“No one knows what the cause of this is,” the news reporter said, soon after Doug had fixed the cable and the news station was the first thing that came on. “Whatever it is in the air is causing everyone to drop dead immediately. But we have no reports of anyone dying that is indoors so if you are currently indoors, stay there. Make sure all of your windows are closed and you should be OK. We are working on a way to have food and water dropped off to people though we are not sure how you are going to be able to get it since you cannot open your doors. Whatever you have in your house right now, ration it. Stay tuned for further updates.” Doug turned off the TV and he looked at Rachel. She was lying on the couch still, with her legs in the tight jeans she was wearing stretched out across the couch and her feet with the loose white socks on them resting against the arm rest. She had a smile on her face and did not seem to be the least bit bothered by this national emergency. “Well, I hope you’ll let me stay here,” he said awkwardly. He wasn’t sure if he actually had to ask her permission or not. He was still technically on the clock and just here to fix her cable but he wondered if she had the right to tell him to leave her house during a national emergency like this especially when it meant he would surely die. His legs started to shake when he realized his life was in her hands. He didn’t think she’d tell him to leave but he’d seen crazier things from customers. What would he do if she didn’t allow him to stay? He supposed he’d have to fight as there was no way he could go out there. “Oh of course,” she said. But she spoke with amusement and he could tell that there were going to be strings attached. That was fine. As long as he didn’t have to go outside. He was able to see out the window from where he was standing and even though this was a secluded neighborhood, he saw a few dead bodies lying on the ground. Yeah, he couldn’t go out there. He looked back at Rachel and she had stood up, now walking towards him. Her long brown hair went down past her shoulders. She wore a red tank-top that showed off her fairly broad shoulders. She stood at 5’9 so she was three inches taller than he was. She was 31-years-old, a year younger than he was. She shook her hips as she walked closer to him. “If it’s just going to be and you locked up here for a while,” she said once she got right up to him and she looked down at him. “Then we’re going to have to figure out who the dominant one is.” “I don’t think that’s necessary,” he said nervously. “I think it would work out best if we just worked together - as equals.” “No one is ever equal in a situation like this,” she said to him. “We don’t like in a world of equality. There’s always a dominant one. Now we need to find out who that is.” She got closer than he liked to he tried to push her away from him. She grabbed him by the shoulders and he immediately felt how much stronger she was than him when she pushed him right up against the wall. He fought to push her away but was no match for her. She held him there with a smile on her face, watching the weaker man struggle. After amusing herself by watching him unsuccessfully try and fight him away she threw him on the floor. It shook him up and before he knew it, she was sitting on his chest. He reached up to push her off of him but she took control of his wrists before he could get a hand on her. There was little struggle before she was easily able to overpower him and push his arms to the floor. She watched with amusement as the weaker man struggled to free himself but couldn’t even move. “Oh look at you, poor weak man,” she said to him. “You look like you are having such a tough time. I bet I know what will put a smile on your face.” She let go of his wrists but before he could do anything, her strong fingers were tickling his ribs. He had never had a reaction like this and he immediately started cackling with a high-pitched laugh. It was harder than he had ever laughed before and his stomach was in pain while his eyes had completely watered up. Being stimulated like this was far worse than getting beaten up by her and what made it worse was that there was nothing he could do about it. “Stop,” he was barely able to say with how hard he was laughing. “Please stop!” “You want me to stop? Well then you’re going to have to do something for me. Come rub my feet.” She got up off of him and went back over to sit on her couch. He considered trying to make a run for it but remembered that if he ran outside he was dead. He looked at her feet with the loose socks on them, waiting to be rubbed. Slowly he walked over to her, kneeled down, and grabbed a foot. “Nuh-uh,” she said. “Pull my socks off and then do it.” He pulled off her socks to see her size 10 soles looking right at him. He began massaging her left foot. He felt like he was her slave as she lay there comfortably and he supposed that he was. He ended up massaging her feet for a good twenty minutes before she turned the TV back on and the newscaster was still reporting. “Things outside seemed to have cleared up for now,” he said. “And the CDC has determined that it is safe to go outside - for now. But it is recommended that wherever you are, you get to your homes quickly if you are not there already as we don’t know if this will pick up again. Don’t be outside any longer than you need to be. Continue to ration what you have as all stores are closed until further notice.” Doug felt relieved and the fact that it was safe outside wasn’t the number one reason. “Alright, well I’ll get out of your hair,” he said. “Glad your cable is working again.” “Kneel back down!” she ordered. He started to get up like he was going to make a run for it but she started to get up. He knew she could overpower him so he got back down on his knees like she said. “I’m going to keep you here for a while. Keep rubbing my feet.” “But things could get bad outside again,” he protested. “This might be my only chance to leave for a while.” “That’s fine with me,” she said. “I’ve found a use for you. Now massage my feet.” She wiggled her toes and then looked back at the TV, like he didn’t matter other than to do what she wanted. With no choice, he got back to massaging her feet. Things were changing with the world but they were especially changing for him.


It was dark traveling through the abyss. Everything swirled around like an optical illusion in a fun house, the kind where everyone walks on a stationary bridge and it feels like they’re going to fall over from the spinning colors around them. But Sherry wasn’t in a fun house, and she was really spinning. Around the cone shaped black hole she went until she was spit out at the other end, hitting hard on the rocky floor below her. Hot air surrounded her and had the stank of death on it. Flashes of orange light glimpsed in her eyes all throughout the open cavern she had fallen into through the abyss. Screaming. In front of her was the shadow dragging away the young man that had rescued her. Sherry followed but the shadow was quick and disappeared into the depths of the cavern, the young firefighter helpless to escape its grasp. Beep. Beep. Beep. Sherry woke up in the hospital plugged into various tubes sticking out of her arms. Over her face was a mask pushing oxygen into her lungs which hurt each time she inhaled despite the fresh, clean air traveling through her throat. The feeling in her chest was like an upper respiratory infection but with several bricks placed on top of her. Everything hurt and she felt like she had been thrown down every flight of stairs in a high rise building twice. Though she had been barely clinging to life just a few hours ago, Sherry was going to make it. Despite its best efforts the shadow had failed to kill her. Why did it want her? More importantly, was it going to come back to finish the job? The thought of it coming back terrified her. She didn’t want any of this and couldn’t understand why this was happening to her. It was all too much for her mind to handle and a part of her wished the shadow had finished the job just so she could be done and over with this mess. The anxiety was the worst part. Then she remembered the young man from her dream, the firefighter who saved her life. Did the shadow go after him like in her dream? It couldn’t have. Not on the side of the busy interstate like that. Everyone would have seen it happen. But the shadow was there, clear as day, standing right behind him. She saw it just like in the dream and part of her wondered if she was the only one who did see it that day. Several minutes after Sherry woke up a pretty red headed nurse with light freckles dotting her face walked into the room to check on her. “Oh, good you’re up,” said the nurse. She was wearing blue scrubs and her name tag said Michelle on it. “How are you feeling, Mrs. Berkheimer? Is there anything I can get you?” “Water,” Sherry said in a hoarse voice. Her throat was scratchy, and she could barely speak in a whisper. The smoke did that to her. “Right away, Mrs. Berkheimer.” Michelle walked to the sink and filled a plastic cup with cold water. “It’s Sherry.” “Is there anything else I can get you, Sherry? Are the pain meds working?” They were but Sherry had nothing to compare it too, otherwise she would know that she was much better off right now than without them. “Everything hurts,” Sherry managed to squeak out in her raspy, smoke damaged voice. She took the water from Michelle’s hand and moved the oxygen mask to the side to take a drink. The water was soothing on her throat and for a moment it felt normal. “Thank you. That helps a lot.” Michelle filled another cup of water and sat it down on the table beside Sherry. “I’ll get the doctor,” she said. “He’ll want to check you out now that you’re awake.” Two weeks passed before she was released from the hospital and when she was finally out, she wanted to show her gratitude to the firefighters and EMS crew that came to her rescue when no one else would. Her sister, Helga, became her temporary chauffeur while she was still recovering. Even if Sherry’s car hadn’t been totaled the pain meds were enough to keep her from driving. Helga was the only one Sherry had left in this world. Their parents had died years ago, and her husband had left her for another woman not too long before the nightmares started. Sherry had attributed the nightmares to him leaving but now she knew otherwise. It was something different. Something much eviler and more sinister. “Maybe you can get one of those cute firemen to ask you on a date,” Helga joked with Sherry. Sherry laughed but she wasn’t interested. It was still too soon after her husband left for her to move on. She was in no mental state to look for love again anyways. “I’m just going to say thank you,” Sherry said to Helga holding a plate of brownies up and a letter with a handwritten note. When they got to the firehouse, they found the guys lounging in their evening recliners in front of the television. Training was done for the day and now they were sitting around waiting for the next call. “Which one of you is the one that pulled me from my car,” Sherry asked Ed and Peter who had answered the door to receive the gifts. Ed and Peter gave each other a troubled look then Ed turned back to Sherry and said, “He’s missing, actually. No one has seen him in two weeks.” Sherry’s heart sank and she felt dizzy almost instantaneously. Ed and Peter must have noticed her wobbling because they instinctively grabbed her arms and took her gently to the ground as he knees gave way beneath her. “Ma’am. Ma’am, are you ok?” “I’m fine,” Sherry said. “I just need to go lay down for a bit.” “Let us bring you inside to sit down.” “No, I’m fine. Really. I just need to go lay down at home. Are you ready to go, Helga?” “I can take you home now if that’s what you’re asking,” Helga answered Sherry. Peter and Ed helped Sherry to her feet and escorted her to Helga’s car. Ed held the door open for her and Peter held onto her arm while she got into the passenger seat. “Thank you, both,” Sherry said shooting a sweet smile in Ed and Peter’s direction. They said their goodbyes and Helga started back in the direction of Sherry’s house. “Do you need me to take you to get checked out before you go home,” Helga asked Sherry. “No, I’m fine. Just take me home,” Sherry answered back. “Are you sure? I don’t want anything to happen to you. If you feel like you need to go to the doctor then you need to tell me.” “It’s fine, Helga. It’s just that...” Sherry stopped mid-sentence and made a worried face. “It’s what? What is it, Sherry?” Helga was turning the car towards the off ramp going down the same interstate where Sherry had her accident. “I saw something, Helga. Something was trying to kill me and now I think that missing firefighter might be in trouble.


