Katherine and Adam had known each other since childhood. Katherine’s family had moved into the house next door to Adam’s when he was nine and she was eight. They became fast friends, always playing together, in one house or the other. By the time they were in high school, they were considered an item. No one could get in between them, and everyone knew, that when the time was right they would get married. Adam knew it, and Katherine knew it too. Adam was looking forward to graduation. Katherine was an honors student, so although she was a year younger than him, she would be graduating as well. They planned on going to the same college. Adam was waiting for the day when he and Katherine both graduated from college. He knew that at that time he would propose. Adam was daydreaming about his future when he got home from school. As he approached his house, he was surprised to see a moving truck in the driveway of Katherine’s home. Katherine was standing in the doorway and he ran over to her. “Katy, what’s going on?” “We’re moving, Adam, as you can see....” Katherine said pointing to the truck. “I see that. Why? What happened?” “I am not really sure. All of a sudden my parents told me we were moving. They won’t answer any of my questions and they told me I have to go with them.” “What about us? What about college?” “There won’t be any us anymore and I’m not going to go to college. I was told I have to work. And, there you have it.” Adam just couldn’t accept what he had just heard. He started to run into the house in search of Katy’s parents. “Adam it won’t help. My mom and dad are determined that we leave and cut ties. I can’t say anymore.” “Let them tell me that!” Adam disappeared into the house. He was out two minutes later. Katherine’s parents refused to talk to him and told him to leave. Katy had disappeared. Adam wanted to at least say goodbye. Suddenly her parents came out of the house with a few more boxes and slammed the door shut. It was over. They were leaving. “Can I at least say goodbye to Katy?” Adam called out to them. “Not a good idea, Adam. Don’t prolong the agony for you or for her. Just go home!” He watched as Katy’s parents got into their car. Then he saw her. Katy was sitting scrunched up in the back seat. She peered slightly out of the window. Adam waved. But Katy turned her head. As the car pulled away, Adam watched until the car was out of sight. His face was wet with tears. **** As Katy’s parents drove, she sat silently in the back seat. She was numb. She didn’t understand what had just happened. Yesterday everything was fine. Katy was looking forward to her upcoming graduation and standing beside Adam as they both received their diplomas. They were supposed to go to the local college together, and she knew that ultimately they would get married and have a family. Until last night, life was looking so bright. What happened? “Can you tell me now what’s going on?” Katy asked, her voice trembling. “We can’t, honey,” Mom said. “But trust us, this is for the best.” “I don’t understand. Why is this for the best. What happened? And why did I have to leave Adam without even saying goodbye?” She didn’t want to start crying. Katy knew that once she started, she would never stop. “You can’t say goodbye to anyone. I’ve changed all of our numbers. I took the time to go through your social media accounts and deleted all of them. No one can know where we are.” “But why?” “I can’t tell you now. Let’s get to where we have to be and I will explain everything to you then.” “Will I be able to talk to my friends and Adam at some point. I can’t spend the rest of my life without him.” “No, sweetheart. I am truly sorry for putting you through this. But we will all be safer if we disappear completely.” Katy could imagine how Adam must be feeling. He had to know that she wouldn’t just abandon him. She loved him. They were meant to be together forever. **** Katherine and Adam never spoke to each other again after that dreadful day. Ultimately Adam moved on and finished college. He never wanted to date anyone. Many of the girls on campus chased him. But he chose not to get caught. He missed Katy terribly and didn’t think he could ever look at any girl like he had looked at Katy, ever again. He became quiet and wihdrawn. He still had his friends, but he stayed away from the girls. Adam’s male friends would kid him often about not dating, but he didn’t care. He was lost without Katy and just wasn’t interested in moving on with someone else. Adam’s parents grew very concerned about their son and tried to talk to him, but to no avail. Adam went to class and came home. He studied and did well. Ultimately he graduated college with honors, without once having gone out on a date. Katy was always on his mind, and he knew she always would be. A few years later, Adam was prepping to take the Bar Exam. He was sitting in the law school library when someone approached his table. “Can I sit here,” a soft voice asked. Adam looked up from his book. He thought he was seeing a ghost. “Katy?” “I’m sorry. My name is not Katy. You must be mistaking me for someone else. I’m Trish.” “Sorry. You look like someone I once knew. My name is Adam.” Adam stared at Trish and then realized, that while Trish had Katy’s coloring, long dark brown hair and blue eyes, she didn’t look like Katy at all. The eyes were a different shade of blue, and her smile was wider. No, she definitely was not Katy. “I’m studying for the Bar Exam so I really don’t want to talk right now,” Adam said a little abruptly. “Well, so am I. Maybe we can work on some of it together?” Trish had a warm smile and a gentle voice. “I don’t think so. I prefer to study on my own. Maybe you want to sit somewhere else.” “If I make you that uncomfortable then of course, I’ll leave. Sorry to have bothered you.” Trish started to walk away, when Adam said, “I am sorry. That was rude. If you want to sit here you can. I’m just a little out of sorts. I have been studying all day. And you startled me just a little.” “No problem. Katy must have been someone special.” “She was. Very special. Anyway, if you want to study together that would be fine.” There was something about Trish that touched Adam, he couldn’t put his finger on it. But this was the first time that Adam had actually had a conversation with a girl since Katy had gone. Adam and Trish became study partners, meeting everyday for coffee and then hitting the books. Trish wished it could be more, but she was smart enough to realize that Adam was not ready yet and so she didn’t push. Maybe one day. About a week later Trish tried to ask Adam about Katy, but he shut her down so quickly and refused to speak to her for days. Trish never broached the subject of Katy again. Both Trish and Adam graduated law school and took the Bar Exam two months later. They found work and their respective offices were a few blocks from each other. Trish and Adam continued to meet for coffee during the week, and then one day, Adam asked her to dinner. Trish was thrilled. Maybe that shell that Adam had around him was starting to crack. **** It’s three years later and Trish and Adam are married with two kids and two careers. Life was hectic but good. Adam was feeling content. While he loved Trish with all of his heart, he did not have the same feelings for her that he had for Katy. Maybe it was maturity, he reasoned to himself. Maybe, had Katy stayed and had they gotten married, his feelings would have been the same for her as they were for Trish now. No. He had had a passion for Katy that he never felt for Trish. But he loved her in a different way, and he loved his kids. Life moved along and Trish and Adam were married for almost forty years. The kids had gotten married and moved out. Adam and Trish were grandparents now, and life was good. Until it wasn’t. **** “Adam, I just came from the doctor. I don’t know how to tell you this, but I have cancer, and there is nothing to be done.” Trish was in tears. Adam was stunned. For the second time in his life, he was losing the one person that meant the most to him. They cried together. And then they decided to live life as much as they could. Time was precious and they were going to take advantage of the time they had left. In the end Trish was in so much pain. She was taking so much medication that she slept most of the time. One morning, as Adam was sitting at her bedside, Trish opened her eyes and looked at the one man she had truly loved for almost forty years. Trish smiled weakly at Adam and spoke softly, “Honey, after I am gone, I want you to look for Katy. I know that you love me. But I also know that you’ve been mourning the loss of that relationship all of your life. Go look for her and find your lost love.” Adam had tears in his eyes as Trish spoke. For the first time in his life, he couldn’t think about Katy, only about the woman who had made his life so rich and full. Trish then closed her eyes for the last time. Finally she was at peace. And Adam wept. **** It was a year since Trish died. Adam wasn’t quite ready to go looking for Katy. He missed Trish terribly. One morning his phone rang. “Adam? It’s Katherine.” It was the voice that Adam never thought he would hear again. He froze. “Adam, are you there?” Katy asked. “Yes Katy, I’m here. I don’t know what to say...” “You don’t have to say anything. I know this must be a shock.” “Where have you been all these years? You must be married, have kids...” “No. I don’t. And my parents are gone. I’m alone now.” “I am so sorry. My wife died about a year ago. And I miss her terribly. But