” he said. I waved. “Hello. You’re new in town,” I noted. He nodded. “I’m Opal.” I looked down at my fragrant collection. “Would you like some flowers?” I asked, holding out my newfound bunch. His eyes lit up, studying me with a sort of interest. “Thank you, Opal. That’s a pretty name. I’m Bryce.” A unique name, like mine. “Your name is very pretty as well!” I exclaimed. Bryce turned the color of a fresh beet, and smiled. He had a nice smile. “So, where do ya go to school?” he asked. “School? Oh, we don’t have that here.” He looked perplexed. “No school? I’ve never heard of something so odd. How do ya learn?” “There’s lots of ways. It’s all about the experience in Celestia. Those flowers you’re holding are called Taffy flowers.” Bryce held the flowers carefully up to his nose. “They smell just like candy!” he noted. “That’s because these flowers are special. My dad invented them.” I explained a bit about my father to Bryce, in case he hadn’t heard of him yet. My father, Lazlo, invented unbelievable things, things you wouldn’t believe were possible. He helped our town become what it was. We had special chutes that helped our mail get delivered almost instantaneously. Large mirrors at the mall showed customers exactly how an outfit would fit before they made any purchases. He was even responsible for the absence of school. With a monthly subscription, you could have “Intelli-yum” delivered to your door. These hard candies were somehow ingrained with an entire subject. They came in sour, tropical and cream flavors. Bryce found this fascinating. He started asking a lot of questions. Time seemed to fly by quickly. I shot Bryce an apologetic smile and glanced over at my friends who were politely waiting for me. “I’m sorry, I have to go. It was nice to meet you,” I said cordially, walking away. “Wait.” He grabbed my hand gently. My fingers tingled from the touch and I turned towards him; confused. I felt something strange in my stomach, something I think I had felt before but wasn’t sure. I didn’t know what to call the feeling. “Could we meet up tomorrow, same place? Maybe you could give me a tour of Celestia?” he asked bashfully. I was brainlessly counting the cinnamon-colored freckles on his cheeks, but then realized he was waiting for an answer. I smiled. His eyes were a clear gray, seemingly endless when I looked directly into them. That strange feeling came back. “Is that a yes?” he asked. I had gotten distracted again, and now it was me who blushed. “That is a definite yes.” “Great! How does four o’ clock sound?” I told him that was perfect, because my painting class ended at two, and we parted ways. That night I had my first nightmare. I usually only had one specific dream. I would be riding up a green mountain on a majestic black horse. This dream had a mountain too, except it was bare and covered in jagged rocks. I was running, then I tripped, right towards the dark abyss. My body jolted as I fell, trying to wake up, but I couldn’t open my eyes. Eventually everything faded to black until my alarm sang its happy morning song and I took in my pastel pink room. “I had a bad dream last night,” I told my parents over breakfast. My dad paused by the counter, his perfectly-stacked tower of toast teetering. He set it down on the table and peered at me through his thick, trapezoidal lenses. Mom just sat there with her usual calm smile, gently taking a bite of her pancakes. “A bad dream?” he repeated, “Did you remember to brush your teeth?” “Yes, of course dad.” I could tell he was gearing up into invention mode and that was because nobody in Celestia really had bad dreams. Another one of dad’s inventions, “Peri-Dream.” It prevented any nasty, ghoulish thoughts from entering your brain. “Hmm, that is curious. Did anything else out of the ordinary happen yesterday?” he asked, scratching his wild, long brown hair. I shook my head. Wait- “Well, I did meet the new boy, but I don’t think-” “New boy?” he asked, eyes wide. “Yes, his name is Bryce. He just moved here from...well, I forgot to ask where, but we’re going to hang out today so I can ask him then. He was very nice.” Dad looked perplexed. Mom continued to smile. “Oh honey, that’s lovely,” she said. Dad shook his head. “I don’t want you to see him today, Opal.” I nodded. I didn’t need an explanation. My father had reasons for everything he did. I never questioned it. “Since I’ll be free after my painting lessons, I can take a walk to the store and pick up some groceries for the house.” “Oh honey, that’s lovely,” Mom said. I tried to avoid Bryce, and did exactly as I was told. For painting class my instructor, Mr. Acrylic, had me construct an outdoor landscape. I decided to paint in the nightmare mountain, to see it better in front of me. When I stepped out to get groceries at five-thirty I saw him, walking in the same direction as me on the opposite side of the street. “Opal! Hey!” Bryce called, running over. “I’m sorry about today,” I started, “My dad doesn’t really trust-” I tried to think of a better way to word it and failed. “It’s okay, Opal. I completely understand. He probably thinks