To the Residents of Bloombasil Homeowner’s Association: Please join us in extending a warm welcome to our newest residents, B’leep and B’larp Greene. We will be hosting a welcome potluck this Saturday at the community center. A signup list of mains, sides, and desserts will be kept on the community bulletin. Kind Regards, The Members of the Bloombasil HOA Board As a reminder: discrimination against a resident or residents based on their planet of origin is strictly prohibited under the 2030 Fair Housing Act. Any such behavior could put the status of our organization in jeopardy, and as such will not be tolerated. ------------------------------------------ On August 1st, at approximately 1900 hours, I responded to a report of a suspicious person at 30 Marjory Drive. When I arrived at the residence in question the exterior of the property appeared vacant. I approached the home. Two notices were taped to the front door: an HOA violation letter and an invitation to a welcome party. I knocked and was given permission to enter. I confirmed the identity of and interviewed the inhabitant, a 91-year-old female named Hannah Wardell. Wardell confirmed that she was the one who had made the report. She asserted that “a Gray” had walked across her lawn. She further explained: “They’re everywhere now. Living in our homes. Trespassing on our lawns. Next they’ll be telling us what we can and can’t do. Don’t believe me? Soon enough they’ll be trotting out eviction threats, just like that Janet Stone. You want to see where the suspicious individual is? Go to the party. Everyone is celebrating it.” I continued my patrol on foot. Upon hearing music and seeing a heavy social presence at the community center, I opted to check in with the residents inside. The door was open, so I entered the premises. Although there were approximately 40-50 people inside, the room was quiet. All eyes turned to me. I had the feeling there had just been a lively group conversation which ceased upon my arrival. I was immediately approached by 56-year-old Terry Phillips with a plate of gluten free oatmeal cookies. He explained to me that the community was celebrating the move-in of two new residents. He then raised his voice as though addressing both me and the group to say that all was peaceful. Conversation between the partygoers resumed. I noticed a folding table with name tags laid out in an orderly fashion. Many appeared to have been claimed, but some remained, including that of Wardell. It read: Hannah Wardell (Homeowner) 30 Marjory Drive (105V / 15Y) I asked what the numbers meant. Phillips indicated his own name tag, which read: Terry Phillips (Board Secretary) 22 Marjory Drive (2V / 10Y) Phillips then explained: “Just a little conversation starter, and a fun way to educate new residents on the rules. The first number, you see, represents how many violations a person has been subject to during their time with us. The second is how many years they've lived here. My two violations, for example: My mom lived with us for a bit and didn't know any better. She was used to hanging the wash out to dry - that's just what they did in her day. But it was time for her to move to a home anyway. The other time our puppy, Barnaby, got out and... well, we couldn't stop him from making a mess on the neighbor's lawn. Good dog, the whole thing was a shame. But all dogs go to heaven, right? You'd think it would make people feel ashamed, but we like to keep this sort of thing out in the open. Relieves tension, makes us laugh. And people with high numbers never show up to these things anyway. And nobody has a zero. Well, nobody except for Janet and her household.” I explained that I was there to investigate a suspicious person, but there didn’t seem to be sufficient evidence to support the claim. I would have left the scene at that point, but I observed another resident, 16-year-old female Amelia Stone, in apparent distress. Miss Stone sat in a side chair. Her arms hung limp and she stared dead ahead. Her eyes did not appear to track my movement. Her mascara indicated that she had recently been crying. Phillips began to usher me out. I attempted to interview the young woman, but she was unresponsive. Her mother, Janet Stone (age unknown), joined us. She explained that Miss Stone was merely in shock after seeing the new residents for the first time. She further explained that her daughter was going through an “anti-cop phase,” and I ought to avoid upsetting her further. I asked the elder Stone to describe the new residents. She responded: “Oh! Well. I would never be so vulgar as to describe someone in detail. But they are as you would expect of a pair of Gr-, er, Martians. Thin, large eyes, skin the color of old socks. They are the first of their kind in our neighborhood. But I assure you, we are all eager to help them integrate. We don't usually hold a party like this, you know. This is an occasion. The Board believes that diversity will only enrich our lives. But! The presence of law enforcement can often create tension, don't you think? It’s probably best if you head out. Please, take a little treat on your way.” It was at that point that the younger Miss Stone stirred. Her eyes met mine and she whispered: “Blueberry crumble.” Her mother let out a brief gasp. She then addressed me: “Our family's specialty. Unfortunately, she forgot to bring it tonight and she’s quite upset about the whole thing. Now please, I think you should go.” I scanned the dessert buffet and found a multitude of baked goods and ice cream. There seemed to be a recent absence in the lineup, however, indicated by a blank stretch of tablecloth. Upon further inspection I noted scattered crumbs and a purple-blue stain. I noticed that the two Stones and a few others watched me closely. To maintain a casual appearance, I removed one brownie. I scanned the trashcan next to the table, but it appeared to contain only plasticware and paper plates. With no further evidence of an issue and a standing request to leave, I proceeded to the exit. As I walked across the lawn, I heard shouting. Miss Stone appeared in the doorway. She was immediately pulled back into the building by several unidentifiable hands. She cried out: “It was an accident! You have to help them!” I returned but found the door to be locked. I informed the inhabitants that they were under suspicion of a crime and must open the door immediately. When met without a response I scanned the premises for alternative entrances. I noticed a beam of light around the side of the building and found a second doorway open to the kitchen. Two long Martian-sized shapes lay on the floor, covered in a white tablecloth. It was stained purple in several places. The smell of blueberries was strong. Phillips opened the doorway to the kitchen opposite me, so fast that several pieces of cutlery fell to the floor. After the sound diminished, he said: “Please, it was an accident. We didn't know until it was too late. Amelia queried it on her phone.” I lifted the sheet. Two Martians lay seemingly unconscious or dead. The elder Stone appeared in the doorway, pulling her daughter behind her. “Wait! Amy, tell him what you just told me.” Miss Stone sobbed and shook uncontrollably. She held out her phone to me. The screen read: “Query: accidentally poisoned two grays what to do now Answer: Martians (pejoratively known as “Grays”) are extremely allergic to an anthocyanins, responsible for the blue pigment in blueberry skins. However, exposure to this chemical may be remedied given a rapidly administered dose of nitroglycerin, normally used in the emergency treatment of cardiac arrest in humans.” I asked if they had any such medication on site. Phillips shook his head. Stone said: “The only person in our community who has a serious heart condition is Mrs. Wardell. And she has 38 outstanding violations! We can’t ask her for help.” There was a chuckle at the door. Mrs. Wardell stood there, leaning on a walker and still in her nightdress. I began to explain the situation, but she interrupted: “Oh, I heard everything. You've gone and done it now, haven't you, Janet? Killing two of them... that's not just a violation. That's murder. Maybe even a hate crime.” Stone sobbed. Wardell went on: “As much as I dislike their kind and as much as like to imagine you running around the prison block fining everyone for not keeping their cells up to your standards, I am willing to provide what you need. IF - if . You must agree to my terms.” Stone asked: “What do you want?” Wardell replied: “I want the list of completely unfounded, outstanding violations aimed at my household to be dropped.” Stone hesitated but Phillips applied a hand to her elbow. Stone spoke: “Fine, it's done.” Wardell continued: “And I want a violation added to your household’s record. Surely poisoning the guests of honor at a community event violates some rule you've got in that made up code of yours.” Stone issued a series of expletives that indicated a lack of agreement to the terms. However, Phillips replied: “As board secretary, all record-keeping falls to me... including that of violations. Hannah, it will be done.” Stone screamed. Wardell produced a small orange prescription bottle from her nightdress. The effect of the medication was nearly instant. The two individuals of Martian origin quickly returned to consciousness and requested a moment to clean and compose themselves. All other parties removed themselves to the community room. The Martians rejoined us shortly, somewhat disoriented but otherwise healthy. When the situation was more fully explained to them, they addressed me directly: “Please, you may uncuff the Earthling named Janet Stone. We do not intend to press charges.” Stone sat slumped in a chair while her daughter now attempted to comfort her. The news appeared to have no effect. I heard her whisper the words “fifteen years” and “no violations,” but the rest of her speech was indecipherable. The Martians continued to speak to me: “Thank you for correcting the situation, officer. Although we have had conflict with your government’s executive branch in the past, it appears that the new anti-discriminatory regulation is not a completely empty gesture. We will note this to your leaders. May we record your badge number?” I assented. As they took down the number, I heard a soft sobbing in the corner. It was Stone. Terry stood over her with a Sharpie, apologizing profusely. At approximately 2030 hours I left the scene. No arrests were made as there was no lasting harm and no charges were pressed. And aside from a handwritten “1” now appearing on Janet Stone’s name tag, there is nothing further to report.