my kids and grandkids bring me a lot of comfort.” “Can we meet?” “Yes. I want to see you.” “I am not the same person I once was.” “None of us are. It’s been a long time.” They hung up and Adam sent Katy the name of a local coffee shop which had private booths so they could talk. The next day, Adam decided he would walk the twenty minutes to the coffee shop. He was so nervous and he thought walking would help. It didn’t. When he reached the shop and looked through the window, he saw Katy sitting in one of the booths. Her long dark hair had turned gray. He couldn’t really see her face fully so he had no idea what other changes had taken place. He would soon find out. He walked into the shop. The waitress asked if he needed to be seated and he pointed to Katy. She nodded and he walked over to the booth. Katy had turned her head and was looking out the window as he approached. When she felt him standing beside the booth she looked up. “Hello,” Adam said softly. Katy smiled. Except for the gray hair, Katy looked the same. She had aged, of course, but she still had her slim figure and that beautiful smile. And that was all Adam saw. “I see you are looking well after forty years!” Katy smiled. Adam patted his growing gut and smiled back. He had aged, but he had been happy. He slid into the booth and sat across from Katy. After all this time, all he could say was, “What happened?” As soon as Adam asked, the story spilled out. Katy had a brother that no one had ever seen. He lived in another state. He hung out with a very unsavory crowd. Katy’s parents had disowned him long before they moved to the suburbs. Things had been fine for a long time. Katy’s brother, Rick, had no idea where they had moved to and her parents were happy not to have any contact with him. Before Katy’s high school graduation, Dad had gotten a call from Rick. He was looking for money to pay someone off. He assumed that his parents had money and they would give it to him. At this point he had gotten connected to the criminal element. He demanded that his parents send him the money or else. Dad had no idea how Rick had found them. But he knew that they were not safe as long as Rick knew where they lived. Rick was a drug addict who was not thinking clearly. Dad had called the police, who had in turn contacted the FBI. It seemed that Rick was involved with some very dangerous people. Dad had decided that it was time to move away, again. This was not the first time, So they packed and left. They changed location, names etc. Katy was forbidden from contacting her friends and was told not to use social media. Someone from the police department had called to help them relocate. They felt badly for the family. Well, they did relocate. But life continued to be difficult as they were always wondering if Rick or his “friends” would find them. Ultimately, Rick had died of an overdose. Meanwhile, Katy had met someone and fallen in love. She hoped that he would bring her the happiness she so longed for. They got married. And then the trouble began. What Katy never knew was that her husband was an addict too. He had tried to get clean several times. He went to rehab, but nothing ever worked. After years of dealing with his addiction and his erratic behavior, Katy was at a point where she was ready to divorce him. Then, her husband also died of an overdose. It wasn’t long after, her dad died of a heart attack. Katy’s mom had a hard time living without dad and one day just didn’t wake up. Katy decided to come back and find Adam. **** Four weeks later... A gentle breeze was blowing, and the stars were twinkling in the inky night sky. Outside, on the terrace they sat. The table set for two with a candle brightly lit in between them. They had finally found each other, after forty years. The feelings between them, the same. It was as if time had never passed. "Where do you think we will be forty years from now?" Katherine smiled. Her blue eyes as bright as they were forty years ago. Sadly there were lines etched around her eyes. Time had taken its toll. But to Adam, she was still as beautiful as the day he had met her. "I hope we will be together, no matter what happens." Adam sighed. He looked at his first love and couldn't, wouldn't imagine losing her again.


The sounds of silverware and small talk echoed inside the intimate restaurant. Jacoby looked down at the plate and back up towards Antoinette. “Do you want the last one?” She smiled and shook her head, so he popped the baked clam in his mouth. Antoinette leaned forward with a shine in her eyes. “Can I ask you something?” “Oh, that’s never a good thing, especially on a blind date!” They both laughed, and after it died off, he nodded. “Are you a superhero?” Jacoby leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Did Ben tell you that? Did he say that to you?” “No! Well, I mean kind of. He might have mentioned it to Cecilia, and she might have told me.” “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.” “What do you mean?” Jacoby felt his cheeks flush with a mix of embarrassment and unwanted attention. “I mean, I’m not really a superhero.” “What does that mean?” “I uhh, I’m not sure what I mean.” Jacoby let out an awkward laugh. Antoinette eyed him while taking a sip of her wine. “Do you have superpowers?” There was some sarcasm mixed into her question. Jacoby squirmed in his seat for a couple of beats and leaned forward, almost coming out of his chair. “I shouldn’t do this, but...can you keep a secret?” “Of course!” Jacoby looked around to make sure no one was listening. “Yeah, I kind of do.” Antoinette waited for the punch line, and when none came, she sat straight up. “What? Are you serious?” “Yeah, I am.” Antoinette paused again, still waiting for the punch line. When she drank, she sounded like Marisa Tomei from “My Cousin Vinny,” and the accent was now on full display. “You’re sitting across this table and dead-ass telling me you have superpowers?” Jacoby remained unperturbed by her distrust. He was used to this, which was why he was silently cursing Ben. “Yup.” “Okay then, what are they?” Jacoby took a breath; at this point, he had to tell her or risk sabotaging the rest of the date. “Well, it all started one day when I was making waffles and -- “ “Oh, you’re telling me a story?” Her question threw him off. “Well yeah, it’ll make more sense this way.” “All right, continue.” “I was making waffles, and I guess some batter spilled on the stove, and a grease fire started.” “Yeah?” “And I panicked and grabbed the Gatorade bottle I was drinking and dumped it on the stove, causing a huge explosion!” Jacoby pantomimed the explosion and included a sound effect. “Okay.” “And I guess the explosion, mixed with the Gatorade electrolytes and my body chemistry gave me my superpower.” Antoinette sat there, waiting for Jacoby to fill the pause or fill her in on the joke. “And that is...what?” “I have the power to throw or break any object, causing it to explode, but then it reappears good as new.” She stared at him, her frustration growing more and more apparent. “I don’t get it.” Jacoby picked up the wine glass in front of him. “Like I could throw this wine glass against the wall, and it would explode but then reappear on the table like nothing ever happened.” Silence hung like a portrait inside an art museum. Dissatisfied and confused, Antoinette’s internal censor took a smoke break. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” “What do you want me to say? It’s my gift, ...and my curse.” “So, do you have a name?” “Yeah, it’s Captain Explosion.” Antoinette laughed and then put her hands up. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. That was rude. I just didn’t expect this.” “That’s why I try to keep my identity a secret.” The resulting silence was filled with the two adults drinking from their glass. Antoinette put hers down to ask, “Do you go out at night and fight crime?” Jacoby made a face. She wasn’t getting it. “No, not really.” Antoinette stared at him for a couple of seconds, and he could feel the doubt pouring out of every pore. “Let me see it.” “Here?” “Yeah, do it.” Jacoby looked around. “Nah, I don’t want to.” Antoinette’s face turned a shade of red, and suddenly she was talking with her hands. “So you’re fucking lying to me? You’re a fucking liar?” “No!” Jacoby said, his eyes pleading as he continued. “I’m not lying to you; I just don’t want to.” “Well, you’re going to!” Antoinette stood up, walked over to a large Italian man two tables over, and shouted, “The guy I’m with over there said he banged your wife!” “He fucked Judy?” The convenient stereotype leaped to his feet, and before Jacoby could plead his case, both he and the chair were on the floor. Antoinette was already halfway to the door when she collided with a waiter, projecting pasta and her pride all over the floor. Tears were forming, but screaming felt better, and she let one out before making her exit. “Worst blind date ever!” Jacoby let the embarrassment wash over and pass before picking himself up. He sat back in his chair, still dazed when the owner of the restaurant came over. “Your girlfriend stormed out of here and broke some dishes. I gotta charge you.” He handed him the bill. “Fuck me!” Jacoby threw a wine glass against the wall, causing an explosion. Instantly the glass reappeared on the table. Jacoby handed him a credit card, and the owner did a double-take. “Hey, wait a second! Aren’t you, Captain Explosion?!” Jacoby perked up. Perhaps the night wasn’t a complete waste. “Yeah, that’s me.” “We don’t take Discover.


