Who Needs Romance When You Have True Love Surrounding You? Tree Town was not awoken by the lovely chirping of birds; instead a cacophony of ringtones and an additional, terrifying sound roused the town resident's from their peaceful slumber. “What the heck! Auntie Jane, am I seeing police...HERE,” shouted a dumbstruck Emma! Frozen in place, Emma glanced at her twin sister Charlotte. Did Charlotte feel as disturbed as she did over seeing a police car in person? Although they lived on Lush Island, an extremely isolated beach within walking distance of microscopic Tree Town, the teenage twins were not naïve. Written and visual media often featured both fictional and nonfiction depictions of police and crime. Indeed, Charlotte was also disturbed by the police; their car flew past the group with enough speed the car's wind knocked her down. Struggling to stand up, Charlotte sat on the sidewalk infuriated. “Yes Emma, a police car passed us. Be glad you were walking on the other side or you would have hit the ground! I know police are allowed to break the speed limit, however, I am certain running over people is against the rules! Honestly, WHAT'S THE BIG DEAL!” Exhausted, shouting at the empty street, imagining she was disciplining the police, comforted her until she temporarily lost her voice. Emma sat beside her sister, both observing their Auntie's reaction. Remembering she was the adult, Jane could not express her concerns. Simply seeing a police car should not bother her, she grew up in Bright City, where crime happened in nearby towns. Police cars were not a new phenomenon. Jane briefly left the teenagers sitting on the sidewalk. Curiosity regarding where the car might have gone overtook her common sense about watching over her godchildren. RING, RING, RING; Following the skid marks for a few minutes changed her feelings of mildly startled/curious into concerned. She did not need to follow the entirety of the route because there was only one place the police could stop. RING, RING, RING “Enough! Stupid telemarketers,” Jane muttered, finally hearing and answering her phone. Intent on hanging up moments later, Andrea's name was listed. The 'missed calls' list showed she called several times before giving up. “Andrea, what's wrong? I saw you called me several times, I'm sorry I did not answer sooner! I couldn't hear my phone. Be careful, I know this sounds odd, but the police sped past us, nearly running over Charlotte! Both girls are overall safe, don't worry.” Upon hearing Andrea's reply, Jane dropped her purse, many of the contents falling out. Typically an individual who is generally logical and calm, the panic in Andrea's voice actually frightened Jane more than Andrea's words. “Lord help me PLEASE! We don't need them ACTUALLY HERE! Long story short; Carl tried to abandon me, while I'm trying to keep him here! I must have hit 911 instead of you or one of the girls. We both shouted when they answered, telling them my call was an accident, don't worry about coming! Apparently, the authorities believe otherwise. If you are interested, I will explain further after the chaos has died down...” Her face pressed into the window, Andrea could not believe her eyes. Seeing their cars pull in and the sounds of the sirens blaring was frightening. Answering the door would cause further anxiety. As they knocked on the door, Andrea exclaimed, “Jane, they're here! Oh dear... They will probably want an explanation and briefly confirm no physical violence has occurred. I'm uncertain if you should bring the girls home or wait until later? Call you later.” Andrea answered the door, allowing the officers into the house. Carl was for all intents and purposes unaware and patiently waiting, watching his (soon to be former wife) behave like a lunatic in front of the police. The click of the phone ending the call symbolized the end of over a decade in love. Both were shocked by the police arrival; upon briefly investigating the couple and home, no signs of violence could be found. Thankfully, they did not charge the couple fees for wasting their time/resources. Relieved when the officers departed, the couple continued an argument which was doing nothing except wasting time. Carl was not going to stay, Andrea would not be easily swayed into accepting his unexpected departure. As an android, Andrea learned over decades the challenges of expressing emotions when combining visual and verbal elements. Although not regarded by her parents as a machine, essentially the wiring, gears, computer programs etc. which much of her body contained made her a machine. She could change her appearance at will and contained enhancements which made her almost perfect. However, hiding the scientific proof of the possibility of such a creation was required. Revealing her true nature might cause unsavory members of the scientific community to abduct and experiment on her. Even her closest friends and relatives were unaware of the truth. Andrea had no organic heart, yet she was not without the ability to feel. On this day she had no trouble 'blending in' with human society. As many humans often do during a crisis, she wore her 'heart' on her sleeve. For the first time in her life, she felt sensations of hopelessness and burning which might literally short-circuit her brain. Unlike the grief she felt upon her parent's deaths or the sense of terror when one of her daughter's was hospitalized, almost left for dead, her current condition might have been life-ending. As tears dripped down her face she nearly flooded the living room. The ocean's depths were but small puddles in comparison. Intellectually, she knew about ending a relationship. How humans managed to survive the trauma, often multiple times, of such ordeals when she, (frankly, a superior artificial being), was finally brought to her knees was one of most confusing thoughts racing through her mind. On the ground directly in front of Carl, Andrea actually kissed his feet. Shoving her aside, growing weary of her 'nonsensical' gibberish he yelled, “GET OFF ME! I don't know how many times I must repeat myself before you finally understand! Our relationship is over! If you're so smart it should be quite obvious why I must go.” His only visible emotion was of annoyance. 'Why won't she let me leave? What's the big deal,' were his primary thoughts. Continuing his blasé words, he did not even look into Andrea's eyes as he spoke. “I didn't want to do what I am doing,” Carl signed, “I love you so much, but I just can't take life here any longer.” His attempts at expressing sorrow were so pathetic he clearly was not trying. All he was trying to do was leave. “Why? I never saw any problems in our marriage? You never told me anything was wrong? Why not address the matter before running out the door, ABANDONING ME and more importantly, YOUR CHILDREN! All I want is the best for us and our family! I'm open and honest with you, why can't you be open and honest with me? I'm willing to change if you stay!” How she managed speaking clearly while sobbing was shocking. Fetching a pen and paper from the shelf, Andrea shortly realized she moved too quickly for a human. Even machines are imperfect; stress and lack of sleep caused a lack of concentration and will power. Writing with perfectly neat handwriting, tears spotted the paper. Wet spots aside, Andrea handed Carl a short, poorly written 'contract' with her name signed. She nudged Carl's shoulder, interrupting his thoughts; he read the paper with as much interest as a person reading the dictionary. “I Andrea (Houghman) Smith, will change my behaviors in_____ amount of time. If problems persist, the relationship can be ended.” The blank was negotiated between them for two weeks. Pulling teeth would have been easier. His suggestion of meeting to have an honest, heartfelt conversation in one year was too long of a wait. He scrawled his name illegibly on the water damaged paper only for him, at last, be permitted to leave the property and his life for at least two weeks. Hopefully longer he thought. Watching him drive away, Andrea realized he took almost none of his belongings with him. Only his lab coat, a few items of clothing and part of his computer were taken. Why take only the monitor and CPU, yet not the keyboard or mouse (which worked quite well)? Why take his other electronics, yet leave their chargers behind? Andrea had more questions instead of answers. As intellectually gifted as she was designed, none of her academic knowledge or previous experiences could explain the bizarre morning/afternoon. “What an idiot,” Jane commented, noticing the same detail. Jane generally believed life was a 'glass filled half full instead of half empty,' yet her optimistic point of view vanished as she heard the whole story. “Well he won't be back for two weeks and all I can say is how sorry I am for you and your children.” Not filled with joy, Jane was pleased he would be elsewhere for two weeks. She never liked him. However, if she wanted Andrea's friendship, she needed to act sympathetic. Anticipating an extremely long and detailed story from Andrea, Jane sat beside Andrea bracing herself. Provided with no other instructions, Jane arrived to Lush Island alone. Considering Charlotte's near death experience with the police car, Jane dropped them off at the local doctor's office. Upon being dismissed, they were instructed to wait there. Charlotte likely sprained or broke her ankle. The teens could walk home from Tree Town to Lush Island in 15-30 minutes without getting lost under normal circumstances. However, if they got lost that day, all they would need was the skid marks buried deep in the ground for a path home. 'Free at last, FREE AT LAST! Good riddance to the freak,' Carl sang, joy escaping his lips as he rolled up the windows and locked the doors of his empty car. Jane was right regarding Carl's lack of intelligence. He could not even plan a proper escape from his living Hell. He planned ahead enough to change his address, listing his residence at a friend's house. Weeks after the documents were processed he received no mail at the Lush Island home. Perhaps the complex process of changing his address made him forget the rest of his important 'home departure plans.' His best friend was a saint. Martin missed a day of work, although his income was minimal, because he was under the impression he would help Carl move his belongings on the day he left. He thought 'best friends generally help each other right?' Certainly Andrea knew because his items would be packed, albeit rather disorganized. Arguing wasted time which could have been saved if Carl just left a note while she and the rest of the house was asleep. Siding with your best friend is required, yet Martin felt Andrea had a point. He was almost as shocked as Andrea was regarding Carl's actions. Covering up his anger until he could roll up his windows, once on the road, Martin cursed both of them out for wasting his time and money. Perhaps he should sue them for lost wages. Witnessing this disaster changed his mind; being single is better. Couples have too much drama. Best friends should not keep secrets from each other, yet his true reason for leaving was beyond comprehension. Instead of sympathy, he would be given a tinfoil dunce cap, probably joining other 'crazy people' in an asylum for warped minds if he told the truth. 