it's strange that some kid decided to move alone to a small, quiet town.” I shrugged. “He just doesn’t like not knowing things.” He nodded, like there was something he wanted to say but couldn’t quite construct. Bryce held my shoulders tenderly, struggling with his words. “Listen, Opal. You’re not who you think you are.” I stared at him, baffled. But the growing suspicion in my stomach wanted to know more. “I came here to rescue you.” “Rescue me? But there’s no danger here,” I laughed, attempting to reassure myself. “Haven’t you ever wondered why? Look around, everything’s perfect. Too perfect.” “I-I have to go,” I said quickly. “Your family misses you! And so do I.” I backed away. “I barely know you. My parents are waiting for me to come back with the groceries.” He nodded, defeated. “Think about what I said. Really look around. If you change your mind, meet me at the park tomorrow at five.” I walked towards the store, gazing up at the evening sky. I realized I had never seen it without a bright, blinding sun, even in winter. How did that make sense? There was no school here. Nobody grew older. My mom, she spoke the same line everyday. Why did she speak the same line? My friends...were all named Annie. How had I never noticed? I raced towards the grocery store. Everyone had matching, joyful expressions. Despite the massive selection, they all had the same groceries in their cart; milk, eggs and bananas. Dashing to the closest shelf, I picked up the only gallon of ice cream. My stomach dropped as the empty spot regenerated a brand new gallon. “The ice cream isn’t cold,” I said out loud. I found an associate and held up the container. “Excuse me, shouldn’t this-” They turned towards me with an overbearing smile, silent. It frightened me, and I quickly grabbed what I needed and left. I didn’t brush my teeth that night. The nightmare returned. This time, I heard tires screeching, like someone driving dangerously close to the mountain’s edge. I sat quietly at breakfast, my sunny-side up eggs smiling patiently back at me. “Everything okay, Opal?” Dad asked. I nodded. “Oh honey, that’s lovely,” Mom crooned. I held in my thoughts and took a bite of my eggs. “Delicious,” I squeaked. Dad looked leery. “Any more interesting dreams?” I shook my head. “All gone. I actually have plans to meet up with Annie like, right now, so I have to go,” I said, getting up from my seat and rushing to the door. “Opal, wait-,” Dad called, but I had already stepped outside. As soon as I did, I froze. Everything around me was made of miniscule squares. The house, the sky , even the bunny hopping through the front lawn was pixelated. I raced to the park. Bryce had told me to come at five, but if it was really an urgent matter, I hoped he would be there already. Thankfully, I was right. Bryce sat on the same bench he had occupied when we first met. Once he saw me, he jumped up and grabbed my hand, beginning to run. “What’s happening?” I yelled. “I’ll explain later, we need to go to my house,” he urged. I followed blindly. When we reached the little brick hut, I realized the inside was glowing green, and hesitated. He noticed my expression. “I’ve been working on this since I arrived.” “What’s inside?” I asked. “The truth.” Though I did want the truth, I was afraid. A familiar voice bellowed behind me. “Opal!” It was my father, racing towards me, concerned. “Let me just tell him-” “No, we have to go! Now!” Bryce shouted, pushing me into the house and slamming the door shut. Immediately, we were immersed in the green light, which prickled against my skin. Everything blurred, and I closed my eyes, feeling my mind drift off like I was falling asleep. My body shook as I gasped for air. Finally, my eyes flew open. For the first time in a long time, I was awake. My limbs thrashed in shock, immediately met with a searing pain, like I was being branded. Black wires ran across my body, inserted through the ends of my fingers and toes. How was I only now feeling this? A metal brace was wrapped tightly around my head. I screamed, but no one responded. I was trapped in a glass case, like a museum exhibit. In the distance, I made out the silhouettes of similar cases spread throughout the dark room. A large streak of light from the open door across from me caught my eye. I tirelessly loosened the wires on my fingers. Eventually I freed one hand, then the other, trying to ignore the blood running down my arms. I ferociously and repeatedly kicked the glass. My body was weak and nearly drained of energy but I pushed through. Finally, I heard a crack and glass shards rained down. With one more kick, the case shattered, but my head was still stuck in the metal contraption. Every time I tried to pull myself out of the helmet, my neck screamed in opposition. My fingers searched the outside of the case until they hit a small switch. I pressed down and felt instant relief as the helmet released my head. Amongst the blood, fresh bruises and glass that sprinkled across my body, I realized I was wearing a white sheet, like a hospital gown. Like a newborn deer, I stumbled out of the