Angry tears kept falling and wouldn’t stop. It was just supposed to be a day trip to a wedding reception of a former student. Now, I was hopelessly lost in my car in the hills of Kentucky. Normally, this wouldn’t be an issue. I had a new car with GPS and a cell phone with Google maps, but some important little, expensive piece of the new car went out and I was in a rental car with no GPS. Then my phone crashed right as I crossed over the Ohio border, and I used the last 9% of my battery to locate a shady gas station to buy a charger. “Do you have a bathroom,” I asked like a seven-year-old who drank too much soda. “Not for the public,” said the large woman standing above and behind the counter in front of me. “Can you give me directions to the nearest one?” I asked as politely and urgently as I could, “I am very lost and not from Kentucky. I am trying to find a wedding, and I have been driving for two hours.” The woman judged me harshly up and down and decided that my strapless sundress, make-up, and rhinestone sandals confirmed my story. She nodded and said, “I can let you use ours, I guess. Come on before anyone else sees you.” I rushed to follow the woman down a small hallway behind an automotive display rack, and she pointed to the last door. “Thank you so much,” I started to say, but the lady was already gone. I opened the door quickly and promised myself to buy a charger immediately after using the bathroom. Thankfully, the bathroom as clean and I only hit my arms twice on the walls and doors as I tried to hold my long skirt up so it wouldn’t get wet in the toilet. As I emerged from the bathroom, I could hear the large woman waiting on another customer. When she was free, I asked about phone chargers, and she pointed me to a rack with cords that almost touched the floor. There were three different types of chargers and all I knew was that I didn’t own an iPhone, so that eliminated one type of cord. I guessed, paid fifteen dollars, and said a silent prayer that the cord would work. It didn’t. Even after I went back in and bought another adapter for the port in my car, the phone wouldn’t charge. It kept flashing a yellow triangle with an exclamation point and a water droplet with the international symbol for “NO!” I sat in the rental car and tried waiting for three different fifteen-minute intervals for the phone port and the port in the car to dry out. Nothing worked and the large woman came over to talk to me as she smoked a cigarette in front of the gas station. Between puffs of her menthol cigarette, she said she had no idea what country club I was trying to get to. So, I decided to try to get directions from the liquor store up the hill. I could see it from the gas station which made me feel like I didn’t have to worry about getting even more lost. The woman behind the Lick Her Liquor store counter admitted she wasn’t from Kentucky, but offered me directions off of her phone. While I was standing there, she waited on a guy buying two twelve packs of beer who asked what I was looking for. She told him about my wedding reception dilemma, and he chuckled and said that I could just use three different streets, take a round-about way through a small area, and I would be right there. Funny enough, he never addressed me directly. He said all of this while standing less than six feet from me and making eye contact with only the woman selling him his beer. I, admittedly, stared at him for the last two minutes of his conversation just to see if he would even acknowledge me, but he didn’t. The woman watched him leave and then stood on her tiptoes to watch him get in his truck and blaze off into the hilly sunset of this Kentucky Saturday night. I thanked the woman for the directions and headed back out to my car. I started following the directions and about ten minutes into the drive I noticed that there were not street signs on the crossroads in this section of Kentucky. The directions I had written on the brown paper sack focused on street signs and there were none to be seen. The street I needed was supposed to be to the northwest and I drove for about ten minutes and never saw a sign or indication of the road I needed. Then, I headed back and tried turning onto the only road I could have turned on. It became a hilly adventure of beautiful homes, broken down farmhouses, and even a roadside bar. After passing the roadside bar multiple times, I decided it was time to ask for new directions. I ripped the paper sack in two and walked into the bar. I slightly smiled as I thought about how this situation sounded like the opening of a joke. When I opened the bar door, I noticed the people were sitting socially distanced, wearing no masks, and judging me the second I walked in. “Can I help you, honey?” the girl much younger than me asked. “I am trying to find Ryland Heights,” I said as all eyes in the dimly lit bar stared at me, “I am trying to find a wedding reception.” “I’m not from Kentucky,” said one guy who winked at me from under his Cincinnati ball cap. “I am terrible with directions,” said another guy in the back. “Yes, you are,” said the woman sitting with him. She laughed loudly as she took a drink from the bottle in front of her. A man from about the middle of the bar rose and started walking toward me with no words and I immediately looked to see how far I was away from the door. “Here...” he said meekly, “I looked it up.” He showed me another Google map and I started writing down the directions with miles this time to help with any road sign confusion. I thanked him, refused his drink offer politely, and hurried back out to my car. The first right turn was supposed to be in a mile and a half. However, there was no street at that point. In fact, there was not a right turn for almost four miles. This was becoming hopeless. I checked the clock. The wedding reception was supposed to start about 5:30 and it was 6:15 and I was in no way closer to the reception or knowing where I was. Plus, my phone was still not charging, and I wasn’t even sure I could find my way back to the highway to get home at this point. However, I had been driving since 2 p.m. this afternoon and I was not about to give up. Then after another thirty minutes of fruitless driving, no street signs, no good luck, and no leads as to where I was, I pulled into a corner market that looked like it had been there for the last fifty years. I walked in completely defeated and asked the guy behind this counter if he knew how to get to Ryland Heights. “I am not from this country. I just came to America,” he said with apologetic eyes. “I just know how to get to work. We opened two days ago.” I smiled and started to walk away, but then he offered me his phone with more Google directions. I tore the paper bag one more time and proceeded to scribble down this final set of directions. If these didn’t work, I would have to make my way north, find Cincinnati, and then get on I-75 to head home. These directions had to work. It was now after 7. That is when the angry tears began to fall. I had started my car and they filled my eyes. This shouldn’t be happening. My new car had GPS and I had used it multiple times. I also had no idea why my phone died. I always charged it regularly and usually had a cord with me. My sixteen-year-old daughter was supposed to be my date, but she bailed to spend the night with friends. She would have had a spare phone and probably a phone cord. Additionally, I would have used the GPA in my new car and didn’t realize the rental didn’t have GPS until the 9% showed up on my phone. There were so many reasons why this situation shouldn’t be happening, but it was and here I sat. I was alone in a rental car with terrible radio reception, no concrete directions, no way to talk to anyone I knew, and one last chance to find this reception for a student I taught whose mother taught with me at the same school. I had been so excited and now I was simply desperate to find people I knew. I listened to the gravel crunch under my tires and headed out for one more attempt. I zigzagged up and down large hills and made sharp turns left and followed gradual curves to the left, but again there were no roads where they were supposed to be and no road signs which complicated this last attempt like all of the others. I stopped my car and started to turn around in a driveway. I came to a dead stop when I saw a silver spoon half covered by the dirt in the path. “A spoon?” I said to no one but myself, “I have heard of a fork in the road, but never a spoon.” I held the wheel as it rotated back around, and the car faced my original direction once more. The direction on the dashboard readout said north and I took that as my final moment of defeat. “I’m going home,” I said completely deflated. I was going to miss the wedding reception and the chance to see a former student on one of the happiest days of her life. I would miss talking to her mom who had always been a favorite colleague even after I switched schools to be on my own kids’ schedule. The return trip in the now increasing darkness held just as much anxiety as the last six hours. I found my way past the corner store, the bar, the liquor store, and even the shady gas station. Then after circling a few more large hills that wanted to be regarded as mountains, I saw the skyline of Cincinnati and felt my breathing return to a manageable pace. As I walked into my empty house, my dogs greeted me like a long-lost traveler. I plugged my phone in successfully with my charger, collapsed onto my bed, and let my dogs snuggle the failure and frustration out of me. I promised myself I would burn the gas station phone charger in effigy in the morning after I texted an apology to my friend and her daughter.