'How could he be so blind for over a decade? He should have realized sooner and avoided marrying her,' he thought. Apparently the program of study for a PhD of Genetic Engineering did not include 'Recognize Androids' classes. He was taught scientific theories and hypothetical designs for androids, yet they were nothing like Andrea. Reflecting upon his past confused him. She felt 'real'; casually holding her hand or the 'intimate moments' were as soothing as any human interactions. Her slightly bizarre emotional expressions, he assumed, were the result of a minor birth defect. Andrea was the most beautiful and intelligent woman he ever met. They shared many common interests and he eventually proposed. Never would he believe androids existed, nor consider the possibility Andrea was an artificial creation. Everyone assumed they were a perfect couple and would last forever. Learning the truth instantly made him panic; he wanted a human not a machine. He was living her lie and could not handle the stress any longer. He crumbled into grains of sand at the thought of staying. Being strong enough to protect his wife and daughters by keeping her secret never crossed his mind. Nor would he find the courage to tell Andrea the truth. She had no idea he knew. Andrea could not literally change herself. Although there were challenges being an android, if magically given the option, she would decline becoming a human. Through no fault of her own, she lost her true love. Nothing good lasts forever Andrea learned from this heartbreak. As sympathetic Jane was, thankfully, their other best friend, Mia, was unafraid of speaking the truth. Via a video call from New York City, an outraged Mia screamed, “GOOD RIDDANCE! The man is such a coward for hurting you and your family! I know you want words of sympathy, however, hearing the truth often prevents any further damage. You've seen what lying can do! His habits of constant lying over even minute issues, until an explosion of problems results sets an extremely disgusting example for your daughters! He was bringing you all down with him. Impressionable teens need strong role models; he was weak! You need a man, not a boy!" Realizing Andrea needed more support and less insults, Mia changed the subject, stating, “I have an understudy... I could probably convince the director to let me leave for a few days... I would invite you, Jane and the girls up to NYC, however, Romeo and Juliet is not the Broadway show you should see at this time.” “No, you shouldn't loose your job because of my problems, I hope you and the cast all 'break-a-leg' Juliet. I can't wait for you to come home, I'm sure the girls want to hear all about the life of a Broadway actress.” Ending the video call with Mia was one of the hardest tasks Andrea completed. Mia could always be relied upon if you wanted an honest opinion. She and Jane both agreed with each other regarding Andrea's (soon to be former) husband yet Andrea was incapable of grasping the concept. Everything reminded her of him regardless of the situation. Was everything negative her fault? Finally, how would she explain the recent development to her daughters? Emma and Charlotte were teenagers and had friends who's parents were divorced; intellectually the concept would be understandable. Could they accept such changes in their lives? So many questions regarding the ending of the relationship filled Andrea's thoughts. One point she could not question was the strength of her daughters. All the commotion distracted Andrea and Jane. The world was turning upside down when the normally careful adults forgot about Emma and Charlotte. Was Carl's influence effecting them? The twins did not need two horrible parents! The doctor's office assessed Charlotte's ankle and other injuries free of charge because the police cause the injuries. He would bill them; an extremely bold move. Hopefully, he would not get arrested for his complaints. Eventually the doctor's office closed and the girls asked to leave. Receiving no answers from their mother or Jane, they took over an hour to reach home. Emma supported Charlotte as she limped. They were determined to return home versus spending all night on the streets. Entering the house, the twins crept behind the sofa, the creaking of the floorboards unnoticed by Jane and their mother while they eavesdropped. They missed the beginning, however, the main points were quite clear... their father abandoned the family without warning, broke her mother's heart, Jane was afraid of leaving Andrea alone and her mother's inevitably long explanation of the day's events distracted them. Behind the sofa they would hear more of reality; her mother's absurd actions would be censored when speaking with them. They would also be discouraged from speaking ill of their father, regardless of his actions. Having heard enough of the conversation, the girls decided they ought to surrender and let their mother know they knew the majority of the disgusting truth. Normally, the girls would have been infuriated with their mother and Jane, however, given the situation, they put aside their anger. Their mother needed love and compassion instead of conflict. No longer did they admire their father. Emma, as per usual, was the first to speak. “Surprised we survived being abandoned at the doctor's office? Charlotte and I supported each other and reached home alive. As your family, we will always love and support you mother. You will make the journey away from him, finishing alive and thriving. We, unlike father, will express our honesty and reveal we've been sitting here for about an hour and heard the majority of the story.” Charlotte added, “There is no point in censoring any information regarding his inexcusable behavior. Be glad I don't know which of the numerous curse words to describe father. I'll save time and simply say he is the largest combination of each degrading term Satan is a kind soul compared with father!” They stopped venting, and hugged their mother and Jane so much their organs nearly burst from their bodies. With daughters and best friends who loved her, she would endure the long processes of recovering from her first heartbreak. How she would resolve her dilemmas she did not know...Not Just Yet.


was founded on the unpretentious principle that the short story cannot be allowed to go extinct. There has to be a new way to reinvent the craft, the art, and keep it fresh in the heart of the reader... The IntShoWriMo Blog will feature at least three writing prompts each day to reduce the stress on the brain while searching for 30 short story prompts during the 4-week exercise. You get to choose what kind of story you write with this shot at variety. IntShoWriMo which stands for International Shorts Writing Month is a short story writing adventure where participants actually, sit down (or stand, your choice) to create never-before-written 30 short stories in 30 days. You are officially invited.


Chapter 1 The not so great Jimmy “I will live on!” Were the final words I spoke before my vison disappeared and there was nothing not even the color black, then suddenly I woke up and found my surroundings were strange to say the least. Numbers 1-180 were colorful and laid out in a pattern across the walls obviously being some sort of unfamiliar magic I was not accustomed to. There was an area in a room around maybe thirty feet away with shapes that were also colorful. Gods black hands! I could see again clearly as if I were in my youth again! I must have not kept my dialogue to myself because a giant of a woman came up to me. “Jimmy? Is everything okay? Do you need to use the little boy’s room?” Who the hell does this beast think I am? I am no Jimmy I am the great Edward capable of bringing the dead back to life, I am the one who makes the holiest of priests turn from there god and get on their knees to kiss the floor I stand on. I am he who commands the shadows, the dead and everything else that is dark. No one calls me by another’s name and gets away with it. I reached for my magic, O there would be a great- “What in the seven hells! It’s gone!!!!” I said in a squeaky voice not recognizing it to be my own. “Jimmy!” The startled giant said. “Language!” “Where did my power go wench! Tell me and your death will be quick and painless!” The giant did not seem to be in fear of my unusually squeaky voice and instead the look of surprise, shock, anger, confusion and many more shades of emotions went on her face and she was silent for a long moment. She starred at me for an uncomfortable amount of time and picked me up as if I was an infant and carried me off to who knows where. I kicked and thrashed and then I went limp when I realized my hands they no longer were darkened by age, they were tiny and no longer bared the many scars from years of battle and I realized that I was a child once more. I was set down in an area with a fence of some sort that was not made of crude metal but instead was vibrant in color and seemed to be made with a material I had no knowledge of. This was not good I thought, I needed to get my books and see if I could figure my situation out. “Jimmy? Where did you learn that naughty language?” I quickly reacted knowing that she was oblivious to the fact that I was the great wizard that brought down empires, I had to blend in with the sheep be a wolf in sheep’s clothing if you will. “Ms. I’m sorry I said such harsh atrocities to you, I give my deepest apologies.” I bowed my head sickened to think I was groveling to this inferior- “Jimmy your pronouncing your English so well! When did you learn all those big words?” She said in an excitable voice mixed with praise. “I’m so proud of you big man.” Proud? No one has ever been proud of me. A warm partially sickening partially unknown feeling went through my body making me feel something I’d never felt before. “May I borrow one of your books from your library Ms., It doesn’t have to be about sorcery it can be about the land or maybe-” She handed me a thin book still to big for my tiny hands and it had drawings of animals from the forests that looked to friendly to be real and had the common man’s tongue written on it. “All the forests creatures with you and I” I read out loud confused by the riddle. Apparently, I spoke out loud again because this excited the what I am beginning to suspect adult woman and brought more praise out from her mouth making me want to vomit mixed with that weird sensation again. Why was I a child again? At the end of the day I learned a lot about my new environment, the adult woman that lectured me on what was known as bad words was called Ms. Hoffman I also learned that apparently I have parents once more, which surprised me considering my Father had been dead for almost fifty years and no amount of necromancy could bring back a guy that had his soul ripped apart by a never ending void. A loud fast clanging noise which was dubbed the school bell immediately made all the other children react by forming a line at the door. So, they did have magic after all, and it seemed to be one of the darker forms meant for manipulating the weaker minds in doing things for another’s gain. I pondered what the reasoning could be to make children line up and then it clicked they must be preparing for war by training there susceptible minds at an early age. Someone tapped me on the shoulder interrupting my thought process, I whirled around to find it was the teacher looking down smiling at me. It was weird she didn’t smile in a condescending way it seemed almost genuine. “Jimmy? Are you going to line up with the rest of your classmates for recess?” I didn’t want her to know that the spell she had put on the rest wasn’t working on me, the last thing I needed was to battle another’s mental power while my magic was basically non-existent. “Ummm yes I will join my classmates in your recess.” I stood in line nervous knowing I did not know how there drills worked, I didn’t even have enough magic left to do a simple vail to keep me hidden. My heart pounded and I followed in the back of the line watching as another adult lead us to my possible demise. Okay so I was expecting some sword mastery drills or hand to hand combat or maybe even some team exercises in taking down enemy camps with non-magical combat technics. Instead I was lead outside where all the children burst into laughter and screaming and ran as fast as they could to objects that I did not have to foggiest clue on what they were. “Jimmy? Aren’t you going to play with your friends?” I looked around and saw several enormous castle-like structures in the distance all looking similar in color. “Mavra, Jackeal or one of my many other foes must rule now.” “Oooo are those your arch nemesis Jimmy?” The teacher asked kneeling down with a grin and a twinkle in her eye. She must be one of my enemies top recruiters or maybe even one of their top soldiers although I could not sense any magic pulsing from her body, it was possible she had trained herself in the perfection of hiding her powers, if that was the case I was up against a truly worthy adversary. After adjusting to the scenery outdoors and going back inside to cut out shapes and glue them to outlines and labeling them, my body felt strange it took me a few moments to place what this feeling was and I realized it was tiredness from the apparent long day my body had endured. I hadn’t had to go to sleep in twenty maybe thirty years. There’s a certain point of a wizard’s life that we no longer need to sleep. It feels annoying to have to go to sleep again, in a way sleep it was its own sort of spell that nature put on the weak. I closed my eyes and laid my head on my desk passing out letting my body recover. I was awoken by one of my classmates saying something along the lines of it not being nap time yet and I shook the child’s hand away from my shoulder a sleepily told him or her to leave me be. This apparently didn’t work and encouraged the little brat to double down its annoying tactics calling me childish names and got my blood boiling. “Would you kindly fuck off you little shit.” Silence went through the room all eyes