He took off his shoes, and strode out onto the beach. He loved the feeling of the soft sand crumbling beneath his soles, the waves gently caressing his toes. The salty spray of the sea. The wet sand glimmered in the distance invitingly. He wondered if it would be the same half a world away. Repulse bay. He lived just a bus ride away when he was a child. Innumerable summer days were spent here, playing in the sand, trying and failing to reach the floating platform far away from the shore, getting yelled at by mom for not wearing sunscreen... Now he was moving away, to the point where it would take a plane ride to revisit this memory from the other life he lived. Being a Thursday afternoon in the scorching summer sun, not many people decided to be at the beach. He mostly had the whole beach to himself. Maybe it spoke to the bias of his memories, but summer days became more and more blisteringly hot over the years. The air became so humid it was suffocating. It felt incompatible with life. He sympathized with the palm tree, its leaves drooping over the ocean, shaking in the breeze half-heartedly like a worker pretending to work and awaiting retirement. At least he could leave. The first time he was here, his mom brought a small bucket with her so he could use it to build a sandcastle. It was no work of art, really just five bucketfuls of sand that protruded out of the ground. He had to defend it against the older, meaner kids who kept trying to topple his castle and dethrone him. He fought tooth and nail to preserve it, throwing his outstretched hands onto three kids practicing their imaginary world cup scoring routine on the castle, while his mom fell asleep in the shade under a tree. But all he had to show for it were scratches, bruises, and the unmistakable memory of three craters in the otherwise undisturbed sand. It was a delusion he had, that if he could stop the kids destroying his work it could stand for years to come. But of course, when he returned the next day it was gone, disintegrating under the red sun and swept away by the waves. A borrowed place on borrowed time. He found a shaded patch and sat down, staring out towards the sea. In the distance, he could make out a couple of seagulls, circling a sailboat, looking for a safe place to land. It seems like the search for hospitable land is a tradition, happening since the first plankton slid down a few nanometers, and will go on until the end of time. He thought about the ship of Theseus. Is a boat really the same boat if all its parts were replaced? Or, for that matter, is a city? Out of sentimentality, he built another sandcastle. Without any tools, he gently folded up his sleeves, walked down to the water's edge and scooped some sand together, sprinkling in some water to give it shape. Two things that decidedly do not mix, the sand and the water, momentarily came together to form something so beautiful, so delicate. This sort of beauty was never going to last. His creation was a castle, complete with four towers and something that resembled a wall surrounding the main block. He sat and watched as the waves lapped away at the nearest tower against the crimson of the sunset, removing some bits of sand from his construction. Soon it will all be nothing. One by one, they all just faded away. As he bent down to pick up his bag, he noticed that the legs of his pants were wet, and specks of sand littered his legs. Against the black pants he was wearing, it seemed almost like stars in the night sky, one he could never see through the choking yellow street lamps of Kowloon. He gently patted it, and some fell off while others remained ever so tightly bonded to his pants. He remembered another time when he wore long pants to the beach as a child, and the sand clung onto his pants leg. When he noticed it, he went back into the sea to wash it off, and to his credit it was no longer there. But when he walked up the beach to rejoin his friends, new sand was flicked back up and his pants leg was dotted with sand once more. He ran down to water a few more times, but this kept happening, no matter how much he tried to minimize his movements. He tried to walk slowly so the sand would not bounce up onto his pants, he tried to run so there was less opportunity for the sand to jump onto him, he even tried to walk sideways for some reason. He could not explain it now, but he felt it was sure to work in his youth. As much as he tried to get rid of it, the sand always reappeared. For weeks afterwards, his mom kept finding bits of sand at home. Mom twisted his ear until it became red, and sent him to bed early. Of course, an hour-long lecture was inevitable. She would reschedule the end of humanity to tell him off. All over some sand that wouldn’t go away. And perhaps that is the way it is. You can try to erase everything, but some things just do not perish easily. You could scrub and scrub and it would still be there. Small parts of it will remain, and will continue to exist in the crevices you never thought about. And when he finally settled into his new home thousands of miles away, putting away the last cardboard box, he still found sand in his house. He picked some up with his finger, holding it up to the light to examine it. And when he remembered where the sand came from, he smiled. \ For more like this, please visit our sub r/RedTideStories.


The waves crashed against the sides of the canoe. Cosmo gripped the hull of the boat with everything he had to stay above the water. As his small ship rose and sank with the aggression of the midnight storm, the fisherman knew he wouldn’t be able to keep his stability. With every gust of wind and pelting of seawater, Cosmo was quickly losing strength. He’d been on the water for only 2 hours when the skies began to darken, and the temperature dropped rapidly. He’d been planning this fishing trip for months, and when the time finally came, he wasn’t going to let a “chance of rain” stop him from getting out and enjoying his holiday. This mistake was at the forefront of his mind as he clenched the wooden slats of his canoe with wet fingers. The energy of the sea seemed only to be increasing, and the strength in his fingers and arms to be declining. His biceps trembled; his fingers slid on the smooth timber. With one final explosive smash from the ocean, Cosmo’s small canoe was obliterated, wooden shrapnel sent in every direction. His fishing pole, gear, and lunch bag were shot off into darkness and the man was plunged deep below the surface. In the black of night and the midst of the storm, it was impossible to tell which direction was up. His head was spinning from the impact and he flailed underwater in sheer panic. After a few minutes of struggling, Cosmo saw the darkness closing in around him and he slowly ceased to fight. Laying on his back on dry land, Cosmo opened his eyes and coughed up a mouthful of warm seawater. He was disoriented and confused, but safe and dry. He knew he was out of the water, but as he examined the air above him with squinted eyes, he saw ocean. He glanced fish swimming far above his head; algae, coral, and deep-sea vegetation were visible in every direction. He pushed himself up with his elbows and coughed up more seawater. He was re-gathering his bearings and at the same time becoming more confused with the situation. Cosmo was on a beach, but at the same time deep underwater. His fingers wriggled through the dry sand, his lungs cycled the air around him, and his clothes fluttered in the wind. He rose to his feet and let the sudden rush of dizziness pass before walking towards what appeared to be a wall made of sand off in the distance. Starting off slow, his strength soon returned to him and he made his way towards the wall. As he approached, the structure seemed to grow larger. When he was within 100 feet, it was apparent that this was a massive construction, very different in size than his viewpoint in the sand had him believe. As Cosmo took the final steps towards the base of the wall, he had to crane his neck almost 90 degrees upward to see the top. He was in utter disbelief and frozen in place when the structure slowly began to vibrate. Too afraid to approach and to mesmerized to run, Cosmo planted his feet and waited for whatever was going to happen next. Within seconds, the massive barrier split with a vertical opening and the pieces slid through the sand to either side. The slot grew until it would allow Cosmo enough room to pass. Cosmo felt a strong urge, a pulling from inside his chest, to seek whatever was beyond the wall. He