Love’s Trap Thom Love was an unusually clever twenty-eight-year-old. Even as a young boy on the fast and furious streets of Brooklyn in 1911, he was considered a sharp kid. He had a reputation for always besting the local gang of bullies. After years playing the avenging angel for his baby brother, Albert, he had plenty of time to perfect his tactics. The fates were unkind to little Albert. He came into this seething cauldron of poverty and ignorance, generally known as The Devil's Parlor, blanched as white as a rich man's sheets. Seeing the tears leaking from Albert's pink eyes, always moved Thom to greater schemes, protecting him from the brutes that targeted him endlessly for his obvious difference. Albert enjoyed little in his pale life. Bunty Park, a patch of scraggly trees fighting for light under the shadows of the tenements, was his favorite place. Women, hanging laundry on endless rope lines, set like fluttering islands between the buildings, saw everything. They often spotted Thom, his hand wrapped protectively around Albert's, making the painfully slow journey over four city-blocks, to this green Mecca. Watching the sturdy ten-year old and his spindly, freakishly- white little brother, brought some of these life-hardened wives to tears. To others, it made them raise a thumb and forefinger in their ignorance, to ward off the devil. Thom found ingenious ways to foil attempts to harm, or tease his albino sibling. He became astute at reading the signs of planned ambush along their walk to the park. Some of the gang members shadowing them, would grow bored with their pursuit, or frustrated with Thom's ingenuity in avoiding their traps. With little else to occupy immature, cretin minds, the others persisted in their efforts to fool young Thom, in hopes of tormenting the ghostly looking brother. Thom prevailed in these bouts between brains and brawn. After years of protecting the milky-white Albert from harm, he became something of a folk hero, using his unique talents to protect other social misfits up and down the street car line that was the demarcation of his neighborhood turf. His calling in life seemed life seemed predestined. Thom became a copper. Called ‘Lovey’ on the street since he wore short pants, as a man wearing a police uniform, his incredible sleuthing talents soon transcended his nickname. He rose quickly in the ranks to become a highly decorated Detective, earning a new name on the streets; ‘The Ghost.’ His area of expertise was organized crime. To Thom, that still meant gangs. He'd already scarred, maimed and terrified several of the notorious criminals roaming the gritty New York streets like war-lords. Many were well-known to him as the thugs from his childhood days. The Ghost didn't leave a clue when he stealthily took revenge on any guilty of tormenting Albert and casting long shadows over his short, tortured life. After five years on the force, Thom managed to ferret out every man from the old neighborhood, who had been part of Albert's years of misery as their freakish target. The ring-leader of those local urchins, passed from street bully, into politics. A seamless transition in Thom's mind. Thom watched as this man now wielded his thuggish powers over his neighbors, from behind the Police Commissioner’s desk. Thom was obsessed with bringing his revenge to the man who orchestrated the slow killing of Albert's spirits, eventually making him so desperate, he took his own life in the fast-moving waters under the Brooklyn Bridge. The Ghost would complete his revenge by luring the Commissioner into his own trap; an ambush he'd never survive. A letter found its way onto the Commissioner's desk, listing the political cover-ups and crimes he was engaged in for his own profit. The letter was clearly an attempt at blackmailing the man, demanding ten-thousand-dollars in small bills and directing him to arrive at two o’clock the next morning, at the entrance to the Brooklyn Bridge. Thom, dressed completely in black, concealed himself just below the street-level approach to the bridge. The Commissioner’s sleek, black Packard, slid out of a haze of street lights and onto the darkened entrance to the bridge, rolling to a stop. The engine was switched off. He wasn't alone, just as Thom had predicted. The burly figure that exited the driver’s side, was quick to melt into the shadows. All went according to Thom's guess about the Commissioner’s own plans. The portly figure of the Commissioner exited the back seat. His steps echoed in the heavy silence. He walked slowly to the side of the bridge where the money was to be left on the high railing. One hand carried the paper sack with the money, the other, kept close to his side, held a small revolver. The Commissioner was prepared to kill his blackmailer; an easy prediction for Thom to make. Thom waited until he saw the bag placed on the ledge. Knowing the bodyguard was watching for him to make a move toward it, he put the next phase of his trap into play. Holding two flashlights as far apart as possible, he pierced the gloom where the thug hid. He surprised both the bodyguard and his boss, who reacted by lumbering toward the safety of his car. Foreseeing the whole scenario, Thom had arrived earlier that night, disabling the few lights leading onto the bridge, and causing the area to fill like a well, with deep shadows. He switched off his flashlights, throwing them onto the bridge in opposite directions. The sounds hung ominously in the night air. Thom was moving like a cat, up the side of the ramp, toward the large vehicle. The Commissioner opened the driver’s door, sliding his large girth behind the wheel. He started the engine, ready to abandon his thug to his own fate. As he drove forward, the tires of the heavy Packard were ripped to shreds on a long plank of nine-inch nails, laid by Thom, anticipating the coward would make a run for it. The Commissioner threw open the car door, scrambling to get out, and screaming for the lurking bodyguard to help him. Thom heard the big man panting as he ran like a dog to his master. Thom grabbed the huge bucket he had strategically placed across from where the nail trap was laid. He came up behind the Commissioner as his thug threw the spike strip aside and began looking at the ripped tires. Thom poured the thick, white paint, weather proofed to be used on the bridgework, over the sputtering Commissioner's head, leaning close to his quickly clogging ear. "Remember the albino? You made his life a living hell until he ended it here. Care to join him?' Without another sound, the Ghost shoved the blinded, starkly-white figure toward the edge of the bridge and ordered him to walk forward. The thug stopped his futile efforts to salvage the tires, when he saw the ghostly apparition approaching, moans and gurgled words coming from it. The shots from his gun filled the night. The apparition tumbled backward over the lower railing and into the waters below. Love's trap was sprung. The Ghost faded back into the night smiling at the sound of a heavy splash.


Hello reddit! I just wanted to share something personal relating to Pokemon games. It turned into a little story so I thought maybe I'd post it on here because it's been weighing heavy on me. I really appreciate anyone who takes the time to read it I was in tears just writing this so, hopefully this story touches someones heart! Some people may not care about Pokemon or video games at all but I think you'll be able to relate in other ways. This is the story of Me, my love, and Pokemon Mystery Dungeon Explorers of Sky. This is a 100% true story. So let's go back to summer 2015. I was in love with a woman named Jess whom I'd known since college and we were both big Pokemon fans. Once we moved in together, we would wake up on days that we had nothing going on, which was quite often, and play Pokemon games with the tv in the background! We would play for for hours before really getting around to doing anything. It was like our daily ritual! It was 1 of the things early on that really connected us, the love of the Pokemon universe. So, 1 day I tell Jess I'm about to replay Explorers of Sky for the first time in a few years. I'd only ever played through it completely twice, as it wasn't that old of a game yet. To my surprise, she had never played it! She did play the original on GBA however. So I ended up getting it on my PC to play on the TV so she could watch me play and take turns playing and enjoying the story. Over the next few days, it was amazing to see her reaction to all the cute little things and all the great twists and turns of the plot of Explorers of Sky! I think we played it for about 6 hours a day for a week straight. All of the amazing music from the game was probably her favorite part actually. And after we finished, we would still listen to the music through the jukebox occasionally and go back to grind. So teleport us to about 5 months later, she went away to see her family but had to stay there due to her father having a serious health issue. I couldn't be with her for about 3 weeks, including New Years. This was an especially stressful time as I had no idea when she was coming back so it was pretty depressing. But when she was gone, I did another replay of that game to pass the time, and found myself really sad playing it without her. The music honestly hurt to hear. It just wasn't the same! The next winter in late 2016, life was going very well. We had got engaged on Thanksgiving, and 2 days after Christmas we went to get matching tattoos at a friends house. On the way there, out of nowhere, someone hit our car. Yeah, she died instantly, there was absolutely nothing I could do to save her. So it obviously was the worst thing that's ever happened to me. I was alone again on New Years, and all I could think about was the music from Explorers of Sky and it just stung bad. It took me almost all of 2017 to get to a point where I could even smile again. So, the whole reason I'm writing about this is because I was always afraid to play this game again, but I finally did it. My life is pretty good now, I have clean 15 months ago finally, generally am happy, but, if I was ever going to fully move on, I had to play Explorers of Sky again. I was afraid it would be really depressing but, I found myself crying in a good way with the parts relating to Grovyle and going to the future and back especially. Most of all, it was impossible not to let out tears with the Steam Caves, and Treeshroud Forest music playing. That music was just so special to us. Without her, it felt like a million bee stings going into every inch of my body. I never cry, I hadn't since 2021 but yeah, this game did it. I feel like I finally can enjoy what may be the best Pokemon game ever though, certainly one of my favorite video games ever made. I feel like she was with me the whole time I was playing it and from now on I'll always be grateful to have this game to go back and feel that connection with her, even if she's not here anymore. I've never finished playing a game and wanted to write a story about it yet here I am.


Theresa and I had been planning the wedding for eight months now and after multiple venue changes, countless hours researching different caterers and entertainment, and $22,000 barrowed from my 401k things where finally perfect. She used to tease me that she felt like she was marrying another woman because at times I was more excited about our big day than she was. Now standing at the altar, gazing at her, I was truly the happiest man alive. The preacher, Father Morris, was nearly through the vows. “Should anyone here know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.” My heart pounded with excitement. Suddenly with a thunderous boom the doors of the church slammed open, “wait!” it was my ex-girlfriend, Tammy. “I can’t let this happen!” She raced up the aisle. The collective gasp of 150 guests plus staff sucked the air out of the room, all eyes focused on Tammy. I looked at Theresa, she looked horrified. “it’s okay” I whispered. I glanced at Father Morris. “Tim I’m sorry” she muttered. I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t know what to say. I looked around the church and I don’t think anyone quite knew what to make of the situation. I thought this only happened in movies. Finally, the silence was broken. “Young lady what is the meaning of all this” asked Father Morris. Thank God he spoke because I was at a loss for words. “I can’t let this happen” Tammy looked at me and then shifted her gaze towards Father Morris to answer his question. “I’m... I’m in love.” I could not believe this was happening. Tammy and I had broken up nearly four years ago. The decision to end our relationship was mutual, we had feelings for each other at the time but agreed that we did not want to spend our lives together. We remained good friends until I had told her that Theresa and I were engaged. This explains it. “Tammy, this is not the time or the place. You need to go.” I looked back at Theresa. Her bottom lip was quivering and she had a tear rolling down her cheek. I could imagine she was scared I might back out, but that wasn’t going to happen. I had never been more in love than I was with Theresa. “GO” I yelled. Seeing her upset was starting to anger me and I knew I had to make it very clear that I wasn’t going anywhere. “Tim I’m so sorry” she apologized again. “You need to leave; we can discuss this later” I put my foot down. She looked at Theresa and there was a long pause, almost as if she wanted Theresa to tell her it was okay to continue. She sighed, “I can’t allow these two to get married, I have to come clean”. There was an awkward silence. “we’ve been having an affair”! I was furious. To think that Tammy wanted me back so bad that she was making up lies to break up my wedding. I started down the aisle, not knowing what I would do when I got to Tammy. “Tim, stop” Theresa yelled. I looked back at her, she looked heartbroken. “Theresa” I began, “she is lying, I swear I haven’t...” “Just stop, please just stop” she cut me off. I swelled with fear thinking that she believed her, that only minutes before we were pronounced man and wife I would lose her. Before I could start again she spoke. “she’s right, we can’t do this.” I couldn’t speak. “She’s not talking about you and her... she’s talking about her and I.” There was another collective gasp throughout the church. I couldn’t breathe, my stomach turned and my eyes filled quicker than I had ever thought possible. My heart shattered. I stood there for what felt like an eternity before Marc, my best man, grabbed me and rushed me into the back room. Two weeks later Theresa and Tammy eloped, they adopted a little boy and live just a few miles away. This was nearly two years ago. I am still heartbroken.