were on me or in my general direction. “He said a potty word.” A little boy uttered to his classmates. I was about to say something quick witted when my hand was grabbed by a much bigger hand and I was firmly yanked out of my seat and lead by Ms. Hoffman to the colorful gate again and put in it. When she spoke, she had a seriousness to her voice that was probably supposed to frighten me. “I’m calling your Father this instant young man and we will be talking about your use of bad words.” My heart dropped down to the pit of my stomach, my Father when I was young was not someone to take lightly when he was angered. The last time I angered my Father I received a beating and whipping that I would never forget. I didn’t want to be put back in the dungeon. Tears welled up in my eyes and I began to sob knowing I was going to get punished severely. After Ms. Hoffman called my Father in the most bizarre way with no circle, blood or candles my Father showed up and walked into the room. He was not my Father. My Father was thin and frail, short with little hair and was pale white like a living corpse that had been recently resurrected. This man was the total opposite. He was chubby, with a thick black beard and he towered over Ms. Hoffman like a mountain would to even the tallest of trees. His presence had no darkness and even standing here now knowing very well that this man could end me if he wished I knew he wouldn’t by the energy he was giving off. “Son come over here please.” Please? When was the last time I heard the word please in a sentence that was not someone begging for their lives? I walked over to the giant man feeling relief that I would not be dying today, and I looked up at the man’s face. I was met with a disappointed look like someone looking at a dumb dog that had shit on their favorite rug. His enormous hand engulfed mine and I could feel the roughness of his hand like they belonged to a carpenter or a blacksmith and not the hands of a wizard. He said something to Ms. Hoffman about how he was going to take me home early and the rest of the conversation was lost to me while I let the questions in my mind swirl around endlessly. The man took me away from the place that Ms. Hoffman was stationed at and my jaw dropped when I saw the thing he was taking me to. The closest thing I could think of that even partially resembled the thing in front of me was a carriage, except this had no horse and it was shiny like a silver coin in the light and it was just so magnificent. “What is this?” I asked pointing to the horseless carriage. The man claiming to be my Father looked down at me with a confused expression. “What this?” He touched the carriage with his index finger. “It’s our car.” He said looking at me as if he just found out I had fucked the neighbor’s goat. “I thought I already taught you what this was?” “Uh yah I’m sorry I must have just forgot what it was called.” He starred at me some more. “Son are you feeling alright?” “Yes, Father I feel just fine.” Hearing a bizarre sound, I looked up at the sky and saw a bird like structurer flying higher than the highest mountains, streaming something white like smoke behind it. One thing was clear now, now more than ever, I was no longer in my home world. I was either put under a spell and my mind was now drifting in this bizarre world of wonders or the other scenario that I had died in my previous life and one of the many gods had reincarnated me into this world. One thing was for sure, dream world or reincarnated life it did not matter the only goal I had was getting back to my world and killing my enemies once and for all. I’ve fought high priests that had the wrath of there God behind them, I’ve fought rogue warlocks that made the very air crackle and pop with electricity from there sheer will power and I once even tamed the great four headed hydra that devoured entire villages near the ocean in a night. All of that in mind and I still had my heart leap into my throat when I went from waiting for the horses to arrive to moving faster than I have ever went in my life. Fucking teleportation for the first time is less frightening then being in this beast. It took all my will power not to scream, no you know what scratch that I don’t think I could have screamed even if I wanted to, but hey I learned something fancy and new. I found out that seatbelts are required because it is the law. Gods must have sent me to one of the seven hells because I hated this with all my black heart. We finally got to our destination and I got out of the car with a nervous tick that made my eye look like I was trying to wink at whatever was in front of me. My trauma from the ride soon melted from my mind when I looked at the enormous castle that stood in front of my very feet. Gods. I thought to myself my family must be as important and rich as my last family. My new Dad held my hand and walked to the entrance of the castle and I was disappointed by the small size of the door, then I realized that maybe this world had no need for enormous doors like I was use to. We made are way up the creaky old stairs, and I saw dozens of wooden doors each with a number on them. We got to a door that had the number 017. My excitement went out the door and I felt less sure that this was a castle and had suspicions that we were instead in an Inn. The door opened and the room turned out to be more cramped then I previously feared. “O my god I’m in a commoner’s family.” I whispered to myself not caring if anyone heard me. I wallowed in self pity before I was interrupted by a pleasant feminine voice calling out my new name from a not so distant part of the room. A woman no older than her early 30’s came into view with the with the most beautiful shade of red hair that I had ever seen, with a black dress, rosy pink blush on her cheeks and smelled like she just got done baking a custard of some kind. Maybe Apple flavor? “There’s my little man!” She said in that pleasant tone again and swept me up like a doll off the floor and kissed me all over my face and proclaimed me to be so sweet that she could eat me up. I didn’t know how to feel about that but sensing she had no ill will towards me I chalked it up to be a metaphor that I was not accustomed to. She put me back down gently on the floor and embraced and gave my new Father a powerful seductive kiss that seemed to put the poor man into a trance. Lucky bastard got a hotter wife than I could have ever dreamed of, but on the bright side she seemed like the type of Mother that I’d dreamed of when I was a young boy starving in the fields of Tarahost. If I had to live in a commoner family until I made my way back to my world than this was not such a bad start to my temporary new life.


#Welcome to Roundtable Thursday! Writing is so much fun, but it can also be very challenging. Luckily, there are so many other writers out there going through the exact same things! We all have unique skills and areas in which we excel, as well as places we’d like to improve. So I’d like to present a brand new weekly feature. This will be a weekly thread to discuss all things writing! And... to get to know your fellow writers a bit! Each week I will provide a topic and/or a few questions to spark discussion. Feel free to chime into the discussion in the comments, talk about your experiences, ask related questions, etc. You do not have to answer all the questions, but try to stay on-topic! *** #This Week’s Roundtable Discussion Now that 2023 is right around the corner it’s time to start thinking about your writing goals for the new year! Is there a new genre you want to dive head first into? Or do you have bigger goals such as writing a book or having your work published? Whatever writing goals you have for 2023 we’d love to hear about them! #Reminders - **Use the comments below to answer the questions and reply to others’ comments.** - **Please be civil in all your responses and discussion.** There are writers of all levels and skills here and we’re all in different places of our writing journey. Uncivil comments/discussion in any form will not be tolerated. - **Please try to stay on-topic.** If you have suggestions for future questions and topics, you can add them to the stickied comment or send them to me via DM or modmail! *** ###Subreddit News and Happenings - Come practice your micro skills on or experiment with long-form writing on - You can also post serials directly to the sub! Check out for more information.


There once was a mouse. A little yellow mouse. There once was a man. A red man. Angry, but a silent man. The yellow mouse dreamed of sailing The Big Sea. He wanted to sail to the end of the Sea and touch the setting Sun. The red man wanted to scream. But whenever he opened his mouth, nothing would come out. The yellow mouse was a glass half full kind of mouse. Life treated him all right, and he treated life the same way. Not a lot of ups, but not a lot of downs either for this little mouse. The red man had a big head, which kept getting bigger and bigger. He wanted to paint but didn’t know how to. He tried learning it, but it made his head swale up. The yellow mouse saw a fairy once. She told him the secret to life. The red man saw a doctor. The doctor ran tests and told the red man about a new experimental treatment for head reduction. The red man applied for the treatment. The yellow mouse worked at a restaurant, near his house, for as long as he could remember. He was good at the job, and he got great tips. The red man couldn’t keep a job. Every job made his head bigger, and his skin redder. The yellow mouse was a single dad. His wife left him some time after giving birth to their twin boys. He loved them very much, and they loved him very much as well. The red man had two ex-wives and no children. Relationships made his head inflate like a birthday balloon. The yellow mouse had a friend, who was a doctor. The doctor was also a Big Sea enthusiast, and they would talk about it for hours on end. The red man started the therapy. The doctor would hook up tubes, going from the red man’s head to a machine. The machine would then transform thoughts into shapes, patterns, and colors on the monitor. For the first couple of sessions, there was only random big black lines and awful color. The yellow mouse was saving for a boat all his life. Even though being a single dad, and getting his kids through school and college, every month he would put money into the savings account. The red man’s head kept getting smaller as the treatment went on. After a while, the lines made shapes, and color started to fit those shapes. The yellow mouse had four more years until retirement. By then, he would have saved enough money to buy the boat and sail The Big Sea until he touched the setting Sun. The red man didn’t feel like screaming anymore. He marveled at the objects being painted by the machine. He sometimes even cried. His head shrunk to an almost normal-sized one and even his redness started to go away. The yellow mouse became yellower as the years went by. But, in a short amount of time, he rapidly became very yellow, almost orange. So, he called his friend, the doctor. The doctor ran tests and got the results. Sadly, there was no cure for the yellow mouse’s disease. The now regular-sized head and a fair-skinned man was done with the therapy. He thanked the doctor and went directly to the art shop. He bought himself a painting kit, and after coming home, immediately started to paint. The now pale-orange mouse kept getting weaker. After a while, he couldn’t do his job anymore. He stayed at home, watching television and sleeping a lot. And he dreamed about The Big Sea and the Sun. The ex-red man saw a fairy. She told him the secret to life, but he already knew that. When he finished the painting, he went and gifted it to the doctor. The mouse was now bedridden. All the money he saved up went to the medical bills. His sons would take turns taking care of their old man. Sometimes, their wives and kids would come and help as well. Seeing all of them made the mouse happy. One evening, there was a knock on the door. It was the doctor. He went upstairs to see the mouse. The mouse noticed that his friend, the doctor, had a strange look on his face. The doctor was holding a painting. The doctor talked with the mouse for a while, and then, tore the wrapper and showed the painting to the mouse. The mouse cried, and the doctor cried too. The room was filled with all possible emotions. It was the most beautiful painting of The Big Sea the mouse had ever seen. There was a boat at the end of the Sea, and there was a small, black mouse, stretching his arms and legs, touching the setting Sun. The mouse finally stopped crying and smiled, as his soul reached the Sun.