followed the path inside and fell into absolute astonishment. Once inside the massive barrier of sand, Cosmo laid his eyes on the largest, most intricate set of buildings he’d ever seen. Not the types of structures he’d seen on the surface of Earth, these constructions were made of perfectly packed sand, glistening obsidian, smooth rock, and colorful coral from the depths of the ocean. Every wall of every building was expertly crafted and beautifully constructed; some of the largest rising through the clouds. He was standing amidst an underwater utopia. The sea was above him; clouds were below that. He didn’t feel trapped, or claustrophobic. It was as if this was normal; everything felt correct and in order inside these walls. Bliss spread through his body as he walked towards the city of sand. There wasn’t a shred of doubt, anxiety, or worry about who lived in these dwellings. He felt euphoric at his discovery, unsure if he was dreaming, dead, or hallucinating. Everything felt real, everything felt right. In the center of the city stood the most intriguing building of them all. Most of the structures had hints of glossy obsidian, maybe a flash of colored coral. Most parts of the city were made of predominately sand - all of it breathtaking, however. What Cosmo was looking at now in the heart of the metropolis left him speechless, almost without tangible thought. He struggled to find anything from his life that he could compare to what he was looking at now. Dwarfing the other structures, made from pure black stone and speckled with shining glass, this part of the town was not like the rest. The amount of color exploding from this building was breathtaking. Cosmo was being drawn directly towards this attraction. He was aware of his feet shuffling him forward, his mind detached from his body. He realized he didn’t want to stop his forward progress. Instead, he did what he could to move quicker. As he came up to the front of the building, a single panel at the base eroded, and a doorway appeared. It was the perfect height for Cosmo, and he entered without hesitation. Inside the great monolith was a single chair, a throne, large enough to hold a human 10 times the size of Cosmo and adorned with every color imaginable. The colors didn’t clash; instead, they blended beautifully and seemed to create a rainbow that flowed throughout like art. Coral had been chiseled and sculpted to shape the throne and it appeared both smooth and comfortable. The shine from the obsidian walls reflected in the background, and as Cosmo tilted his head upward, he was unable to see a roof to this room. The stunning walls rose to infinity. As Cosmo leveled his head back towards the gigantic chair in front of him, he was struck with amazement as he realized it was no longer empty, as it had been before. Seated before him was the most impressive being he’d ever seen. Fitting the chair seamlessly, the being was much larger than Cosmo, but not frightening or intimidating. The man in the chair shared the qualities of a human, but on a much larger scale. He was built to perfection, embodying an almost supernatural flawlessness. Atop the head of this enormous man sat a golden crown. All 16 points of the crown had a small carved piece of coral, each a different color. The gold glistened and coral popped with vibrant shades. The man sat his throne with grace and power, but also with benevolence. The softness of the man’s face comforted Cosmo, and he approached, stretching his head upward to keep eye contact with this fascinating man. When he was at the foot of the throne, and only at the height of the man’s ankles, the sand below Cosmo rose swiftly. He was lifted like an elevator until he was at eye level with the king. “Hello Cosmo, welcome to Arenia, my underwater kingdom.” Cosmo felt it easy to find his words, the feeling of shock he experienced outside had been replaced with a relaxed feeling of contentedness. “Thank you, Great King. I’m not sure where I am or what has happened, but I’m awestruck by what I’ve seen. It’s beyond words. The beauty of this palace and the city surrounding it is past description.” The king gave a modest bow and continued to speak softly and kindly to his guest. “You were in an accident on the surface of the sea, Cosmo. The storm capsized your boat and sent you underwater. I am the God of the deep sea, protector of those taken by the ocean, restorer of aquatic life. Arenia is a unique city in that it can accommodate both those who breathe air, and those who are sustained in water. You were on your way to death before I came upon you and brought you here to my kingdom.” Cosmo was amazed by what he was hearing, but he knew it was true. He knew he wasn’t in a dream, and he knew he was experiencing something that very few have before. The God of the Deep Sea continued. “Cosmo, you have an option that I am going to present to you now. You are free to return to your homeland, to the surface of Earth and to the troubles plagued by that society. We are on the ocean floor, but I can return you to your home in a matter of seconds, if that is what you wish. On the contrary, you may select to stay here with us in Arenia. We have everything you need for a fulfilling life. The societal troubles of the surface have not made their way down here, nor shall they ever. You will find this life full of happiness and enrichment but will need to leave your surface possessions behind. In addition, if I return you to your native homeland, I will erase the memory of this kingdom from your mind. You will have no recollection of this happening and therefore will not spread the knowledge of Arenia. We protect the sea in silence. What is it that you wish to do?” Cosmo stood on his platform of sand, full of bliss but aware of the decision he must now make. The feeling inside his body and at the forefront of his mind was unmistakable. His worries, his plaguing thoughts, his anxieties - they were all gone. There seemed to be no problems down here, no negativity. He could start his life anew and live out his days in pure happiness. If he were to leave however, he would have no memory of this experience, no sliver of proof that this encounter ever occurred. The prospect of staying in Arenia was intriguing, but he made his decision quickly. “Thank you for the offer to stay here and enjoy the fruits of your metropolis, but I’m accustomed to my life and to those that I share it with. I’d like to return to the surface, even if that means that Arenia will be washed from my mind.” The feeling of bliss that had flooded his body was suddenly flushed out by disappointment. The God responded, “As you wish. I am going to return you to the morning of your fishing trip, but I am going to grant you the intuition to make a better choice regarding the weather forecast. The memory of this visit will be cleansed from your memory and the secret of Arenia will continue.” Cosmo expressed his sincere gratitude for the saving of his life before darkness enveloped him. He awoke several hours later in his bed. Feeling well rested, Cosmo got to his feet, stretched out his back, and immediately thought about the day’s fishing trip. A smile spread across his face as he put on his slippers and walked outside to grab the paper. Standing in his driveway, he opened straight to the weather section. The smile soon faded from his face. “Chance of Rain” read the forecast for today’s date. Unsure exactly why, he had a strong feeling that he’d better mind the paper and go fishing another day. Disappointed, he crumpled up the print and tossed it into the trash. He retreated into his home, dumped his slippers by the bedside, and quickly fell back asleep.


As the air grows colder, and the leafs fall unto the earth. So does my heart in all of it's passions grow colder, and fall into the abyss. It's sinful for a man to show such soft skin,but i retort. If you've ever loved such a woman, the way i love her, surely your skin will also grow soft. For such love to truly touch yea,your skin must also grow soft. Soft for her smile to pierce into your soul, and soft enough for her godly aesthetics to drive your mind crazy. But i still stand alone, in the gutter, by streets of rotterdam. Drinking my cheap wine, while the streams of whiskey dry unto my chest, and my eyes face unto the heavens. What i want more at this moment in my life, is for the one above to take me. So you ask, what putteth me into such distress. My good friend, it is love off-course, but not just any kind of love. Un-requited love , the love that drives a man into psychosis.