The Promise “Think about it,” Alex said one day. “They have offered me the big promotion. And you can work from anywhere. You’re portable.” He stretched his arms in front of her, palms open, shoulders hunched, defeat already tensing his features. After two years of dating, it made sense to move in together, but first Hannah couldn’t leave her sick dad, then she couldn’t leave his house, and Alex continued to drive the 260 km to York every Friday. After a demanding week at work, he travelled to spend the weekend with her. She wondered whether he regretted pursuing her after they’d met at his friend’s wedding just over two years ago. She knew the bride from childhood and rejoiced when she announced that she’d met someone special online. After the ceremony, Alex introduced himself to her, and she was aware of eyes watching the two single people. That led her to spend most of the event avoiding him while simultaneously seeking him out--to ensure he hadn’t lost interest. The easy chatter in the marquee grew more animated as the summer evening wove its intoxicating magic into the music of the moment. Shared celebration and memory-making brought bubbles of laughter cascading from everyone’s lips. Cheeky champagne cocktails mirrored these bubbles until eventually, the merriment drew to a close and late evening brought with it a new agenda. For them at least anyway. “I will never stop asking you to join me.” His voice nudged her from her memories. He took hold of her hand, pulling her towards him. His face close to hers, “You’d love living in Edinburgh and I know of a perfect apartment that’s coming up for sale soon.” He tapped the side of his nose and winked. “I know I know.” And not for the first time, she searched for words to fill the holes where indecision lingered. Now, a year after her father had passed away, she looked out of her window and registered it was just such an autumn day when her father had made his promise in the park. The sun penetrated the amber leaves on the branches, illuminating them with its Midas touch. It tempered the growing chill in the air, and while it did not prevent people from wrapping their scarves around their necks, it didn’t stop them from smiling either. It was her father’s perfect day--a crisp, sunny autumn day that invigorated you. Later, hospital odours replaced the earthy smells of Autumn. Grimaces replaced smiles and harsh ward lights became the suns of her father’s life. The arms that tickled her childhood and carried her dreams lay limp, skinny; blue veins slithered across his hands like snakes. His hollowed cheeks and pallid complexion bore no resemblance to the man who brought her up. She almost recoiled at the stranger who they said was her father, and that guilt etched itself onto the pages of her life. Where is he and why isn’t he here? She posed the question to no one in particular and wished that she were religious. With her mother gone by the time she was two--not cut out for family life--her father was her life supply. He never missed a school show or parents’ evening; he held her when her heart was broken from a lost toy, then a lost boy; he washed her bloodstained underwear when she had her first period. She recalled her childhood and the happier times when he would playfully tease her, yet always allow her to get the better of him. She remembered how once when he had stomach pain, she asked, “are you going to die Daddy?” and he replied laughing, “of course not, it’s only indigestion.” That was when he made the promise. She was sitting on his knee on the park bench, pulling at the patterned woollen scarf they had chosen together for his last birthday. He told her he had no intention of dying until he was ancient. “And when I do, remember that I will always look out for you. Bending down, he picked a single marigold flower. “You should never pick flowers in the park, but this is a special exception because I want you to remember my promise.” When they arrived home, her father pressed the marigold in his copy of Vikram Seth's An Equal Music , and there it remained. The sun caught the glass on the picture of them on the wall and added impossible life to her father’s immortalised smile. A faded postcard of The Matterhorn stuck to her fridge still bore the words As a writer, you’ll flinch at the cliché, but ‘wish you were here’ Dad xx . In a second, she could locate his last texts on her phone. She always checked, just to see whether when he died everything remained as it was; that nothing disintegrated like disappearing pixels; that his cards, messages, images, all the manifestations of him--but not him--were still there. The pear tree he planted stood vigil by the back gate and was probably the main reason she never moved from this cottage they had shared even after Mum left. A knock at the door startled her from her reminiscence, but when a seemingly innocent parcel arrived, it unsettled her. She tensed as the mail deliverer asked her to “sign here please, madam.” He then shifted awkwardly as she looked up at him, expressionless. Her dog’s bark pulled her back to the present. There she stood, still on the doorstep, still trying to fill holes, while holding a brown parcel with Alex’s handwriting on it. She stared at this unexpected object in front of her. She couldn’t deal with seeing Alex’s neat letters on the front; her body felt heavy whenever she thought of him, which was every moment that she didn’t fill with pointless doing. She struggled daily to fill her head with anything that numbed the memory of his leaving, of the hurt that spilled from his eyes when she said she couldn’t go; she couldn’t commit; she wasn’t ready to sell her cottage. With a heavy hollowness, she carried the parcel to the kitchen and placed it on the table, tearing at the brown packaging. A tear fell onto the address, smudging the ink. Her postcode was now a blur. Hands trembling, heart beating, she lifted the lid of the brown paper box and stumbled backwards, and gasped. Inside the shoebox was the gift they had chosen for her father’s birthday many years ago. She thought she had lost it, but it must have become entangled with Alex’s paraphernalia like her life had with his. Holding the scarf to her cheek and inhaling its familiar scent, something wrapped in tissue caught her attention at the bottom of the box. She eased the paper with delicate fingers and happiness released both a smile and a sob. A single dried marigold flower fell from the paper. A subtle sheen veiled its faded beauty, and pastel golden hues evoked what was long gone. Joy and heartbreak all mixed and mashed into one undecipherable code of emotion. A small card bore the words, I found this scarf inside my sleeping bag, from our last camping trip. The flower was inside the book you lent me, I thought it might cheer you up. I bought two vintage bedside-table lamps yesterday, just your style. All my love, and still waiting for you, Alex xx Her thumb and forefinger gripped either side of her forehead as she attempted to steady herself. “Thank you,” she whispered. With unexpected calm, she wandered outside and listened to the leaves rustling in the autumn breeze. She hoped to hear secret messages of reassurance. A chill nipped her ankles above her sneakers as she made her way along the stepping stones to the pear tree with a basket in her hand. Only when the basket was full, did she sink her teeth into the yellow-skinned flesh of a freshly picked fruit, juices flowing down her chin, meeting rivers of tears that now flowed down her cheeks, silent and uncensored. Inside, she cut the pears, extracted the seeds, and lay them out on damp paper towels. You are portable, she thought. Then she eased them inside plastic bags before placing them in the airing cupboard to germinate. This meditative activity settled her, and she managed to smile. This was my home, she mused. With a newfound resolve, she snatched her phone from the kitchen table. It took no time to find the number saved in her contacts. Her call was answered immediately. “Hello, Peartree estate agents, sales department, how may I help you?”


“Ciana, what’s going through your mind right now? As we watch this beautiful sunrise, what thoughts run through your head?” Fiadh was sitting on his haunches, staring as the red-orange sun slowly rose in the sky. “I’m just thinking about how much I enjoy being here with my mate, not a care in the den.” Ciana turned to look at Fiadh. He swiveled his head to look at his beautiful silver-furred companion and barked softly, in joy. Ciana stared into his deep, blue eyes, then pressed her nose up against hers. Now the sun was displaying its beauty, and small yips and yaps sounded from the den nestled in the cliff behind the mates. Fiadh pulled away from Ciana and padded into the den to care for the pups. “There’s a rabbit next to their place!” Ciana called. Fiadh turned slightly and nodded at her. She nodded back and stood up, stretching her legs. Just another day. --- “I don’t care why, Delilah! You should’ve known better than to go out, never answer my calls or texts, then come back two days later! You’re such a brat! I knew I shouldn’t have married you those years ago. In fact, I want a divorce!” Joel stomped to the front door, walked out, and slammed it behind him. Delilah was left standing in the center of the living room, shocked still. Tears ran silently down her face. The sound of Joel’s car pulling out of the driveway reached her ears. I want a divorce. I want a divorce. I. Want. A. Divorce. Joel’s words replayed themselves in Delilah’s head, over and over. The worst part was that she knew they weren’t just fighting words. She knew that he meant it. The love of her life was leaving her. “Knock, kno-” Suzie Houper walked into the house, a smile on her face fading as she saw the sight of Delilah. “Dee, what’s the matter?” Closing the door behind her, Suzie cautiously walked to Delilah, stopping in front of her. “J-j-joel. He-he... Suz, we’re getting a divorce!” Delilah howled. She threw herself onto Suzie, bawling. “Oh, no, Dee. I’m so sorry.” Suzie contemplated saying something along the lines of “You were too good for him, anyway”, but knew that it was too soon for that. Right now, Delilah just needed to wallow in her sorrow. --- “This time, Fiadh, I’m going to go with the alphas for food. You’ve gone the last three times. It won’t take long, but still, don’t let the pups out of your sight. They’re tricky. Especially Aurelio. Watch him closely,” Ciana instructed. She padded around the den, making sure that everything was in order. Before she left, Ciana licked Fiadh and barked a goodbye to her pups. Several hours later, Ciana trotted back into her den. Her mind immediately told her that something was off. Fiadh was sleeping in the center of the den with Jazlynn and Kulia climbing on him. Acantha and Breaker were also sleeping peacefully on the west side of the space. And Aurelio was... Where was Aurelio? “Fiadh! Wake up! Get up , Fiadh!” Fiadh jerked awake, throwing Jazlynn and Kulia off of him. A deep growl began in his throat before he realized it was Ciana. “Hello, Ciana. The pups and I did well. What did you kill?” Fiadh glanced behind Ciana, to see if there were any dead animals there. Before he could see clearly, Ciana snapped. “I leave, and you fall asleep when you’re supposed to be keeping a watchful eye over the pups. What kind of wolf does that make you? Not a very good one in my eyes. Oh, and where in the den is Aurelio?!” Ciana’s ears were sticking straight up, and her teeth were bared. “And this isn’t the first time you’ve lost a pup! You know what, Fiadh, you can just leave. The pups and I can manage on our own.” Ciana gestured to the pups who were cuddled in the corner now, ears flat to their head. “Fine. I knew you would just weigh me down, anyway.” --- Delilah’s tears slipped silently down her face. A small bird hummed a sorrowful tune in the distance. Toddlers laughed from the closeby neighborhood. One toad croaked in the pond. The wind rustled leaves on the ground, and on trees. Through her tears, Delilah sang an emotional song that she had written. “ No one sees her pain; it just happens again and again. She puts on her brave face, but she really needs an embrace. ” Delilah sang it softly, but with just as much power as she normally would in her studio. “ She won’t let them see, no matter how hard she wants to. She hides it with her crazy. This is nothing new. ” The bird had gone quiet now, listening to Delilah’s melodic voice. The toad had also gone silent, stopping on the edge of water and land. Delilah only stopped when she heard someone or some thing step on the edge of the forest. She snapped her head around and saw a silver-furred wolf with piercing indigo eyes. --- Never. Never had Ciana heard a voice like that. So, unwillingly, she was pulled by a trance away from her den, to a part of the forest she had never explored before. There was a clearing, and man was sitting there. This man was female, with dark brown fur and light green eyes. The female was singing. “ She won’t let them see, no matter how hard she wants to. She hides it with her crazy. This is nothing new. ” Ciana stepped on a twig, and it snapped in half. She winced as the female man stopped singing and turned towards her. They stared into each other's eyes for a moment. It felt like hours, though it was probably only thirty seconds. “Hello there. You’re pretty far from wolf territory. Are you lost, sweetie?” A feeling began deep down in Ciana’s stomach. She could feel it. It was a good feeling; it told her it was okay to go towards this female man. Of course, Ciana didn’t know who the female was, but trusted her. Ciana could tell the man felt the same. As Ciana inched forward, the female man began to sing again. It was a song that meant a lot to her, Ciana could tell. Why was the question Ciana couldn’t answer. --- “ I built a friend out of three pieces of plastic and a pen. I made him on the table in the den. I gave him my old cell phone for a head, for a head. ” Delilah sang slightly louder than the time before, hoping to spike the wolf’s attention. It worked, because the wolf continued to proceed towards Delilah. Right up until the wolf was next to Delilah where she was sitting, cross-legged, in the clearing. The wolf sat down next to her as Delilah continued the song. “ And we spent holidays at my house and we left presents in a stocking. And we bought bolts and things and strings and a new watch, that’s what he got. ” --- For the next hour, Delilah sang different songs to Cianna. The wolf was a great listener, intently watching the entire time. While this was happening, the sun was setting and the moon was rising. A silver glow covered the clearing, enhancing the light of both Delilah and Ciana’s eyes. Delilah finished up the last verse of “Hallelujah”, then stopped. She reached over and wrapped her arm around Ciana. A message passed between the two, silently and sneakily. You’re alright.