“Thank you, Vanessa,” said Clyde Brackenbaum from the anchor chair, hollow brown eyes filled with two white dots coming from the studio lights behind the camera. He did that turn all anchors do; that gentle spin when you duck your head to the side just a touch and bring up the left arm, letting the right palm slide across the polished wooden table with grace. There was nothing gracious about this man at a first glance, but what he lacked in beauty, he made up for in charisma. “Now, this just in, we’re receiving a breaking news report from Santa Fe, New Mexico,” said Clyde, cheesy white teeth freshly flossed under his lips greased lip balm. “Brace yourselves, America. Our continent is finally splitting apart. Here’s Grace Welch with the report.” The camera cut from the relaxed image of Clyde to the uncomfortable picture of Grace with her hair frizzy from the wind. Her seat in the helicopter gave the camera a splendid view of both her and the county thousands of feet below them. She smiled and cleared her throat before speaking. “Thanks, Clyde,” said Grace into her headset, with a paper-thin voice that was hard enough to hear without the feedback of the pounding helicopter blades. “We’re floating a good height above Santa Fe right now, watching the Divide happen right before our eyes. You can see below us, the drift is now almost complete, the actual earth splitting our nation into two pieces.” The nation was certainly splitting. The camera view switched from that of Grace’s cameraman to the one attached to the bottom of the helicopter. Sure enough, there it was; the Divide, as it was being called. Cleft down the middle of the good-ol’-US-of-A was a deep gash in the earth, like those long incisions surgeons make for open-heart surgery. Water from the Pacific was already seeping through the middle, flooding the channel as the continent continued to split gently like pulling each end of a piece of warm taffy. “Having already broken apart from Mexico, as well as dividing New Mexico into two pieces, The Divide heads up to Colorado, destroying what used to be the Rio Grande Rift, then takes a sharp right, coming up through the top left corner of Nebraska, severing South Dakota in two and shaving the very most corner of Minnesota with it. The Divide will end up in Winnepeg, splitting Manitoba’s largest city almost in half. In only a couple of hours, the entirety of the US will become two separate continents, but still united under one branch of government.” “How is it over there, Grace?” Clyde asked offscreen. You didn’t have to see him to know that he was smiling. “Oh, it is sweltering here, Clyde,” said Grace, flapping the front of her blouse. She blinked furiously as beads of sweat rolled from her forehead. “The temperature is definitely in the one-hundred range here and it’s only March. Sources tell us that this summer will be the hottest we’ve seen yet. But the air up here isn’t as bad as it is below.” “Well, we all will pray for rain when you come back!” said Clyde. Grace laughed without sincerity, disgusted by the pit stains seeping through her shirt. “Thanks. The Divide still proceeds to split at an impressive rate. Only time will tell when it’s over. More updates to come. Back to you, Clyde.” “Thank you for the update, Grace,” said Clyde, the camera returning to his spray-tanned cheeks. “As the crisis of continental drift arose two years ago, the Federal Relocation and Housing Association was founded, now successfully relocating over seven hundred million families. Our gratitude goes out to the men and women who have reached out to those in need with their helping hands. Now, let’s hear from Dave Manbera about the big game this season and how the Divide might affect your Super Bowl party. Dave?” ___________________________________________ The Divide split the United States of America in 2042. It’d be useless saying that anyone saw it coming because who really did before it was too late? It seems like the world took a turn for the worst when 2020 rolled around. Sure, it was a rough year for everyone, but the moment we started saying “2021 will be better than this year”, shit started to hit the fan. It’s hard to say where it all started, but there were certainly a lot of factors in what lead to the Divide. Everyone has their own narrow opinion as to what caused it. Racial injustice brought the Divide upon us! Sure, this could be argued. After the George Floyd incident back in 2020, after the protests and the riots, and after the election, the fighting didn’t stop. More innocent black people were slaughtered by cops and white supremacists, leading to more violence, renewing the cycle once more. It all culminated in a large three-day riot that came to be known as Black Wednesday, not only because of the fight against the injustice brought to our dark-skinned brethren but because the air was heavy with lead emitted from the guns fired that day. There was so much lead that the sky started turning gray as if a storm had rolled in threatening to rain bullets. It stuck to our skin, in our eyes, and into our clothes. Cop and anarchist fired at each other like the Constitution didn’t exist. A body count of almost six thousand was tallied after the small war came to its dramatic conclusion. Nonetheless, the people won and white supremacy started to recede as the phrase “We Bled Lead” became a symbol of black empowerment to remind us of the victory. No one who fought that day is a saint, but that’s definitely one of the only times we can say violence -kind of- solved the problem. So, racial injustice led to the riots, riots lead to battle, the battle led to bullets, which led to lead, which polluted our air. So, sure. Racial injustice brought the Divide upon us. The President brought the Divide upon us! The President could also be argued for causing the Divide. After a long argument with his cabinet about expanding the country due to overpopulation, our nation’s leader decided it was high time to destroy our entire ecosystem, pillaging our forests and farmlands for industrial benefit. Housing projects replaced long green plains studded with trees, new cities being erected in valleys and mountain ranges. You’d be surprised at how well some of these cities actually turned out, but the cost was too great. The waste ended up everywhere, overflowing into the ocean and what remained of the natural landscapes. Street corners and city outskirts overflowed with dumpster loads of trash and plastics. By our president’s decree, every city was given permission to erect massive dumps almost as large as the cities they belonged to, allowing us to throw our trash there and forget about it. Forget, we did not. The emissions and backup from the rotting piles became existential, radiating into our air and polluting the waters and lands surrounding them. Agriculture became scarce, farm animals almost extinct by 2035. Food scientists cranked out a few food alternatives, some of which succeeded there for a while, but like always, it was never enough for the people or it didn’t last. Most of the time, it was both. So yes, you could say that the President’s issuing of further urbanization ruined our nation’s landscapes with deforestation and the abundance of garbage coming from the dumps continuing to pollute the surrounding environments, ultimately speeding up global warming to where continental drift needed its own speed limit, definitely could have advanced the progression of the Divide. The wrath of God brought the Divide upon us! This could also be true, yes. Perhaps, if there is a God -not that there’s doubt- he found our behavior and treatment of one another appalling and decided to give us a good old-fashioned lesson by splitting up our nation; quite literally. That’ll show them he’d think as he snapped his fingers and watched the continent break apart inch by inch. Maybe he was tired of seeing us beat around the bush and finally decided a split in the nation could eventually kill us off, issuing in a new phase of humanity that possibly held more promise. So, sure, the wrath of God certainly could have brought upon the Divide. In truth, it’s a culmination of everything. The hatred, the lead, the urbanization, and probably even God. All of this going on and the Earth said Fuck it. That’s enough. Though it doesn’t seem like much, the division of our nation certainly changed things. By the time 2040 rolled around, it was already too late to do anything about it. The Divide was coming and scientists didn’t know how to stop it. There is no stopping it; it’s the Earth. Mother Nature doesn’t give a fuck about the human race and will throw anything at us to be at peace again, peace being a world without us. So, doing what humans do, we fell into a panic, worried that it would bring upon “the end of the world”. It certainly felt like it with all of the unrest. That’s when the FRHA rolled in. The Federal Relocation and Housing Association was founded in early 2040, putting all the nation’s attention to the Divide and their plan to work around it. Their idea was to relocate all families that sat on either side of the Divide, knowing where it would arrive through seismic surveys, sonar readings, all that shit. Finding that it branched from the Rio Grande Rift was a huge advantage for us, but there was still the issue of time. Two years, the prediction that was eventually correct, was the amount of time we had before the country split. That’s a considerably small window, but surprisingly quick to the punch, the FRHA helped build even more cities and towns for those situated on the Divide to relocate to. There’s never been a bigger example of collaboration between all sorts of Americans in the entirety of world history like that of the build-up to the Divide. People flooded into Sante Fe, Denver, Lincoln, Pierre, Bismark, and St. Paul, the capitols of the states that’d later be referred to as “the Divided”. With a lot of manpower came lots of new buildings and new capitals as the old cities were left behind. The Divided states were either left abandoned or reinvented themselves; North and South Dakota, what remained of them on the western side, just became Dakota, the remaining piece on the eastern side absorbing into Minnesota. Nebraska had some choice words about that but ultimately lost the bidding war over the land. The Divide came and went rather smooth, actually. The ground shook and everyone around the world watched from their televisions or laptops as the remnants of abandoned cities and highways sank deep