Disclaimer: Facts provided throughout this literary journal may or may not be true. Do not use to reference any relevant information regarding that of the beloved George Washington. Please enjoy! Saturday February 22, 1738 Garnets and looms do not cease to amaze me, yet, for reasons I cannot explain, my father’s cherry tree is where I write this. My sister Betty, my brothers and I have named him Robbie. The shade of Robbie’s leaves and ants along his rough bark delight me with the simple wonders that can never be explained. I had to contest physically with Samuel for the spot underneath the tree. He is only four, so we made a compromise quickly before he could muddy his trousers and make our Mother worry. He gets the tree in the mornings, and I will get it everyday after lunch. Augustine, who left home early and only visits on important days like my birthday, gets it never. My father gave me a hatchet today, my sixth birthday, and my Mother gave me this pad of paper and a pair of riding boots. The boots squeeze my toes too much and I don’t like how they feel, but the hatchet fits my hands perfectly and makes me feel powerful. A hatchet in my hands and some muscle in my fingers; nothing else can stop me now! Sunday February 23, 1738 Went to Sunday mass this morning where Father told the minister how much he cherished his cherry tree. When Samuel asked Father why he liked the tree so much, Father responded, “Samuel, my boy, it listens to me,” and patted him on the head harder than a naughty horse. I went to the cherry tree this afternoon after lunch, and with milk and bread crumbs still jostling their way into my stomach, I asked the tree if it could listen to me. And because I cannot tell a lie, I will tell you, it said nothing. Wednesday February 26, 1738 I plan on chopping some twigs tomorrow. I have my eyes set on the uneven branches of the cherry tree--they leave sun marks on Samuel’s rosy pale cheeks, and I would not think he wants to look like a wild tiger--so I will give him a full sun mark. He sleeps unknowingly underneath the sparse shadows of Robbie’s shadow right now. Thursday February 27, 1738 Raining. I don’t like rain. Drooping. Robbie is drooping. Mother told me to clean the floors now that Augustine has left. I happily obliged, giving the wet mop to Samuel and dry sponge to Betty while Mother took care of John in the nursery. Samuel said I should be leading troops one day, and Robbie, drooping from all the rain, looked happy when he said it. Sunday March 2, 1738 It is still raining outside, but we all had to go to mass today since Father is the churchwarden and wants us to make Virginia proud. I was forced to wear the boots after Samuel ratted me out on where I was hiding them. Then he ratted me out on where I was hiding myself after running around the house, screaming because I don’t like the boots, rain or Samuel. During the sermon, Mother had whispered to us that she wanted us to pray together under the cherry tree once we came home. She wanted us to pray that our Uncle Lewis found his way to the colonies and Mount Vernon after being prosecuted by the British. The British. Somebody really ought to stop them. Then we came out of the chapel and realized it was still raining. Mother then left the umbrellas in the frontyard and told us to gather in the kitchen while Father lit a candlelight. Betty pulled me aside after our prayer and told me, “We prayed inside the house, inside the kitchen, and inside our hearts, brother. Yet somehow I know that Uncle Lewis will not be coming. Why is that?” I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t even know what she meant. Maybe I’ll know the answer when I’m all grown up, but for now I simply told her, “Look at Robbie out the window. He might as well be dead right now, but when the rain goes and the winds end: he’ll be alive and standing in the Americas.” I am a year older than her, so my words tend to sound more mature than they are confused when I say them. She nodded and went to brush her teeth. Tuesday March 4, 1738 At last, no rain! No rain! No rain! Betty says she is “elated yet belated,” and I have barely an idea what she means, her vocabulary not being the strongest for a five-year-old. She stayed inside to jump rope in front of John’s crib, however, and Samuel and I played catch outside. This being said, I have no other new words to tell you. Samuel fell in a mud puddle this morning, so he rested beside the cherry tree, watching the clouds blanket in the sky and pointing to the ones that looked like bears or whales. He was going to leave the shade by noon, but I let him stay because I wasn’t sure if Mother would’ve liked to see him come inside with wet and muddy trousers. We shared an apple. I went inside to find a knife for cutting it, but when I came back, Samuel was holding my hatchet! “Hack it through the ground, Georgie!” he said, holding the hatchet dangerously over his head. I don’t like it when he calls me Georgie, but I also don't like it when he holds sharp things over his head, so I made sure to get that thing away from him as soon as I saw it. I told him no, but he didn’t listen, and I must admit part of me did want to use my hatchet. Sweat started to drip out of my forehead, and my fingers trembled. I shook my head no. “C’mon General Georgie!” He bounced up and down in his muddy and grass-stained pants. Oh, infantile Samuel. You may be my brother, but sometimes you can make me do the worst things. I took the hatchet and struck it through the ground, reaping up worms and grass roots with every strike. It felt good, I have to say. I have no anger or bad feelings towards anyone, not even Samuel, but it felt good. Wednesday March 5, 1738 Had to stay inside this morning while Samuel played with Robbie since Mother was upset I cut up holes through the ground yesterday. Betty let me come to her spot in the nursery so John and I could watch her jump rope. It was rather mundane, but she seemed to enjoy it, so I sat in Father’s armchair and watched. Mother came in later and said I looked just like Father when he had important work to do and let me out early because of it. Cut some twigs and made a bouquet for Mother out of their flowers. She said they were lovely, but told me to be careful around Father’s tree. After all, looking like Father when he is busy isn’t enough for me to be Father. Friday March 14, 1738 Samuel and I chop twigs and square the bushes everyday before lunch. I have stopped cutting holes through the ground, but I still hold my hatchet strong when I strike. We are running out of things to chop, and lying under Robbie is getting boring. Monday March 17, 1738 Forgot to write in you yesterday, but something important happened yesterday that I have to write down. My father, the honest and kind churchwarden, went missing. One of Father’s friends from the parish council came to our family farm to tell us the news. “I regret to inform you, dear friends and family, but Augustine Washington Sr. has gone missing last night.” The unfledged man took off his cap and made a genuflect kneel. “He was last seen at the vestry, ma’am, at nine o’ clock. We have sent off a search party of about thirty to forty horses.” “Who is we?” Mother cut him off but let him in as it was well into the evening and getting cold out. “The entire church but their wives and children.” He took off his woolen cap and sat down, dusting dirt and other stuff from his pants. She looked down at me and said to get John from the nursery for it would be a while. She then cooked a jar of warm milk while the man who looked more like the son of a minister instead of an actual church member yabbered on. I listened intensely, with purpose, but it was hard to distinguish what any of his words really meant. Betty started to take care of John on her own, and Samuel kept asking me what the man, eating our chocolate chip cookies, was saying. “I haven’t an idea where he went, missus,” he said through breaths of cookie crumbs. A bolt of lightning struck, and the rain started pouring across our windows at that time, so Mother tightened the latch between the pairs of windows and gave us reassuring kisses. “It is rather cold out... and the rain... young sir, would you like to stay the night with us?” she asked and another bolt of lighting struck the ground. The man made a joke that it sounded like a hatchet striking the ground. I winced. Mother gave me a playful look before showing him to one of our guest bedrooms. He left his shoes by the front door, though. Tuesday March 18, 1738 I cut the tree. I cut the cherry tree. I cut Robbie. Augustine, the one who is eighteen but thinks he is forty-three, has come by again to say his condolences. He had a whole speech written, too. He had gotten the news early and came this morning when the man, Benjamin Boone supposedly, was taking a bath in the outdoor bathroom. Benjamin came out of the bath, ready to leave and already folding the towel Mother had lent him when he cried, “Auggie!” Samuel tittered behind me while Augustine’s eyes widened. “Benjamin? Benjamin,” he said, not very sure if he had used the right name. “Benjamin, did they make you a messenger?” “They did,” Benjamin was ecstatic. “How’d you...” and the conversation went on from there. Benjamin’s hours of being a welcomed guest were long overdue, but Mother kept cooking for those two who would have left once nightfall fell, anyway. Betty and John resumed their daily schedule in the nursery with her beaded rope and his wooden crib, and Samuel went too because he didn’t want to fall in the mud again. I was the only one outside this morning, Augustine and Benjamin still complaining about the price of tea from inside the kitchen windows with the accompaniment of Mother. This time I was mad. This time I was mad, mad at Mother for giving chocolate chip cookies out to strangers, mad at Augustine who wouldn’t be here if Father was, mad at Betty for always saying confusing things, and mad at Samuel for not playing with me. I hit the tree. I hit the tree with the hatchet I didn’t even know was in my hands, and I hit it hard. I hit the tree so hard my bones were vibrating and my skull was reverberating. And I hit, and I hit, and I hit. Robbie was no more by the end of all those hits. Wednesday March 19, 1738 This will be the last time I write in you for a long time. I have been grounded for two weeks. This morning, Father woke me up from where I slept in the nursery--however I got there. He explained what had happened to him and asked if we were okay. His horse had hurt its leg on the ride back home, but it was dark out so made camp there in the Virginia woods. Augustine and Benjamin both left for home while I was asleep. Betty told me Augustine had tried to wake me to say good-by but that Mother wouldn’t let him; I was too far away in Dreamland. Father had taken the back door to get inside, so there was no way he could have seen the little remains of Robbie. I knew he’d find out either way, even if I could possibly blame this one on the rain. The rain and a dubious strike of lightning or any other --- No, no. That isn’t what I did. I put my hatchet on Father’s credenza and asked if I could talk to him. Betty gave me one of one of those sisterly glares that could make anyone regret doing anything while I fidgeted with my fingers and popped every knuckle there was. Sat down on the stool that makes me look small and told Father what happened, no embellishments or anything. Because there was nothing that could embellish it. Am sitting in my room now where Father will take away my hatchet, journal and other belongings in a couple of hours, after I’ve told Betty, Samuel and Mother what happened. I know I’ve done the right thing, but it still feels weird. Wednesday April 2, 1738 Father has bought another tree; this time an apple tree. He planted it in the yard and said a quick prayer for it. I was watching from the window and had come outside to do the same when he placed a hand on my shoulder, looking beyond my blue eyes. “George,” he said, “If you let me down, I will forgive you. But if you let anyone else down, they will not. Please, son, do not let them down.” And somehow, some way, I know exactly who them is.