The weather upcoming to Halloween can be unpredictable, from a summer time day to a blizzard. Today, the weather was summer like. Requesting a personal day so one of my favorite pastimes is reading horror around halloween. I savor a good old scare feast. Downloaded a new horror EBook to my reader, it was a collection of down right scary books. Taking my E-Book, lounge chair and coffee cup to my balcony,suddenly I was stunned by a car alarm going off. Looking down at my E-Reader the battery was exhausted, it was dark looking at my watch it was nearly midnight. Thinking to myself must have fallen into a very deep sleep. I skipped my usual cup of caminal tea. I was meeting with the illustrator of my new children’s book later that day. I said to voice activated device “turn off the lights set alarm for 6 Am. Its response “done” I turned to my side made myself comfortable pulled the cover up falling asleep quickly. The morning sunlight peeking through the curtains woke me up before the alarm when off. I got up worked out on the treadmill mill about forty-five minutes. I was training for a five kilometer race that I had scheduled for late November. The rest of the morning was my regular routine with time to spare. I had to pick up some photos enlarged for a show I was in at the local gallery. I snatched up my keys,wallet ,bus pass and a few dollars to get a cup of coffee on the way to the printer. Heading out the door walking toward the elevator, standing in front of the elevator when a another gentleman is standing near me on the side of me I said “How’s your morning?” He neither turned his head or responded. Maybe he has ear buds in and could not hear me thinking to myself shrugging it off. We both went to press the down button touching it at the same time. I noticed out of the corner of my eye the gentleman had this panicked look then wiping his hands with a tissue as if he touched something gross. The door open I went in first the other gentleman was right behind me in a vertly brushed up against the man once more, His face went pale began sweating. As the door opened, he ran from the elevator screaming. Holding the door calling out after him “I’m sorry to startle you! The lobby guard came over to the elevator seeing nothing that could have caused the man to go screaming from the elevator. Walking through the lobby waving to the other security guard he did not return the wave, maybe he didn’t see after all the confusion. Walking toward the printing shop saw bike messenger come torrowed me attempting to move quickly to get out of the way. I thought he would miss my but the rider fell off the bike going to offer my help another person helped him up, I said to the messenger “sorry,” but all I heard from him was talking to his good Samaritans telling him he felt he bumped into something both looked around seeing nothing, that could have caused the rider to fall. I was standing right in front of them something wasn’t right. I don't understand what had happened to me. Letting my imagination run rampant “What if people can’t see or hear me?” I thought should this be genuine what amusing fun it could be I stood behind a young man waiting to cross the street. He was wearing a large cowboy hat I knocked it off causing him to turn around shrieked at the women closest to him for pulling his hat off. “Excuse me,” the woman said, in a pissed off voice, “I didn’t touch you ludicrous hat!” walking away indignantly. The man looked puzzled, with hat in hand, looking back over his shoulder with puzzled and frightened face. “Oh! this can be fun.” I thought I must be invisible but how not a question to answer for now. Arriving at work there was a number of my co workers waiting for the elevator, pushing through the crowd each moved back wondering who started shoving and pushing. The group started to argue about who was pushing mean while the elevator door opened, jumping into the elevator, pressed the up button the door closed without the group even aware it arrived. As the door opened to the fourth floor I was egore to see what mischief I could get in. Feeling a little hungry headed for the break room opening the refrigerator finding my coworker lunches. Helping myself to sandwiches,soda, a piece of cake left over from yesterday's birthday party. Sitting there awhile with my feet on the table, to witness what would happen when it was lunch time. There were several people complaining using some language I can’t repeat some were yelling down the hall that someone had eaten their food and it was not funny. They wonder who in the office had a sick sense of humor lacked manners to do such a thing. Some suggested maybe a lock may be needed to prevent this from occurring again. Going next to an office, which door was opened, set up for a managers meeting, the secretary had neatly put the papers at each seat. As she left and when out of room and her sight, scatting the papers all over the table, the floor turned some chairs over. The group came into the room, finding a huge mess looked around who did this the bosses were dismayed yelling at the secretory how she let this happen she was speechless and truly distressed. Going over to another co-workers desk, putting my foot up against the wheels of her chair’s wheels prevent the chair to move. She stood up took my foot away the chair moved freely. Sitting down again putting my foot back the chair could not be moved, of course. The secretary could not figure out why when she stood up the chair moved and sat down would not move. I know it was nasty to cause all this mischief but to be honest, I was really having fun but I was beginning to feel a little guilty. I asked for the day off so I was not expected to be in the office that day. I moved things around people desks when they returned looked around asking who had touched the supplies on the desk of course no one replied . Starting to get tired so deciding to go back home. I stood by the elevator door not allowing the door to close people in the elevator banged on the button panel and complaining they were going to miss their trains. I moved into the elevator door closed when getting out I stood in front of the door with my arms straight out people were pushing against me the just continues to push each other I moved out of the way causing some hard feelings. Walking home restrained myself from further mischief. Opening the door to my apartment made coffee watched TV for about an hour then hopping into bed tell the automated AI to turn the lights off. Suddenly, I sat up, finding myself still sitting out on the balcony, the Ereader was fully charged in my lap. Getting up saw my neighbor coming home from work, I called out “Hi How are you doing?” She waved back. I was visible well could it been a dream or did it really genuine? I guess when you are reading the Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison anything can happen. Next day, I heard about all the creepy things that had happened yesterday, so was it a dream or real I’ll leave that up to your imagination. Happy Halloween Boo!