into the newest passage for the Pacific Ocean. It actually happened: the nation “indivisible, with liberty and justice for all” had finally divided. The people of the US, even those who had to relocate, didn’t throw too much of a tantrum, the drama eventually dying down for a while there. It wasn’t until questions about proper governmental systems surfaced when people started to panic again. Being that our nation was split into two factions due to pollution by our hands, the people started to question whether keeping our current governmental system was the right call. It seemed like the head honcho in the White House was calling the shots and they certainly weren’t the right ones; look where they got us so far. So, seeing the need for a fresh set of eyes, and with a little rewrite on some of our favorite American documents, our nation somehow saw fit that having two presidents, one for each side but still reigning under the banner of “The United States of America”, was a good choice for our country’s future. The western half and eastern half of the nation were named appropriately and the new age of America was born. Naturally, human beings have this instinctive urge to take and keep, like the little kid on the playground who doesn’t want to share the swing or hogs the monkey bars, especially the one that won’t let his best friend play with his favorite toy. Our two leaders, who started off so cooperative you’d think they were in love with each other, started bickering about fair shares and resources. The damage to the environment didn’t go away after the Divide happened. From Eastern America came hurricanes, and lots of them. Being pushed further east, the waters raged back at the land, engulfing damn near all of Florida and its neighboring states. In Western America, the opposite was happening, the droughts coming strong and relentless. Water was scarce from California to even Washington. The demand for drinkable water was one of several points being argued over when the presidents would convene, along with food supply, land rights, administrative choices, and cheap shots at their appearances. Unhappy with their share of land and limited resources, Western America, in secret -trust me when I say barely anyone knows how it was pulled off- found a way to sail to Eastern America, sign a treaty with four states on the coast, and get them to help steal seven massive ships harboring millions of cases of water imported from other countries. Needless to say, Eastern America was not enthusiastic about this when they found out. It was then when the two continents declared themselves their own country, Western America dubbing themselves the “United Coast” and Eastern America rebranding their name to the “American Circle”. Also, you know what happens when the lonely kid takes away the bratty kid’s toy, right? It becomes a tantrum-fueled war. The Continental War of 2051, it was called. A whole war fought over stolen cases of water. Hell, if you were thirsty enough, you’d fight someone for a bottle of Dasani, too. The war brought certain unpleasantries. Alaska and Hawaii seceded from the United States, declaring themselves free nations. Unhappy with this, the United Coast decided to target them along with the American Circle. Folks who felt they were on the wrong side of the war, or just didn’t want to get caught in the crosshairs, tried leaving their respective country, only to find that their presidents closed their borders, demanding everyone who could fight to do so. It didn’t take long for the actual fighting to commence. Missiles and tanks and ships and planes, oh my! Ground forces were deployed before anything else, most vessels meeting at sea and sinking one another before actually making it to land. Those few weeks were heavy with the stench of copper, sulfate, and lead. All the while, the summer had never been hotter, not a cloud in sight overhead. No rain, no snow. Just the sun and the burns that came with it. Those who didn’t die from the actual war died of exhaustion, roasting in the sunlight as the battle waged on. Starvation and dehydration complimented malnutrition and pollution sickness, half the forces for the American Circle collapsing within the first week. Seems the water heist proved helpful after all. But all things must come to an end. The United Coast won the battle after a heavy bombing on the eastern coast of the American Circle. As far as we know, their president died in those great, orange mushroom clouds. The chaos seemed to blossom with the fallout and the nation fell to shambles, remaining that way to this day. All that’s left is a forgotten land half arid and half-swallowed by the ocean. The United Coast didn’t turn out any better, those few who survived the war trying to keep afloat with what limited resources they had left. Ultimately, they suffered the same fate as the American Circle, dying alone and without reinforcement from other countries. Those other countries didn’t want the land once the American nations killed each other. Deeming it “cursed” or “foul with the scent of blood”, the rest of the world just chose to simply ignore it, leaving the continents to rot with their environmental fallout. Still, the rest of the world suffers from the United States’ pollution, the garbage still soiling the water and the emissions still lingering somewhere in the atmosphere. They face their own environmental problems, but they still do their best to prevent replicating the fate of the United States. Some scientists have discovered through more seismic readings a few more minor cracks underneath the earth, daring to split Russia and finish the crack already planted in Africa. They’ve nothing much to worry about though... so long as they remain undivided.


It's the same dream as usual, I’m at my father's funeral, everyone is crying except for me. The old man and I didn't always get along, but I figure that's more so a problem for Dr. Nygard. As they begin to bury the casket the screaming starts, the same slurred threats he used to hurl at me when I was a boy. However, the thing that wakes me is the snap of his belt, I always knew what was coming when I heard that belt. I lunge off of the pillow and just like always, nothing. Nothing except the pale white glow of the streetlight illuminating portions of the room. Despite my apparent solitude I can’t help but feel like someone else is with me. I know it's probably nothing, but I always find myself watching the corner, almost as if something has lodged itself there in the dark. I don’t see myself getting back to sleep tonight. The morning after the dream is always a struggle. It feels like being a kid again, trying to make it through a school day after one of dad’s “rough nights' '. Yeah, sure dad, that's what we’ll call them. You spent 3 hours kicking the shit out of me, but you're right, just a rough patch. Time slows to a crawl, my thoughts lingering on my father's screams. “Do I scare you, Hiram?” a question that as a child always brought me to tears, “I’ll give you something to be afraid of, you little bastard!” That's as far as he usually got before he began to kick my teeth in. No chance I’m making it back to sleep tonight. The rain pelting the window and sporadic flashes of lightning cause the shadows to dance across the room, I watch hoping that the movement helps me drift back into sleep, but I know it won’t. “Alright dad” I sighed and rose from the bed. Reaching down to the floor I blindly grab one of the dozens of pants that never made it back to the dresser and make my way to the door, making sure to grab the half-finished bottle of Jamison on my way out. The dark and rain hide the road as I drive but at this hour traffic is sparse so knocking thirty minutes off of the two-hour drive was fairly easy. I pulled the key from the ignition and reached for that half empty bottle, I open the car door, the cool of the night air and the sharp sting of the rain pelted my skin. Approaching the gates of the cemetery I begin to lose my nerve, that deep impenetrable darkness interrupted by only the sudden flashes of lightning closely followed by the rancorous roar of thunder, it was every horror film I had ever seen condensed into one moment. I tilt the bottle back and drink, the warmth of the whisky fills my chest and quickens my breath. Placing my hand on to the cold steel of the gate I slowly push it open, there's no light, nothing to illuminate my path, but still I know the way. Making my way across the gravel walkways I gaze down at the gravestones, the sporadic flashes revealing the names on the crumbling granite tablets, I can’t help but feel that they are watching me, the eyes of the dead glued to my skin as I interrupt their rest. Nearing the end of the path I come to a stop, the lightning flashes and the sky booms as I remove the top from the bottle. “Hey Pop” my voice barely rises above a whisper. I swig from the bottle once more and kneel by the stone. It’s old, the epitaph barely legible as years of neglect have left the stone nearly completely eroded, running my hand across it causes large chunks to shear off and fall away into the wet grass. “Yeah, you don't look too good, but I’ve seen you worse.” I place the whiskey bottle next to the stone subtly gesturing towards it. “You're free to have some if you'd like, I remember how much you loved it back in the day.” The tears are beginning to gather just behind my eyes, I can feel them trying to escape all gathering together in hopes that the dam will finally break. I choke them back; he doesn't get the satisfaction of seeing me cry. Not anymore. “You know I’ve never forgiven you, everyday I’ve thought about all the shit you did to me and mom. I hated you with every ounce of passion I had.” I stared only at a dark silhouette of his gravestone but in front of me, I saw that emaciated drunk, his hair thinning and whisky in hand the sweat pouring from every pore on his body, the thin smile he wore when he would fall into one of his drunken stupors, it was that smile I saw best and it was that smile I hated the most. “Almost 30 years you’ve been gone, and you haunt my every waking moment” I run my hand across his name on the stone and watch as the granite falls away. “No more, you don’t get to torture me anymore, I’m not that helpless kid I was then and you're not the monster I can’t run from” Picking myself up I look down on the stone one last time. “You're just a crumbling stone and a faded name now, you can keep the bottle, consider it a peace offering.