"Why did you give Gertrude the Baker a bat as a familiar?" Esmeralda asked, placing her pointed hat on her desk and leaning back in her chair. Her silvery curls spilled out, framing her sharply featured face. I shrugged and gave her my winning smile. "It was her arms," I said. "They were the flabbiest I'd ever seen and she wouldn't stop waving them around and shrieking in excitement. Boom. Bat familiar, perfect match." A column of swirling smoke rose from her pipe as she held it between her teeth. "It seems you didn't think about the fact that she is in the free-range child business, did you?" She said. "With that giant bat flopping all around it's scaring the kids away. She's only been able to lure two kids into her shack since then and they've been goth kids. Do you know how much extra work they require to prepare, removing all the piercings and so on?" "I'm sorry Miss Esmeralda," I murmured. "Next time I'll consider a puppy, or a predatory balloon." "By Hecate, I swear!" she replied, sparks flying from her pipe to mirror her frustration. "Puppies turn to slavering dogs, Float-a-chokes would eat her supply of brats. Last month you give nearly blind sorcerer a snake as a companion. He mistook it for his wand and got bit a week later." "Everyone makes mistakes," I said. "He had a problem with rats eating his potion ingredients. I thought it would help." " He died , Oswald," she snapped. "Familiars and Friends has been in business for over a thousand years, and this is the first time we've ever been sued. If I lose the company my grandfather founded, I'll banish you to one of Neptune's moons, I swear it! Now go clean the kennels before the next client comes in." I lowered my gaze and slunk out of her office. Okay, so maybe some of my matches have resulted in fires, businesses going under, and the occasional death - they all seemed like good ideas at the time. Perhaps they would have been better matches if it were not for the familiars being used in spells and their dark workings. They were seen as tools, little more. Maybe if they spent the time to become friends and communicate, things would turn out a little differently. Maybe that entire suburb wouldn't have been shifted into another dimension. With bucket and mop in hand I made my way through the stone and mortar halls, scrubbing down the pens and taking ample time to scratch a black cat behind the ears and dispense treats to the otherwise squirmy and neglected sorts. Through my patrols and scouring I finally came across a large door - the largest and heaviest of the lot. Runes of warning were carved into it, flashing red, and four massive locks kept it held shut. Even the faded streaks of blood and desperate claw marks pulling into it would frighten off most. But I couldn't help but smile as I entered, and before I could even put my keys away I was met with a deep and thunderous snarl like the coming of a great storm, a snarl that seemed to echo with the dark and ominous incantations. "Muckle!" I said throwing my arms wide. "Good to see you too!" The hellbeast crouched in the corner of the room, with a coat as black as coal and a single eye on the right side that smoldered red like the heart of flame itself. The other eye had been lost when he had eaten his first handler, and the next few didn't last so well either. But he and I always seemed to get along well enough. Cleaning up after Muckle, however, was about as easy as you would expect for a ravenous, strictly carnivorous, dog almost as large as a horse. He came to Familiars and Friends when he was just a puppy, and was thought to be some street mutt. It wasn't until he made a meal of Jasper the Beastmaster that they became suspicious of his true nature. Strangely enough, the scent of sulfur didn't give him away sooner. Muckle picked up a gnawed fragment of a ribcage and plodded over to me and dropped his offering at my feet, unleashing a gale of fetid breath as he tried to lick me. "Who didja bring me here," I asked. "Is that a bit of... old Samuel? How sweet of you, sharing with me." I gave him a good scratch behind the ears and rested my head against his muzzle. He was a gentle enough spirit once you got to know him, and put aside his history of devouring those who displeased him - and my love for him wasn't feigned. I think he knew it, too, with affectionate snarling and snapping when I drew near. I felt like he understood me, almost as much as I understood him. A sudden crackling filled the air, and a nasally voice spilled from the wooden speaker in the corner of the room. "Oswald, a new client has entered admissions," said Janice the secretary. "I'll be back soon," I said to muckle, giving him a pat on the snout before rushing out the door. I stashed my mop and bucket in the closest and paused by the window which opened into a room enchanted to look like a meadow where our bunnies hopped joyfully. We in the business called it the rabbitat. Okay, maybe only I called it that, but I couldn't deny my own cleverness. I focused more on my reflection in the window and made myself presentable before rushing off towards the entrance. I staggered in, winded, and finding a young lady sitting at the table. She seemed lost in her thoughts, absently twirling a lock of her long, saphire hair around her fingers. "Pleasure to meet you," I said, introducing myself. She stood and gave a faint curtsy, keeping her eyes down. "My name is Misty," he spoke softly. "I'm hoping you can help me find a proper familiar." "Tell me what it is that you do, and we'll find you what you need!" I said in my usual spiel. "well, I am an apprentice botanist, I spend a lot of time outdoors to find ingredients for potions for my masters," she said. "Anything that could help would be nice." I tapped by finger to my chin and nodded a few times as ideas flitted about my head like moths hypnotized by a lamp. "Well then," I said confident in my conclusions - as I always was. "Let's go on and find you a familiar!" I led Misty through the warrens and introduced her to a number of our more outdoorsy and mild familiars. "Meet Sir Stetchen! He's covered in dangerous needles, can burrow, and loves nature," I said, holding out a small hedgehog in cupped hands. "This one was bred for the spines to be venomous!" Her eyes soften and a faint smile pulled at her lips, which was the most of a reaction that I had gotten from her. I had thought for sure that the swarm of carnivorous butterflies would have been a good match - clearing away any insects from the herbs she thought, as well as handling any ungentlemanly gentlemen or enemies she may have earned. But instead, she sighed and moved along. If Sir Stetchen could get a reaction, however, maybe one of the other rodents could catch her attention. "How do you feel about... Bunnies?" I asked. Part of me felt as though it would be a poor choice, considering they might eat the plants she sought but surely he wouldn't be responsible for burning down a library this time. Damn, bunnies were too flammable for such little things, and some warlocks used far too many candles in their rituals. Misty shrugged. "It wouldn't hurt to meet them." "Excellent," I said as I lead her down the hall I had been cleaning earlier. "Maestro Llipa can turn into multiple rabbits when frightened, but always pulls back together after a few moments. Great amusement, but the cleanup can... can." I found the words knotting up