case, holding the edge to steady myself. The other cases were empty. Slowly, I walked towards the illuminated room. A giant screen stretched across the wall. My mouth parted in horror as I realized the image on it wasn’t a screensaver. It was Celestia . People I was familiar with strolled across, conversing. I felt nauseous, realizing that these people weren’t real. “What is happening!” I shouted. Tapping noises echoed from the corner of the room. Standing in a vertical glass case was Lazlo. Except this version of him was shorter and rounder. He still had wild hair, but it was white, and only present on the back of his head. Still, I recognized him by his trademark lenses. His eyes were closed, head attached by the same helmet I had been wearing. Only his fingers moved. They were attached to some sort of keyboard. I watched him type letters and numbers, forming codes at the top of the screen which disappeared as the environment shifted. There was silence as his fingers halted. His case lit up, and began opening. I stepped back as Lazlo came to life, untangling his bindings. “I see you’ve woken up,” he smiled a toothless grin. “Y-you kidnapped me,” I mumbled, backing up as he started hobbling towards me. He shook his head. “Oh Opal, only because I had no other choice. You were going to die.” He said this almost sarcastically. I stared back wildly. “Your dream of falling off the mountain was actually a real memory.” “What does that have to do with whatever this place is?” He chuckled. “You were walking on the mountain trail and must’ve slipped. I happened to be driving close by and found you wrecked at the bottom. Emergency services would’ve been too late.” He motioned to the screen. “Luckily, I developed a new technology, a virtual reality, if you will. During your comatose state, my machines worked on bringing back your consciousness while you continued to live.” “I woke up on my own,” I argued. “You didn’t do it alone, Opal. Unfortunately, there was a hacker involved. As soon as you came in contact with him the coding started to disrupt.” “Bryce saved me!” Lazlo sighed. “Opal, you stupid girl, the truth is, my machines saved you. My marvelous inventions! I am the world’s greatest inventor.” How long had I been inside of that glass case? I was afraid to ask. “Were any of the families real?” He shook his head. “We were the first human residents of Celestia. It was quite a success, I’m sure you’d agree.” My clouded memory was beginning to come back. “I was on the mountain that day practicing for my track meet.” He watched my expression carefully, holding a hand up as though to protect himself. “You drove me off the road.” The revelation sent me to tears. It felt good to cry again. His expression shifted, his lips curved into a simpering smile. “Do you understand what this technology can do for people? I’ve discovered a way to allow people to live virtually in the perfect world!” “You tried to steal my life,” I whispered. “I saved your life. In Celestia, there are no daily, mundane problems, no hardship. I even took away school!” It’s like he expected a round of applause, or a thank you. “You threw me off a cliff! You kidnapped me and wiped my memories so I could be your experimental puppet!” “Look at how upset you are. Wasn’t it better when you didn’t have these feelings?” I glowered at him. “Let’s forget this ever happened. I’ll remove these memories, get you set up in one of the other cases, and-” “No.” Lazlo looked shocked. I never disagreed with him in Celestia. Before I could move he grabbed me, with surprising strength for an old man. I screamed as he pulled me towards the other room, trying to push me into an open case. A loud, startling bang interrupted this. Lazlo suddenly released his grip on me, staggering backwards. Bryce stood behind him, wielding a rusty crowbar. “You found me,” I breathed. Together, we shoved Lazlo into the glass crypt, sealing it shut. I leaned into Bryce and we shared a kiss. “I’m calling the police.” “Wait. I have an idea.” When police asked me where I had been for four months, I told them I had suffered from amnesia and that my courageous boyfriend had gone to the ends of the earth to find me. My parents were overjoyed to have their daughter back, and I finally had my life again. Summer vacation has just begun. I excitedly throw on my favorite blue sundress, and give my mom a goodbye hug. “Have fun, text me when you get there!” she calls, watching me get into my car from the open window. Life isn’t as perfect as it was in Celestia, but I have never been happier. The drive took about thirty minutes. I pick out the proper key from my keyring and quickly open the door. I felt a rush as I descended the three flights of stairs into the basement. “Good morning, Lazlo,” I said cheerfully to the unconscious man in the case. I had installed a few chain locks around him, to ensure he wouldn’t be able to play any tricks. Giddily, I strolled into the viewing room and tied my hair back as I entered what once was Lazlo’s enclosure, attaching my hands to the keyboard. With a smile, I pressed the button to close my case.