Finally. Though the sun’s brilliant golden rays shone down on the city below, an occasionally bitter wind continued to rustle through the leaves. It was easy to find a patch of sunny warmth, but the disturbance of the frigid wind made jackets a necessity. Cora didn’t mind, though. From beneath the light beige of her thin spring jacket, the knee-length skirt of a sundress patterned with pink roses flared out. Her pink ballerina flats walked her daintily across the muddy grass, each step light and delicate, filled with purpose. Her arms were outstretched to the sides, unconsciously seeking balance as she took these slow and deliberate steps, a wide smile on her lips. Behind her, Cora’s mother and grandmother walked with less care and purpose. The elderly matron of the family, Florence, wore a practical set of brown leather shoes and she worried not about the impact of the mud. April wore sneakers; even though Cora had grown up, married, and flown the nest, the lazy practicality of a busy mother suited April, and she found herself lounging around the house in yoga pants and t-shirts more frequently than she liked to admit. “Do you think they’ll have that silly photo op they had last year?” Cora asked, looking over her shoulder at the others. “Remind me again which one that was?” asked Florence, furrowing her brow as she gazed ahead at her carefree granddaughter. She remembered being young. She remembered having long, flowing golden curls that fluttered about in the breeze, just as Cora’s were doing right now. Cora was more like Florence than April had ever been, and it made the old woman miss the days of her youth. “One of those thingies, you know, with the cut-out holes we put our faces in? Last year they had a bunny, a chick, and, uh... I think it was a lamb, perhaps...?” April laughed. “It was a lamb,” she confirmed. “Yeah! It was perfect for us because it had three spots, so we weren’t missing anyone and no one got left out!” Cora chimed, smiling widely. “I just hope they have pie,” mused Florence. Up ahead, the sound of music could be heard. It was a light, whimsical melody, carried by the chilly wind. As soon as the sound filled her ears, Cora all but jumped for joy, her brown eyes lighting up. “We’re almost there!” she called over her shoulder to her mother and grandmother. “Do you think she’ll ever stop being so excited?” Florence asked, glancing towards her own daughter. “We do this together every year. You’d think she’d be used to it by now.” “She’ll get over it once she’s got kids of her own,” said April. “There’s nothing quite like lugging a stroller and a screaming toddler through the mud to bring you down to earth.” “Ha! You weren’t much better, you know,” teased Florence, reaching over and poking April’s arm. “Guys! Hurry up, we’re almost there!” hollered Cora. “When did she get so far ahead?” grumbled Florence, squinting to make out her granddaughter’s shape. Sure enough, just as Cora said, the local spring festival was visible up ahead. Banners in pale shades of pink, green, and yellow adorned the lamp posts in the park, and though streamers had been strung up in the trees, many seemed to have torn or flown away in the harsh wind. In a few spots, loose streamers dangled straight downwards, thrashing about each time the wind came by in its attempts to carry them away. Cartoonish signs had been posted around the park, and each little booth or area was clearly marked with what appeared to be a hand-painted sign in the same pastel shades that made up the rest of the decorations. “I swear, this city gets cheaper and cheaper every year,” grumbled Florence. “It’s like they didn’t even try!” “Oh, come on, ma, it’ll be fine,” said April. “It’s not about how much they spend on it, it’s about having fun together.” “Sure, sure,” scoffed Florence, continuing forward with her daughter as they made their way towards the festival. Cora was far enough up ahead that she’d finally stopped to wait for them, since going any farther would defeat the purpose of visiting the spring festival with her mother and grandmother. The pair finally caught up to her, and Cora did a little twirl once they were all together again. “Look at that pretty flower arch! We should-“ “Ooh, pie!” Cora blinked her brown eyes in surprise when her grandmother cut her off, turning so she could follow her grandmother’s hungry gaze. “Grandma, that’s the pie-eating contest,” giggled Cora. “Do you think it costs much to enter?” asked Florence. “Ma?!” asked April, looking over at her in surprise. “Since when do you enter eating contests?” “Aren’t you the one always telling me it’s never too late to pick up a new hobby?” teased Florence. “Those pies look great. I’d love to show these whippersnappers a thing or two about eating pie.” As if on cue, a young man standing near the long table of pies gently rapped his finger against a microphone. The tapping sound filled the immediate area, and Cora flinched a bit at the feedback that followed it. “Ahem,” started the man. “Last call for the pie-eating contest! Next contest will be at 2pm, last call for the noon hour pie-eating contest! Only five tickets to sign up!” “Ooh, let’s go get our tickets so grandma can sign up, honey!” April said, grabbing Cora by the hand. “Ma, go wait for us by the contest area. We’ll be quick!” Cora nodded her agreement, and then she took off with her mother. They had some time to spare so her grandma didn’t have to wait another two hours to have some pie, after all. The pretty flower arch would still be there in twenty minutes when the contest had ended, after all. Neither April nor Cora had expected Florence to win the pie-eating contest, so neither of them found themselves surprised to see that she did not. What did surprise them, however, was hearing the judge announce her as the third-place winner. Both women couldn’t help but to clap and cheer as Florence went to take her ribbon, delicately dabbing at the corners of her mouth with a napkin as she rejoined her family a short distance from the table. “Ma, I’ve never seen you eat like that!” said April. “What can I say? Old age has been kind to me,” laughed Florence. “That was great, grandma!” said Cora, clapping her hands together. “Why don’t we go check out that really pretty flower-“ “Oh, ma, look over there, isn’t that Mr. Barker? I didn’t know he was back in town,” said April suddenly. Both Florence and Cora looked in the direction that April was looking, and a grin spread widely across Florence’s face. “It is! I didn’t know he was back, either. Come on, girls, let’s go and say hello.” “What about the flower arch...?” asked Cora, looking longingly in the direction of the decorative archway that had caught her attention. “It’s not going anywhere, honey, come on. Let’s go say hello to Mr. Barker,” said April. “Well, all right, but let’s go over to the flower arch after that,” said Cora. Neither April nor Florence responded. Both seemed in a hurry to go and greet Mr. Barker. Cora didn’t really know Mr. Barker that well, but followed along after them anyhow. He and her grandmother had been next-door neighbours for many decades. He had watched April grow up, and then he’d moved out of town when Cora was twelve, citing a need to stay with his son and daughter-in-law due to rising health and safety concerns with regards to living alone. She felt a bit awkward standing there while her mother and grandmother chatted away with the older gentleman, greeting him politely when he addressed her but saying nothing more. After at least ten or fifteen minutes of conversation, Mr. Barker politely excused himself. Once again, the three women were alone together. Cora opened her mouth to speak, wanting to suggest that they head over to the flower arch, but her mother once again cut in. “Look, they’re opening up the petting zoo,” said April, pointing. “Look at the bunnies!” “Oh, how cute!” agreed Florence. “It looks like they’re still getting set up. We could go check out the flower arch first and then the bunnies, maybe?” Cora suggested. “They should be ready any moment, I think. Let’s go and be first in line!” said April. “No, we should go to the flower arch,” said Cora, a little more insistently now. “Cora, honey, the flower arch isn’t going anywhere. We can take a picture after-“ “No!” Cora stamped her foot on the muddy ground, frustration bubbling up and spilling from her like a pot boiling over on the stovetop. “I’ve been trying to get us to go over to the flower arch since we got here! It’s not about taking a picture, I know it’s not going anywhere, but I saw it and I thought it was so pretty and I thought it would be really nice for the three of us to all be standing under this pretty flower arch when I tell you both that I’m pregnant like I’ve been waiting literally weeks to do, but every time I say anything about the flower arch you keep getting distracted or interrupting me when all I wanna do right now is go to the flower arch!” A silence fell over the three women. Cora’s dark eyes went wide as she realized just how much she had blurted out. With a little whine, she brought her hands up to cover her face. “Cora...?” “That was supposed to be a nice surprise,” moaned Cora disappointedly. She felt her mother’s hands gently come down on her shoulder. Lowering her hands, Cora looked up to see her mother’s bright blue eyes absolutely shining as she looked at her. “Cora, you and Robbie are having a baby?” asked April. Her lips were curved upwards into a thrilled smile, and tears already seemed to be welling up in her eyes. “I’m going to be a great-grandma?” asked Florence. “Yes,” Cora said, nodding. Tears were filling her own eyes, too. “I’m sorry. I was so excited to tell you, and I wanted everything to be perfect.” “But honey,” said April, “everything is perfect. The three of us are all together, we’re enjoying the spring festival... any moment today would have been the perfect moment.” “Your mother’s right, honey,” Florence said, stepping forward and placing a wrinkled hand delicately upon her granddaughter’s back. “You don’t need some fancy flower arch to give us good news. As long as we’re all together, the moment is right.” Cora sniffled a bit, a couple of tears freeing themselves of her eyes and trickling down her cheek. Despite her tears, there was a smile on her face, and she opened her arms to hug her mother and grandmother. “I love you guys,” she said. “We love you too, honey,” April said, nestling herself comfortably in the group hug and smiling with delight. “Very much,” Florence agreed, nodding. “And we love your baby, too, dear. Even if I am too young to be a great-grandmother.” All three women laughed, and after a moment, the group hug came to an end. Each took a small step back so they could look into one another’s eyes once again, allowing them a moment to regroup. “So, do you want to go take a picture at the flower arch to remember this moment?” April asked. “Nah,” said Cora, shaking her head. “The moment’s passed.” “We should go get ice cream,” said Florence, grinning proudly. “It’s like six degrees out, ma,” said April. “So?” asked Florence, shrugging. “We just got some amazing news. I’d say that calls for celebration.” Cora nodded. “I’m with grandma. Ice cream sounds pretty good right about now.” “Sure, says the pregnant one,” laughed April. “What about the festival? There’s still a bunch of stuff we haven’t had the chance to do.” Cora smiled, shrugging a bit, and then a devious smirk came to her lips at the opportunity to hit her mother back with her own words. “It’s here all month, ma,” she said. “The festival will still be here after ice cream.”