in my throat as my eyes traced the pawprints that were sunk into the stone, leading to the splintered door that led into the rabbit. I looked through the window to find Muckle sitting there among the illusionary daisies, a tatter of white fluff hanging from his mouth, a contrast of his ebon coat. He let out one of his snarls and the glass of the window rattled and quaked as if it could break at any moment. "Let's ah... go back over there shall we?" I said with concerned joviality, but Misty stood planted firmly at the window. "He's... perfect," she said, her amber eyes growing wide. "I would have never guessed you to have a black shuck in your possession, considering... well, you know." I nodded knowingly because I did indeed know. I knew better than old Samuel and so many others who met their fate in Muckle's maw. Misty turned to me, brimming with excitement. It was the most emotion she had shown since they had met. "Bring the paperwork," she said, then crooked a beckoning finger towards Muckle, who bounded out of the door with such force that he slammed against the opposing wall, which brought a bright peal of laughter from Misty. "Come with me," I said, swallowing hard as I led them back towards the office. My quill swung back and forth, sending little flecks of black ink all hither and thither as I nervously eyed Muckle who had resigned himself to sitting in the corner, growling and staring straight ahead with his glaring red eye as he typically did in his kennel. He always seemed to favor corners. "Alright," I said as I pushed the vellum forward. "Sign and date here, here and... initials here... rune of binding and drop of blood there... Alright, by the power vested in me by Zavrael the Bitter Lord, I pronounce you Witch and Familiar." Misty craned her head back and beamed a smile at Muckle, who let out a snarl that would curdle milk. I could have warned her about that, maybe it would have changed her mind. But with my luck, it would turn out that she preferred her milk curdled, or devils forbid, was lactose intolerant. I didn't know if my sadness was because I knew that she was inevitably going to be eaten by the beast, or because Muckle was leaving. I had watched him grow from a small sulfurous whelp to the magnificent young shuck that he was now. Mop, feed, scoop the poop, mop, repeat. Unfortunately, none of the furry friends - or their poops - were as interesting as my dear friend. It felt like just yesterday he spilled out of the crate filled with straw and a deer carcass. The smell never quite improved, but our bond flourished. The familiar sound of static filled the air, and I picked up the bucket in preparation to head to admissions. But instead of Janice expected droning, Esmerelda's voice boomed overhead, taking me off guard. "Oswald to my office - NOW !" I dropped my bucket in a strike of fear, and slowly made my way up the stairs, dread boiling in my guts like a cauldron full of poison. Esmerelda sat at her desk, pipe held so tightly in her teeth it seemed like she would bite through it as she sat blowing a column of sparkling red smoke. "The demon-damned Black Shuck ?!" She snapped through her clenched teeth. "I thought that I had that thing put to sleep. You thought it was a brilliant idea to sign it off as a familiar? You're more of a fool than I thought." "She was fully aware of what Muckle is," I said defiantly. "He seemed to take quite a liking to her." Esmeralda rolled her eyes. "Of course he did. He was trying to get her guard down so he could eat her, no doubt!" I wrung my hands and furtively looked around her desk for a report. "Did he eat her?" I asked, not finding any such indication that he had. "Not yet, but it's only a matter of time! We'll have to close our doors for good when it happens." She reached into her desk and slammed a small bag of coins on the table with such force that a few bounced free and rolled across the floor. "Take this, it's your last pay. Get out of here before you do any more damage." I stared at the coin purse, taken by chill despite the warmth of my blushing cheeks. I had never felt so shamed, failing despite my best efforts. Everything felt I did felt like the right thing to do. Unable to find the proper words, I took my pay and tried to not look too pitiful as I reached for the escaped coins and left. She was right. It was a bad decision to sign Muckle up as a familiar. I walked the busy streets, bundles of parchments detailing my history and talents tucked under my arm. It was difficult to find work in the line of matchmaking and beast tending. Even more so when you left a swath of destruction in your wake. Screams roused me from my grousing, and I looked up to see a crowd of frantic faces as the people charged towards me with little disregard for the fact that they knocked me square on my back. Before I could even right myself, a massive presence bounded upon me. It's sharply clawed paws pinned my shoulders down and all I could see was a great maw of dagger like fangs opening before me. Sulfurous breath choked me, and I was fairly certain I could see the decaying remnants of a hand in the back of its throat. I always knew my death would involve getting eaten by a beast or monster, but I always suspected it would be in the line of duty, not being ripped apart in the streets. But the maw of fangs did not close around me. I craned my head around to see a solitary red eye glaring at me menacingly. "Muckle?" I asked incredulously. "Is that really you?" The beast let out a strange snarl that echoed with thunder and familiar incantations. I laughed and reached up to run my fingers through his coarse black fur. "It's lovely to see you, too!" "Sir? Sir, are you still alive?" asked a young woman running up to where I lay pinned. "Oh, I know you, you're the gentleman who helped me meet Muckle!" "Naturally," I said, beaming a smile at Misty who extended her hand to help me onto my feet. "He's been better at going after people, but I knew something was important when he bounded through the streets towards you. He didn't even stop to torment the children as he loves to do," She gave Muckle a pat on the back and returned my smile. "I can't thank you enough. With him as my familiar, I've gone about a change career." "I fear that has culminated in quite the same for me," I replied offhand. "But it brings me joy that he is helping you." Muckle let out a snarl and nuzzled Misty. "I've come to think of him more as my emotional support monster than a familiar," she said. "And then it made me realize, why don't I start a home for misplaced monsters and those who need them?" I looked at the two of them, Muckle seeming happier than I'd ever known, and Misty who moved and spoke with a newfound passion, rather than the haunting distance she kept before. "The only thing is that they tend to frighten and scare people away. It's been rather hard finding good help," she continued. My eyes grew wide and I looked around for my resume, finding a copy on the ground I lifted it up. It had gotten sullied and a little worse for wear from Muckle's tackle. However, it bore his pawprint in the middle. I handed the parchment to Misty, who chuckled. "It looks like you have quite the mark of recommendation," she said with a twinkle in her amber eyes. "Let's get started, I have some unhatched terrorantula eggs that will need a lot of care patience - and a loving parent once they hatch."