The bell finally rang, pulling me out of my staring trance. I’ been looking out the window for about three minutes without actually seeing anything. I’d finished my final test fifteen minutes before but didn’t hand it in. I wanted to be the last to walk out. I needed to tell him what I’d been keeping from him these past few months. Mr. Pollar had taken his glasses off, his weary eyes too old for his thirty-something face. Three years I had been obsessing over those deep brown eyes that tell a million stories when they look at you. And right now they were telling me he knew I had something to say. “I have to sub for Collins today, so I need to get going. But walk with me.” His tone was kind and inviting and it almost made me give up on my resolve. But there was no going back. He waited by the door for me, one hand holding his brown bag and the other on the door nob so he could close it after us. We walked in silence for a few seconds until he strated asking what plans I had for the break. Was I looking foward to my 21st birthday? When I didn’t say anything he looked at me worried. “Is everything alright, Isla? Was it the test? Have I finally succeeded in making a test difficult enough for you?” “I’m moving.” I blurted out instead of the clever comeback he’d be expecting. He stopped walking and I turned to look at him. His whole body frozen in place while he thought of something to say. I could read him better than I could anyone. Was I serious? He knew I was. Why? Was he ready for that answer? In the end he settled for: “When?” “I’ve made arrangements with my sister in the capital. I’m transferring to UFMG. I’m moving in with her on Saturday.” “That’s in three days.” I didn’t reply, I didn’t know what to say. I had gone through this moment in my head countless painful times only to come up blank in front of him. The next bell rang, reminding him he had to get to Mr. Renner’s class. The desperation settling in his eyes now mirrowed mine. We stood like that for long seconds, neither knowing what would come next. “Do I dare ask why?” He closed his eyes briefly and exhaled as if in pain. This was why I’d waited so long to tell him, I knew it would hurt him as much as it did me. “You know why.” I comfirmed. My eyes were watering already, I had no hope of getting through this without crying. He nodded a few times as if acknowledging for the first time what had been going between us. Kindred souls was what I called us in my mind. “I thought we had more time.” He said defeated. Students walked past us and even some of the teachers were eyeing our strange exchange. But we were past the point of caring. “You’ll be late.’ He looked confused at my words. “For your class.” I reminded him. “Mr. Renner.” “Isla...” he started. “Isla, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I just shook my head. He knew what I’d say to that. There was no need for him to apologise. “I let it go too far.” “Too far.” I repeated with a laugh. And then I sniffed wiping my eyes with the sleeve of my sweater. “We’ve never been close to going to far. We didn’t do anything.” That would be true for the outside observer. But not to us who saw inside our hearts. “We’re just very good friends who like to talk. I bore your ears off about my book writing while you grade papers and sip that horrendous coffee you can’t live without. Right?” “You’re right.” He said. “We didn’t go too far. We came too close.” Always the poetic mind. I loved that, his words. I could listen to him talk for hours and still ask for more. “You don’t have to move, Isla. We can go back to what we were in the beginning of your course. If this is hurting you we could stop being friends.” “Could you?” “I would for you.” “And erase three years of the best friendship I’ve ever had like it was nothing? I can’t live around you every day for the next year and not be drawn to you like a magnet, Kyle.” He looked at me surprised I had used his name. Something we’d established I wouldn’t do. Like that would keep some kind of bareer between us. Like that would keep me from falling in love with him. “It’s settled then. You won’t change your mind.” His voice sounded emotionless. “I can’t.” “I understand.” But he looked like he didn’t, like he thought I was making a mistake. Do you think I’m making a mistake?” “I want to tell you ‘yes, I do.’ But I know you’re right. I’ve seen it coming and I knew I couldn’t keep you, I just...” his voice broke as he closed his eyes for a moment. “I thought we had more time.” I swallowed and tried to go for something lighter. “I’m starting a new job on Monday on an ice cream shop. I’m sure it’ll be fun. It’s the summer so it’ll be full of people and I’m hoping for some free ice cream now and then.’ I tried to smile but just started crying harder. Suddenly he was hugging me. He was hugging me and I could feel him for the first time. His arms were like a soft blanket around me and his scent was the air I’d have to learn to breathe without. He brought his hand to my hair, soothing. I heard a sniff and knew he was crying too. I never imagined I’d see him cry. He let me go all to soon and I wished he had never hugged me. At least I wouldn’t have known what I’ll miss for the rest of my life. “I would leave her, you know.” His voice was low and heavy with shame. “No.” I shook my head. “It’s more than that.” We had never talked about this, about our connection, about his marriage. About the future. We only lived in the present, both wary of when the future would come for us. It finally had. “It hurts as much as I expected it would.” He said. His eyes were mostly dry now but still red. “I want you to be happy, kyle. I want you to see your daughter grow and to hear your grandkids call you papaw, and you’ll love it. I want you to love life and remember it was good. We were good.” He ran his hands through his hair and looked around taking deep breaths. “I need to tell you, Isla, if this is the last-” he hesitated. “The last time I see you.” Those words grounded me and pierced through my heart like a hundred knives. “I have to tell you that for the best part of the past year I’ve been happy. I have loved life and I have loved you.” More tears were rolling down my face. Was it too late to reconsider? “I love you, kyle.” I took a deep breath. Then I looked at him, memorizing every trace. His hair, his broad shoulders. His beautiful hands. His eyes. God, his eyes. Then I stated walking backwards as he held himself in place. A tear rolled down his cheek and to his throat. “We’ll be alright, right, Mr. Pollar?” I asked as I retreated. “Yes.” he smiled sadly. “Yes, we’ll be alright.” He lied.


Note: Includes violence. Jill deftly moved out of the way as the pot fell. She had not seen it, but moved by instinct. Her mother had beaten her far to often for her not to have those developed. As she bent over to pick it up, a knock sounded on the door. She looked up, through the dismal kitchen, to see who it was. "Jill, open the door for our guest." She heard her mother yell from the other room. She winced. Nonetheless, Jill brushed down her dress and came over to the door. Unlocking it, she glanced out through a small crack, and, seeing no one, opened it completely. A tall man stood there, draped in a dark cloak, towering over Jill's tiny form. He was pale, clean shaven, his eyes sparkling like gold in the sun. He smiled at Jill's tiny, frightened self. "Do not be afraid, child. I will not hurt you." With these words, he pushed past her, his stride having a determined purpose which she did not like. Jill followed him through the kitchen and into the dirty, grey living room, not daring to intervene. "This place..." He muttered, looking around. Jill understood his disgust. The room was cluttered, dust covering half of the objects in the room, indicating that they had not been used in years. Ten years, in fact. Ever since her father had died. His death had affected Jill's mother greatly. She rarely left her room anymore, except to punish Jill. She forced her to make her food, do the shopping. She was grieving, of course, but Jill did not deserve to bear her mother's burden in such a way. And for ten years. Maybe it was the stranger, or perhaps it was something else, but there awakened in Jill a feeling that her mother would have never tolerated from her. "I hate you, mother," Jill whispered, tears of grief, pain, and quiet, intense fury forming in her eyes. The man, who had briefly paused in the living room, now resumed his purposeful stride. He strode straight into her mother's room, slamming the door behind him, making Jill jump, and leaving her, dumbstruck, outside. She tried desperately to open the door, but apparently the stranger had locked it. Horror overcame her as a scream arose. She started banging on the door in panic, trying to force it open, to no avail. What seemed like an eternity in silence later, the door opened. The first thing Jill saw was a bloody knife in the stranger's hand. Breathing heavily, she slumped to the ground as she saw what lay beyond. Her mother lay on the bed, eyes glassy, a deep wound in her chest, sheets stained with blood. "I'm sorry," a whisper sounded. Then, Jill's eyes filled with rage, unthinking, unforgiving rage. Before the stranger had passed the house's threshold, he he found a kitchen knife lodged in his throat. He collapsed, gasps fading into silence. Jill stood there, tears mixing with blood, a single word ringing in her mind: Why? If anyone can give me feedback on this, I would appreciate it.


So, how did I end up on a sprawling oasis in the middle of the Kalahari Desert? It’s a wet story, and it starts with a waterslide. A waterslide in a waterpark, to be exact. Now, I’m not a bad guy, but that day I somehow ended up a felon. Go figure. But probably the youngest, fittest, handsomest felon those small-town cops ever saw. I mean, the way my dark curls must have shimmered in the sun that day! Sorry. I’m regressing. I used to be an arrogant son of a bitch. I was young. Testing the waters. Anyway, I marched right up those perpetually wet concrete steps to stand in front of the highest, most epic slide in the park. Looked at the bored slide attendant and said, “Do you want to see a real waterslide?” She chewed on her gum and blew a bubble that popped loudly. “Cross your arms in front of your chest and keep your feet together.” “No, wait. Let me show you.” I stepped up to the slide and grinned at her. “I can turn things into water.” “Sure, and I’m a debt-free College student. Cross your arms in front of your-” She stopped as I touched the slide and the entire thing transformed to shimmering water. It was wet under my hand, but still kept its shape. Her mouth fell open and her gum dropped unceremoniously from it. “See!” I shouted, as the people on the stairs turned to look. “Just figured it out, yesterday!” I thought she’d be as enthusiastic as I was, but she just looked at me stupidly. “Can you change it back?” “What?” I had no idea. Hadn’t tried that, yet. “Cause, you know, my boss is gonna kill me if a slide turned to water on my watch.” “But...” I stuttered. “Don’t you see how amazing it is?” Tiny people far away on the ground were tilting their heads up to look. The girl shrugged. “It’s alright. Not as impressive as say, turning things to gold.” “Water is worth more than gold, miss,” I said. “It is the essence of life!” Without another word, I plunged into the slide. Rocketed down it with the shimmering sides rushing past. It was like shooting through the centre of a roaring tidal wave! I whooped and shouted, “I’m a superhero!” Then shot out of the tunnel and flew head-over-heels through the air. I flew too far and too fast. Right over the tiny pool meant to catch sliders. “Woa! Shit. Shit!” I shouted as I plummeted toward pure concrete. In a split-second decision, I squeezed my eyes shut and thought of water. Hit the ground with a harsh jar up my arm, before the concrete gave way and I plunged into cool wetness with a splash. People shouted and cheered. Ran over to me and pulled me out of the little pool I’d created. “How did you do that?” they said. “That was amazing!” “Can I try it?” I puffed out my muscular chest. “Yes. You can all try!” I looked down at the tiny hole of water I’d made, then back up at the slide, and cursed. Someone else was already shooting down it, clearly visible in the tube of glittering, aqua-tinged water. “Shit” I pushed everyone away. “Move. I gotta...” I had to make more water. I surged into a sprint, concrete transforming to water under my bare feet. Water that grew and rippled outward as people quickly backed away. I ran in a circle until I had a sizable pool in the concrete. At the same moment, the person shot out of the slide and through the air, brown hair flying around her. Landed in the middle of the new pool with a squeal of delight. I sighed in relief. “Okay. Now everyone can use the slide.” Some people were glaring at me, but most were racing toward the slide to have a turn. The next person shot