W While I nodded quickly typing, suddenly there came a tapping. As if someone gently rapping, rapping underneath my keyboard. “Some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my keys-” “Shut the fuck up!” spoke a small man on a latter peeping through the W key. He wore an orange hard hat and vest over a long white shirt and black tie. “Why hello,” I uttered quite startled by his appearance “am I bothering you, sir?” “The absolute nerve of this guy!” he yelled below the W. Followed by an eruption of cheers and laughter. “This dipshit wants to know if his typing is bothering us? You know what pal; no, you go right ahead and keep it up. We absolutely ***love*** when you do that shit. It’s not like a giant finger constantly pounding over your head hurts or anything.” the small man began to slowly climb back down his ladder. H Half a minute after the small man descended into the W once more, I sat to ponder the metaphysical consequences of small people in my key. The entire reality in which I had lived was turned completely upside-down within a moment. And when that minute was up, I continued my task. But no more than a letter was finished when there came a small man through the H key. “Hey, asshole!? What the hell did I just tell you!?” the small man spoke, skipping the nicety of a knock. “Hello sir, I had made a clear effort to avoid your W.” I smiled, assuming the confusion had been settled. “Oh thank you that makes me feel so much better. No fuckface! You keep drumming those sausages and we’ll have some issues! Keep your fucking shit to yourself we’re trying to sleep!” and with that, the small man shuffled down his latter once more. I I sat, staring at my keys. Looking for all clues to the uninhabited characters. When my eyes passed over the letter I my fingers reached to connect my thoughts to paper when the small man popped out. “You fucking piece of shit what the fuck are you thinking!? Three fucking times I’ve had to tell you to stop I’m fucking tired man!” a crowd groaned from under the I “I’m sorry sir, I was not aware you people were so prevalent in my keys?” “You people!?” he leaned back, and a loud gasp was brought after from the small people in my keys. “I apologize. You have my word I will not make any more strokes. Your home is safe from my creative process.” I reached my hand for him to shake on our deal. “Oh, so now that you know we’re here you’ll behave yourself? You know what, no! Fuck you, you judgmental piece of shit. Fucking type you mother fucker!” his face grew red. His crowd seemed to agree. “I just thought that-” “You just thought that what? We’d settle for your middle-of-the-road fairytale compromise? No act like a fucking man and type you piece of shit!” “But you said-” “Oh, so now that I’m calling you out on your bullshit you care? No, I ***want*** you to type. So, you can know just how much of a fucking prick you are!” and with that, he slammed my I shut. I sat thinking for a moment when. “I said fucking type already!” the small man called through the L. And so, after a quick reread of what I already wrote, I continued. ***While I nodded quickly typing, suddenly there came a tapping. As if someone gently rapping, rapping underneath my keyboard.


“She’ll hang by her freakin’ balls!” The sixteen mercenaries she’d sent to kill him met that fate too, so it wasn’t an idle threat when Lance swore that his own mother would perish. He chugged his ale and slammed the tankard onto the table, forming a crack across its wood. His sword stood unsheathed beside him, blood dripping from its edges onto the open wounds of his latest kill. She was growing more desperate to finish him off. He still didn’t understand, but he understood enough as he stared down all the faces gawking back at him. To send a woman into a crowded bar during daylight, seduce him, and try to stab him in public, though? That epitomized cruelty. One by one the faces cowered. He snickered. He was getting good at this. Lance picked up his sword, left the appropriate amount of gold on the table to cover the costs of wood and corpse removal services, and left. The city of Thead was smothered by the high heat of summer, the sky colored crimson as desert dust wafted through. He glanced in the direction of the walls to the east, travelers coming and going, those coming more threatening to him by the day. Any one of them could be out to kill him. He masked his face with his bandanna and disappeared into the alleys behind Main Street. Thead was a city erected around a deep underground station. The desert in which it was built was too unpredictable for daily tasks, so the founders dug tunnels. And those tunnels forked into other tunnels, which forked into marketplaces, banks, homes, and everything else you’d expect to find in a major city. Electricity was flowing all day and night to light the routes. And, somewhere in the depths of the underground pit city, his mother was waiting, a knife in one hand and a concealed knife in the other. He was four years old the first time she ordered a hit on him. A boy approached him, a couple of years older, and asked to share toys. Lance was so glad to have the opportunity to make a friend, growing up alone with no siblings and no father. His mother was a soldier of the Queen’s Contempt, an order of troops thought to carry out Her Highness’s secret, merciless agendas. So he often spent his time alone, never learning to read nor write, but only to wait and play. He was thrilled to have a boy his age talk to him at the playground. Someone was watching, though. Someone he did not know and never met again. Lance named the boy Hits in his memories. Hits made flying sounds with his wooden dolls and tied capes around their necks, turning them into superheroes. He ran around the playground, making earnest effort to enjoy time playing. Lance was too young to suspect foul play as Hits ran out of the playground and into the busy city, talking to hooded strangers. Hits returned from one of those ventures with a knife concealed in his sleeve. He charged at Lance, the caped doll tight in his hand, then dropped it, revealing the knife behind it. Lance was confused, but it did not last when Hits started slashing at him. He cut through Lance’s sleeve on the first strike, leaving a scar the length of his arm. Hits bared his teeth and growled at him, then licked the blood off the knife. “I’m a present from your mother,” he said. Then an arrow pierced his neck. The boy fell dead onto the tiled playground and, when Lance turned, saw a cloaked figure being subdued by local guards. A bow fell from his belongings, and he never saw the person again. Twenty years passed since that day. The second attempt came nine years later, after Lance was old enough to register for military training. He’d hoped the lessons would bring him the discipline and guidance he missed from having suitable parents. And, with the assassination attempt always lingering in his mind, he thought weapons training would benefit him. And he excelled. So, when another young man his age approached him with a raised sword on the training grounds, he already had the skills and alertness to make quick work of killing him. He gained fame in military school and, with that, came more assassination attempts. Eight have come in the last year. And so, he battled with the question, why did his mom want him dead? Often, when his mother would come home from work, she pummeled him with the blunt side of her weapons. Taking himself to the playground and spending the day there seemed the safer choice. Until he met Hits. Perhaps that is also why he excelled with weapons training - he already had enough exposure to garner his interest! His mastery followed. He abandoned his military training. If fame meant more promotions, and promotions meant fame, then he didn’t want his mother to learn about him. He spent some years above ground for a time, but those efforts, too, were futile. She proved that she was going to find him no matter what he did. He sheathed his bloodied sword and took his first steps into the depths of Thead. Forgetting her was not a choice for him. She was not going to forget him. She had the money to pay the finest swords and best detectives to ask for the whereabouts of her “missing son.” He was going home today, a thought which sent goosebumps from his head to his heels. The main market at the bottommost level was busy with its usual activity. Vendors were barking at passersby, hoping for a sale. Construction workers were lugging metal rods shaped like the letter I on their shoulders. People bumped into each other and didn’t apologize, their eyes locked on their destinations. Lance disappeared into another alley. There, he entered a local tailor’s shop and plucked the finest looking clothes from the shelves, sight unseen. His mother was not the most important knight of Queen’s Contempt, but her stature was high enough that a man in shredded clothes would draw much attention lurking around her office. He dressed in the darkness under some blown out light bulbs. He emerged in the bustling city again, with a different pace and posture. He crossed the least busy streets and made his way toward Sabtacks Keep. The keep was built of a shining material the builders called presentium. It had a dark, obsidian color up close, but a reflective, sparkling surface when viewed from the city. It was an abundant compound, and quite sturdy as well. The keep aged two hundred years without a crack or loss of luster. Sentries manned its grounds, archers it walls, and eagle-eyed scouts from lookout towers high above. Lance snuck in without issue, knowing all of their movement patterns. He didn’t know where his mother worked, but he guessed it was nearer the top of the castle. He remembered that recruits were kept on the first floors. And he saw young boys, worn and beaten just like him, as he passed through the shadows. He reminisced and wished them well. Lance was also familiar with the next few floors. Soldiers and their dormitories occupied the floor above the recruits. The captains and sergeants had their offices and rooms above them. The dining hall was on the fourth floor, and would be easiest to navigate now that lunch was done. Above that, though.... He shivered. That was all unknown. So, when Lance climbed the final step onto the fifth floor, he crouched and peeked around the wall. He was in a dark hallway. Traces of light from the fourth floor were bright enough to reveal light bulbs along the walls. Yet, none were lit. There was a room across from him, with a glass door and glass windows. The lights within were also off. He squinted, eager to catch the slightest hint of what might be inside, but reasoned the fifth floor was an infirmary. And an inactive one at that. But, don’t soldiers get injured all the time? Something moved behind the door. Lance was thankful he hadn’t moved since he reached the top of the stairs. He squinted again and held his breath, laser focused on the shadow that moved within the shadows. He resumed breathing after a minute, certain his imagination took hold of him. Something behind the door growled. And then, it banged on the glass. The windows shook. Lance jumped. The ground moved a little too, enough for Lance to feel it in his legs. He gazed deep into the shadows, unable to see through the darkness. Bang! This was more forceful than the last. The windows shook again. Lance looked harder, and thought he saw orange, polygonal eyes staring at him. He escaped up the stairs next to him to the sixth floor, the growls and banging on the glass more fearsome now that he was moving. His heart trembling, he peeked upstairs. He wanted to move fast because, now that something was making so much noise so close to him, he needed to flee from it. Voices approached him from the hallway below. He saw the nearest staircase was on the other side of the sixth floor. The sixth floor was quiet like the sixth, but it wasn’t an eerie quiet. It was a sophisticated silence and, looking around, Lance saw office suites. Men and women in fine silk suits strode around lugging large, hard covered books in their arms. They were bookkeepers, but there were others in white gowns too. He did not know who they were. He entered while crouched, hiding underneath walls, as the voices below him grew closer. He saw two men in armor asking the workers on the sixth floor questions as he crept his way up to the seventh. The seventh floor led into a well lit hallway. This was decorated with swords, shields, and axes on its walls. He did not see movement from either side of him, but he needed to traverse his way around until he found the next flight of stairs. He stayed low and tiptoed as the voices under him crept closer. He started left. He passed by many large wooden doors, many of them lit from the cracks above the floor. Traces of voices trailed into the hallway, but he could not decipher the words. He thought he recognized one voice - his mother’s friend Leslie. And Leslie was also a member of Queen’s Contempt. He was getting closer, should his guess be right. But, a pair of voices echoed from the end of the hall, and Lance was forced to leap behind a crate as they turned the corner. He crashed into it, causing it to slide an inch. The voices stopped, their eyes scouring ahead for movement. They continued their conversation after a moment, and Lance crawled into a vestibule behind him. One of the voices was elderly, and he heard the sound of a cane clapping into the hard floor. She was saying something about new responsibilities to other, who remained quiet. But he recognized her voice when she spoke. Then saw her , as he peered through the vestibule. His mother was a short woman with brown hair. She had an average build, but it had grown some since last he saw her, eleven years ago. She kept her hands folded behind her back. The older woman with the cane spoke about things the Queen wanted her to accomplish, most of which involved killing. Lance’s heart leapt from his chest. Doubts pillaged him. Could he really kill his own mother? Would that make him any better than her? How could he do it when she wasn’t even alone? She was a knight too - could she best him? Had he come all this way for nothing? He remembered the corpse he’d left in the bar. No. He didn’t have a choice. He rubbed his cheek, the last place she’d ever hit him, then exhaled a deep breath. Sooner or later, she would catch him. Lance emerged from the vestibule and followed them. The armored guards from the sixth floor found their way upstairs, along with some white coats too. So, he spied his mother entering a doorway on his right, and disappeared into an unlit room. He stepped back into the hall, once he was certain all were gone, and marched up to his mother’s door. He reached for the handle. There’s no turning back if you open this door . He shook his thoughts away and opened the door. His mother was sitting at a wooden table, staring out of the window across from her. She had just finished wrapping a blanket around her as she sat down. Lance closed the door without a peep. He took two steps inside when she stopped him. “I thought I heard you outside.” He stopped and thought to leap behind the couch next to him, but she turned and looked at him. She snickered, then turned her back to him. “Come to kill me?” Lance did not answer, but he did reach for his sword. His mother stood and walked up to him, her shoes clapping against the floor. “But, you should know something. We are not allowed to have children in the Contempt. The Queen would have killed us both if she ever found out about you.” That did not make sense, then. She should have killed him as a baby. “So,” she continued, “go ahead and kill me then. I won’t stop you.” She grabbed his hand which grasped his sword, drew it, and held its point to her throat. “If this is how you repay your mother after all the years of life I’ve given you, then go ahead and kill me.” She closed her eyes. But then she opened them again, two seconds later, glaring at him through her eyebrows. She turned her back to him again and stepped away. “You could ask her, you know. The Queen is right upstairs.” She took her seat facing the window again and did not look at him. So, the Queen’s Contempt were not allowed to bear children. Was it true? How could he know for sure? Something he knew about Queen Cerim, though, was that she loved killing so much, she assembled a group of skilled women to murder anyone that displeased her. She called that group her Contempt and the people lived in fear of Her Highness. Lance disappeared into the hallway, silent as a spider, and found his way upstairs. The eighth, and topmost, floor of Sabtacks Keep opened into a grand court. Stone pillars supported the vaulted ceiling, some thirty feet over his head. Torches were burning along the pillars, more for an effect than a need. A throne stood on a dais fifty feet across from him, shining with hues of presentium, gold, and jewels. Queen Cerim sat upon her throne, beckoning him forward. “Come forward, young man.” Lance obeyed. Sweat formed upon his brow as he crossed the blazing torchlight. Beads rolled down and into the corner of his eyes, burning them with salt. He wiped them dry with the back of his hand. “I know you,” she said. She relaxed back into her throne, astounded. “You are that talented young boy that disappeared from the military school some years back.” She uncrossed her legs and opened them wide in her throne. “Tell me, how did you learn such skills?” Lance detected a sarcastic inflection in her voice. And, he guessed that she wanted him to look between her legs. He grabbed his sword, but it was already too late. Someone’s heavy hand landed on his shoulder, and a sword protruded through his chest. He spat blood everywhere. He turned and swung, his hand still tight on his blade, but his mother batted it away like a balloon. The sword clattered to the floor. She caught his head and eased him down to the ground. He watched her smile from the corner of his eye as she stepped over his body and approached the Queen. She knelt before her. “I’ve gotten rid of an age old nuisance,” she confessed. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it sooner.” The Queen remained silent. “We encourage you to breed with our knights to sire strong offspring. None of the others in my Contempt are callous enough to kill their own children.” Cerim cackled. “You deserve that promotion.” Lance spent so many years away from his mother that he forgot how manipulative she was. And there, in the Queen’s court, she finally got the best of him.


It is Monday, August 6, 1945. It is approximately 8:00 am just a few miles outside of Hiroshima, Japan. Hitsugaya Kuchiki is rushing out the door of his home because he is running late for work. Ever since the war began, those unable to serve in the Imperial Army have been forced to work at the many factories and farms that support the war effort. Hitsugaya is just one of the many older men forced to work at the factory, even though he is against the war. As he kisses his wife, Nami, she pleads with him to just stay home today. “I have a bad feeling “she states uncomfortably. He embraces her and says, “You know I can’t my love, I’m surprised they haven’t already come knocking at our door.” “I love you, please be safe,” she says. One last kiss runs out the door, unknowing of the impending doom his eyes will befall in a few short minutes. Walking at a brisk pace, he still can’t help but admire the quaint beauty of his town. It is a beautiful summer morning. The smell of salt water and flowers fills the air. The streets are already bustling with his neighbors and countrymen. As he turns onto the main road to his factory, there is a sudden, brilliant flash on the horizon. The time is approximately 8:15 am. Hitsugaya shields his eyes almost instinctively. A second or two screams by followed by a deafening roar. Hitsugaya falls to his knees as he feels a rush of force and hot air entomb his body. 15 seconds pass, breathing, he is still alive. “What the hell is happening?” he thought, almost screaming in his inner voice. As he opened his eyes, his heart fell through his feet at what he saw. The city that he admired, the city he grew up in, had been reduced to flaming rubble. He ran towards the city center, “surely there must be survivors that need help” he thought. After what seemed like an eternity, he came across a soldier who was being aided by other victims. The man was severely burned. Although Hitsugaya could see the soldier, just a boy of maybe 18, was hurting and just as scared as the rest of them, he decided to approach him. “What happened?!” Kuchiki shouted. In a strained voice, the soldier replied, “The *Gai-jin (which is Japanese for a person not of this land, slang used for Americans in the Second World War)* dropped a new bomb on us.” The radio call for an air raid had gone out just minutes before the Little boy had fallen from his crib. Hitsugaya was stunned. “Just one bomb did all of this? One bomb had wiped his hometown from the face of the planet?” he thought. “How is that even possible?” He knew at that moment that if the United States, the gai-jin, possessed this type of terrifying power, the Empire did not stand a chance and would surely lose this war.


My childhood friend had met his star-crossed lover suddenly on his way back from California in the unbelievably romantic setting of the coach section, in the 747, where he sat adjacent to *her.* It was only fitting, that after his graceful flirtations with her that he invited her to accompany him back to his humble abode. Back at his apartment he took on the very important role of an honorable host. As an opening welcome, he shared with her the very writings on his heart, splashed into a poem, which he proceeded to enchant her with. What he would depict as a sweet melody that caressed her ears, I would more appropriately describe as verbal diarrhea. The reason why I can speak so intimately of this experience is because my dear acquaintance did not know that moments before he arrived, I had already reached his apartment and let myself in. He must have forgotten in the midst of his love haze, that we had planned on me coming out to visit for the week. Once in the upstairs guest bedroom, I overheard the entire seduction process carried out. As I wait silent with my face pressed against the open vent that was spewing out every word spoken right into the drum of my ear, I began to hear shuffling down below. The sound of my friend lowering himself to one knee was made. I heard him utter four words that I could never in all my life think of being spoken to someone, I assume, known for all of about 12 hours. I rushed down the steps and flew into the living room to find a celebration consisting of laughing, hugging and one wink from a precious rock attached to a golden hoop. As I finally process everything before my eyes, I notice who is standing before me wearing the newly gifted ring. I looked at him, then her, then back at him. The absolute shock carved into my face demolished any chance of lying when I stuttered, “Congratulations.” It was as though one eight hour flight, travel to the apartment and a small conversation had absolutely erased an entire six-year process that surmounted to nothing, as my friend, ex-fiancé and disheveled self all stood speechless exchanging confusion, excitement and surprise in silence. I had no other words to say or know what to do, so I turned and left the room in complete humiliation towards an undirected journey to nowhere. After a few days of thinking and remembering, I returned back to the very apartment that contained all the excitement to say goodbye. Even though my long time friend and I had not spoken for some time after college, I knew he was aware of my time with her. This was no serendipitous meeting a mile high above all the turnings of the world. This must have had some past to it, which I was oblivious to. I gave my friend a solemn handshake and told him that I would remember the date and said goodbye. This gave my clear intention that I was not clueless of what’s going on, acknowledged that they are getting married, and that my acceptance of the invitation to the wedding was not going to be a solid answer. I dismissed all the emotions that invaded my body each day after that. I knew that I could very easily eat myself alive if I was to dwell on the past, the present, and even think of the future. How could I celebrate something that was so clashing and hurtful from a friend and ex-lover? My friend and I live separate lives for the most part now. I can’t undo the past or stay bitter. I don’t know what their lives will become or what my life will look like. All I know is that the wedding cake was pretty good and they had a decent band.