through the air and hit the pool with a mighty splash a second later. I ginned as I was soaked by the powerful spray. “Most epic waterslide ever!” Then I turned, and a red-faced man with a big belly was an inch from my nose. “ What did you just do, you little hooligan?” Little? I was just as tall as him, although decidedly less thick. And who used the word hooligan, anymore? “I just made this the best waterpark in the country.” “You made my slide disappear! ” Do you know how much one of those costs?” I looked to where everyone in the park had gathered round my waterslide. “Are you kidding?” “You wish.” He jabbed a finger in my chest. “Change it back.” I shoved his hand away. “I don’t know how. And why would you want me to? Look at your customers.” “Some cheap trick,” he boomed. “A novelty that will wear off quicker than the heat in this concrete. Change it back, or I’m calling the cops.” “The cops?” I took a step back. “Really now, sir. That’s hardly...” He pulled out his phone and dialed 911. “...necessary. Shit.” I spun and bolted. Now, I know what you’re thinking. What a stupid thing to do. But I was young. Reckless. Vain. Along with this new epic power, I was the fastest kid at my college, and here was the perfect opportunity to test out my speed and powers. So, I ran. “Hey, get back here!” the owner shouted. I glanced back and stuck out my tongue. Immature, I know. I was, back then. “Catch that kid!” the man yelled dramatically. Kid? I was twenty-two. Hardly a kid. Although, I did have a springy youthfulness that was easy to mistake for a surly teenager. I turned back to my front and picked up speed. “The chase begins!” Ahead of me, security was closing the exit gates. Crap! I darted left and leaped onto the tall fence. Climbed that thing like a lemur until I reached the barbed wire at the top. The owner was shouting into his phone. Security was racing to ambush me at the other side of the fence. Humm... could my power work on metal? I touched the barbed wire, and it instantly turned to shimmering water that my hand could pass right through. Yes! I vaulted over the top and splashed right through the transformed barbed wire. Then dropped down the other side. “Heads up!” The security guards stood back, then rushed me when I hit the ground in a crouch. I turned the ground to water as they raced in, and we all plunged in at the exact same moment. I was ready. They weren’t. As they thrashed in their heavy uniforms, I, light in my swim trunks, glided to the edge, vaulted out and ran. Sirens blared in the distance. I knew, even then, that I was being reckless. Running guaranteed that the cops would chase me down like hunting dogs on the trail of a fox. But I was young and stupid and though I was invincible. Light in bare feet and trunks, I raced like a cheetah. Swerved onto the road just as a police car skidded into view behind me, siren blaring. In the distance, I heard a great splash and screams. Had my waterslide collapsed? I didn’t have time to think about it. Too busy sprinting over concrete as the police car raced up behind me, loudspeaker blaring. “Stop! You’re under arrest!” Not I’m not, I thought, as I turned the ground at my feet to water. It spread out behind me and transfromed the road to an aqua river, On the sidewalk, people stopped to watch and shout. Cars ahead of me pulled up with squealing tires and swerved onto side roads. The siren behind me cut off abruptly, and I spun to see the police car pull up at the edge the new, urban river. Ha! Stopped him in his tracks. Now everyone was shouting and staring. Mobile phones and freaking news cameras appeared out of nowhere and followed me as I turned back around and kept running. Kept turning the road to a glittering clear river. Then a freaking helicopter appeared in the air. The blare of at least six sirens sounded from ahead. Crap! I was stuck, now. I skidded to a stop as the police cars swerved into view and cops surged out with guns drawn. Wind from the helicopter beat over my head. “Run, and we’ll shoot!” they shouted in booming unison. Could I turn bullets to water before they tore through me? Would turning them to water stop their destructive force and speed? I didn’t want to find out. Gasping, I raised my hands. Now, I don’t want to generalize, but I have a feeling some cops take out their insecurities and repressed aggression on anyone they can nail with a crime. They were unnecessarily rough with me. Rude and belittling. Let me tell you, it was a bruise to the ego. But I co-operated. Repressed the urge to turn their handcuffs to water. Or, better yet, their uniforms. I just quietly laughed to myself as I imagined them all wearing see-thought wetsuits. But I was afraid of those guns, so I behaved. “What elaborate hoax was that?” they shouted. “A magician never reveals his secrets.” That comment got me a right twist in the arm that made me scream. I still feel the ache in my shoulder to this day. “Tell it to the judge,” a cop growled in my ear. My eyes were watering, now, but I smiled as they hauled me away. If they thought it was just an elaborate trick, then I still had the upper hand. They threw me in a cell and stationed a guard outside it. A big, scary-looking guy who stared at me like a giant Rottweiler, ready to pounce if I made a single wrong move. It made me tense, at first. But after a few hours, I got used to his menacing presence. I casually turned on the TV and lounged on my bed to watch. I was all over the news, of course. Footage of me running over the road as it transformed to water behind me. “Tahir, last name unknown,” a voiceover commented over the images, “has been charged with mischief, vandalism, destruction of property, and manslaughter.” “What?” I sat up straighter. The image changed to show the waterpark, and my waterslide crashing down like a waterfall while someone was clearly inside. It must have collapsed the second I was out of view. My stomach dropped as I watched the tiny figure plummet with the water down to pure concrete, below. A news reporter appeared and spoke beside the image. “Sixteen-year-old Maya Sands sustained serious injuries and later died in hospital. Other spectators suffered minor...” The voice became distorted in my ears as I gripped my head. “Died?” I staggered to my feet and slammed the TV off. No, that didn’t happen. I didn’t just kill a teenage girl. “Yeah,” said the deep voice of the guard, slamming me with a reality I didn’t want to face. “Thought it was all games, didn’t you? Now you’re going away for a long time, motherfucker.” His voice sounded distorted and far away, like I was listening to it from underwater. I groaned and collapsed onto the hard bed. Closed my eyes and tried to drown out reality. I felt sick. Dizzy. Wished I had the power to turn back time, instead of turn things to water. I stayed like that for a long time, in a daze. Barely even noticed when the guard left to do a round of the prison. How could I ever make up for what I’d just done? I certainly couldn’t do it rotting in a cell for years. I had good intentions, but would never convince a judge and jury of that. In the middle of the night, I sat up and decided. I would escape. It was quiet right now, only sound, the periodic jangle of keys as a new guard did his rounds. When he came my way I quickly covered my head with my thin blanket and lay still, facing the concrete wall on one side of the bed. I heard a squeak of boots as the officer stopped outside my cell. Could feel him glaring at me. I twitched and made to mutter in my sleep, then grew still, again. After what seemed an eternity, he walked on and his keys resumed their eerie clatter. I stayed still as a statue until I was sure he was gone. Then crawled out of the blankets and arranged them back into a shape more or less like they’d been when I was sleeping under them. Climbed out the side of the bed, slid under it on my belly, and touched the concrete wall. Instantly, it turned to water that spread until it was wide enough for me to fit. I pulled myself through the veil of cool water. It separated easily for me. Flowed over my clothes and soaked me. The rest of it seeped into the earth on the other side. Wet and muddy, I stood and nearly whopped in triumph, before I shut my mouth. Idiot. I still had to get past the gate. It was easy, though. And I’m not saying that to brag. I was beyond arrogance at this point. All I could think about was making amends. But when any barrier can turn to soft water, well, escape from anywhere is pretty easy. So, I crept along the wall to the barbed gate, turned it to cool liquid, and slipped past it out into the night. From there, I hid in the woods during the day and raided stores at night. Yes, it was wrong. No, I didn’t take more than I needed. I left the places as untouched as I could. My face was all over the news. I couldn’t risk being seen by anyone. I made my own pools to drink and bathe from (in that order, thank you very much). My water was fresh, clean and uncontaminated. A precious resource we always take for granted. Through stealth, and my elusive ability to pass any barrier, I made it to Mexico. Then stowed away on a ship headed for sub-Saharan Africa. I won’t bore you with the details. Let’s just say it was a long and painful trip, before I was standing in the middle of the Kalahari Desert, looking out on rippling waves of sand. I threw off my sweaty shoes and socks and walked in a wide circle, water rushing from my feet and rippling outward, until I had an oasis of pure, fresh water. My first new friend found me while I was at it. “Hey!” I spun in the direction of the voice and saw a dark man in a white robe and colourful hat. “You’re the waterboy from America, right? Tahir?” Waterboy? Was that what they were calling me? I glared at him. “So, what if I am?” He laughed. “You showed those coppers who’s boss.” I stood still and tense as a statue. “Are you going to turn me in?” “Hey, what you did in America is not my business. “ He nodded at the water. “That drinkable?” “Best you’ll ever taste.” I waved him over. “Come on, try some.” He smiled and strode up to me. “There is a poor village just a few kilometres from here.” “I know,” I said. “That’s why I chose this spot.” “You came halfway around the world, to give fresh water to a country you’ve never been to?” I shrugged. “Just heard this place has limited fresh water.” “Well you can’t always trust what you hear. Most of us are fine. Some of the poor villages don’t have access to clean water, though.” “Exactly.” He raised an eyebrow at me. “There is poverty in every country, including America. Why come here?” I knelt and ran my hand through the glittering water. “My country doesn’t want me. I thought my skill would be more useful in a place like this.” “You weren’t wrong about that. You seem like a good man, Tahir.” “Not yet.” I stood and looked at him. “But I start, now.” He smiled, and knelt to take a drink. It wasn’t long before plants started to grow around my Oasis. I built a series of huts with help from some builders. Put up a watering station and bathing station. People are constantly coming from nearby villages to gather water, and I love to talk to them every day. I created my own little paradise in this hot, unforgiving desert. And this is where I sit, now. In a handmade wooden hammock, on a boardwalk that stretches over the blue water of my lake. The plants are so thick and vibrant, you’d never know this was a desert. Eventually, I’ll get my friend to take over, here, and I’ll go somewhere else. Set up a new oasis outside another village. Maybe someday, my work will be enough for me to go home without being arrested and thrown in jail. Until then, I’ll use my ability the best way I know how, and spend the rest of my life making up for that one, horrible mistake. My first oasis is called Maya Sands. Everything I do now, is for her. It will never be enough, but a lifetime is all I have. I’d give it all up to turn back time just once. But we can’t choose our abilities. We can only choose how we use them. I know I’ll make the most of mine.


I was sitting on the train today, thinking about weird stuff (as I generally do). The topic in my head today was hell, heaven, and the after life. I was pondering on the idea of hell. We say hell is a place where we will all burn and penance for our wrong doings. However as I look around me, I can see many eyes with sheer pains them. Day to day pain we all endure. Whether they are trivial reasons for unhappiness such as, a hard time paying the rent, unhappy marriage, or a crying child a mother cant handle anymore or the large societal issues, such as starvation, poverty, a child's innocence dying every second, murder, human trafficking. I immediately came up with my theory of hell. What if we are all in hell now. What if life on earth at the present moment, is the hell we all have to endure for our past lives. What if we are on this earth to reach our Nirvana and once we have achieved it, we pass away going to heaven.