The clock on the mantel struck 4:50 A.M. His eyes fixated on the clock as he clenched his blood soaked chest. Frantically he begins to scan the oddly disheveled room. He started leaving bloodied fingerprints against the hall wall leading out of the entrance way. "Not again," the man muttered. He began to slowly shuffle his feet. There's no sign of his wife, or children. The house is eerily quiet, and seemingly empty. A loud clicking could be heard pacing the wooden floors. Click. Click. Click. Click. Holding his breath he slowly makes his way through the first floor of the two story farmhouse. In the kitchen broken glass is strewn about, cabinet doors are partially ajar, and the open fridge was slightly scooted forward. "What on God's green Earth is happening," the panicked man began to scream as he collapsed on the bottom step of the main stairway. All of a sudden there was a violent shaking of the ground beneath his feet. Everything started clinging, and clattering as it was being strewn about. The clicking was becoming faster and louder as it rushed towards him. Without warning there was a tiny blood soaked canine that appeared in the doorway. "Oh, my goodness you poor thing," he sputtered as he picked up the dog to examine it. It wasn't seriously injured. There were some tiny cuts and scrapes, but otherwise he was unscathed. The man plopped the tiny creature back onto the floor. "Honey?! Kids? Is anyone home?," the man called out. The dog began barking uncontrollably. He petted his head and started speaking to it as though it were human. The dog would shuffle about and walk in a complete circle. It was obviously as distressed as the man appeared to be. The clock on the mantel once again made a loud clanging noise. It sounded as if there was metal banging against the wooden frame. He rushed to the clock only to find to his horror that the hands on the clock were missing. The distraught man managed to make his way upstairs only to find his own body slumped over on a desk in a nearby room. "No. No. No. No. Please, no," he sputtered as he made his way over to his body. There was a knife protruding from his chest as he examined his own body. Beneath him was a bloodied note that read 'Times Up' in bold print. With a sudden jolt he felt as if he was being sucked back into his own body. Waking up soaked in sweat he began feeling his chest. He frantically reached for the alarm clock on a nearby nightstand. The clock hands had completely disappeared, and blood began dripping down the face of the clock. Screaming he swats at the alarm clock. He had then woken from a nightmare within a nightmare. He noticed a pain in his hand realising he had swatted his clock in real life as well as his dream. There were subtle purplish bruises, but nothing major. "Honey, when you get time can you fix the clock on the mantle. I think it's broken," his wife yelled from downstairs. The man got up and got dressed. Then made his way down the stairs and into the entryway. He glared at the clock. His heart started to beat faster, and he felt as if his stomach was doing flips. One of the clock hands had been dislodged. The second hang loosely down over the 6. His wife rushed his two daughters out of the door quickly. They were running late for school this morning and missed the bus. Their mom was to drop them off before work. She slammed the door behind her. By doing so she jostled the second hand loose. There were now no hands on the clock. The man began to panic. He flipped the clock face down before grabbing his wallet and keys. The door locked shut behind him as he made his way to his vehicle. The man turned just turned on the radio when all of a sudden the radio started rapidly flipping through channels on its on. The clock on radio went from 7:30 A.M to 6:30 A.M and kept counting down. There was a loud static noise that pierced the air. The radio began flashing, but all it was showing was 30. He kept fumbling with the radio as he drove down the highway towards work. While stopping briefly at the stop light he noticed that the car was now acting more peculiar. The blinker kept clicking and the wipers would come on. He looked to his left only to see a giant clock displayed on the front of a building. There we no hands. He suddenly began to panic as he continued to creep near the building. There was a slight traffic jam leaving his stuck face to face with the handless clock. There was a loud cracking sound as the facing of the building crumbled. The clock slowly loosened and fell to the ground bellow. It rolled out towards traffic. People began panicking and retreating from their vehicles. The man tried to open his door but the door handle broke. That is when he franticly began to kick the drivers side window. He heard a loud beeping. Distracted he looked down to the floorboard and lying there was a broken watch. It's hands had been jostled free and it's glass cracked. There was a loud whooshing noise that made him look up abruptly, but by then it was too late. The giant clock ornament had crushed his vehicle with him trapped inside. Rescue workers arrived on scene and desperately began trying to free him. Unfortunately, the efforts were futile as the found the man split in half. One worker rushed to the side to hurl. The other stared in disbelief. That is when he heard a loud ticking noise. That is when the rescue worker discovered the broken watch clasped in the man's bloody hand. Tick Tock. Tick Tock. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tock.


People go missing whenever Dad’s around. I can’t explain it. They just disappear. Mum disappeared. Greg disappeared. And now Stephanie has disappeared. \*\*\* What’s the latest caper? I’ve not been out of prison one week and I am sitting in the back of his car and he’s handing me an envelope with a map inside. It’s one of those safe storage centres. There’s a few brands around: **Big Yellow Storage** - the print out said. He tells me that he knows someone that made off with all these precious First Edition Books in a murder/house-robbery and he’s got them stored in one of those big storage centres. “Books?” I say, “you can’t even read.” Never learned how to read. Never saw the need to. That’s why I was holding the map to the storage centre. “Someone tells me you get these books, they’re classics, almost 90 years old. They sell for about twenty thousand pounds a copy - that’s one book. You know Deacon? He managed to get inside a bookseller’s house. Made off with all these precious books. Only thing is, he’s kept them in a storage centre because there’s too much heat on it at the moment. Dumb fuck gave me the information before he went inside.” Deacon’s another sadist. Been put away fifteen to life because he set a pub landlord on fire. So, we planned a heist for some books. I got Stephanie involved. Asked her to drive the getaway car that’s going to be parked round the back. Dad doesn’t attend the actual robbery. He just demanded 40% because it was his idea and he’s waiting back at the apartment for us. It’s me and Greg. Ski-masks, Kevlar and hunting rifles (traditionally used for clay pigeon shooting). We asked the guy behind the till for the number and keys to Deacon’s storage unit. Only thing is that the guy played dumb. Said he doesn’t know any Deacon McGregor. I didn’t expect it but Greg pulls out a pair of garden shears and cuts his index finger off. Finger falls on the front desk and bobbles to the ground. It worked: **Deacon McGregor - UNIT #75.** When we get in the unit there’s all kinds of shit from previous heists. There’s gym equipment, watches, books and there in a leather bound case - a stone. A diamond stone. A stone about the size of a Clementine. Greg didn’t notice it. I did. Greg doesn’t notice anything. “Fuck the watches and shit. Just take the books.” I said. I don’t tell him about the stone and I slowly slip that shit in my pocket. I feel the hard bounce off the cloth of my trousers. We come out of there with a suitcase full of books. First editions. Dad has a buyer. Guy will pay £50,000 cash for the bulk of them. He initially said it’s twenty per book and now we are selling all for fifty. But he tells me what with the heat and the fact it’s cash up front it’s not a bad deal and we got to just take what we can (criminal economy and all). As we come back down the stairs we see the guy at reception - still bound and gagged. Only this time he’s dead. Didn’t expect it at all but his finger bled out and his body must’ve gone into shock. He’s white as fuck and still as a dollhouse. I gave him a kick - more of a nudge. Then I gave him a hard boot. He’s dead. “You killed him.” I told Greg. “Fuck.” He said. “You’ve turned simple larceny into a murder.” I said. “Fucking heat.” He said. “Everything turns into a fucking murder.” I said. Back at the apartment. I only told Stephanie about the diamond. I don’t tell Dad. I don’t tell Greg. I tell Stephanie because I want out. I don’t want to go prison. I don’t want to be a part of this anymore. Carrying dead bodies from behind a reception desk and into a locked storage unit - I don’t want to do stuff like that ever again. I told her I don’t want to go back inside. I can’t go back inside. Not now, not ever again. She understands. She wants to come too. We take the diamond and split. We find a buyer first. We take our cut from the books and we split. She told me she loved me. Nobody had ever told me that before. I can’t muster the courage to say it back. A couple weeks later and we’ve been paid £8,000 for the books. I don’t quite get how Dad has worked it out but he’s given us our cut. Only problem now is that Greg is on the front of every newspaper in the country. They matched his DNA to the finger. Somehow, they found a stray hair on top of the finger. Don’t ever tell me the fucking odds. Police National Crime computer linked the hair to a fucking drunk driving charge Greg got when he was 19. Now he’s fugitive number one for first degree murder and robbery. Greg’s got links to us all and he isn’t the type to not throw us under the wheels at the first spot of bother. “Let me take care of Greg.” Dad said. “We can’t have another body connected to these fucking books.” I told him. “I’m taking care of it.” Dad said. “Fucking national manhunt and for what. Eight thousand fucking pounds.” I said. My Dad cut me one of those looks. It’s a look that you don’t argue with. You do what he says, when he says. My Dad. The man that forced me into shoving a rifle into some desk clerk’s face one week after I’d left prison. The man that makes people and money disappear. My Dad. Greg is missing. We don’t ask questions. We don’t want details. The less we know, the less implication for us there is. We just know that Greg is now gone. My last conversation with Greg. “You know you really fucked up cutting that guy’s finger off.” I said. “You have a better idea on how to get to the storage unit.” He replied defensively. Greg, always fucking defensive. “Yeah.” I said, “break his nose.” I think back to when my mother first disappeared. I was only sixteen. My Dad had been running some contraband import/export business with a group of Georgians importing it all in from Azerbaijan. My mum didn’t like it. She didn’t like large amounts of heroin sitting in her garage. She’d yell. She’d throw things. She took it a step too far when she said she’d go to the police if that shit wasn’t gone out of her house by *tomorrow.* I came home. I asked Dad where Mum is. He shook his head. That was the last of it. I never asked again. I knew not to ask again. Now with Greg. All I know is he’s gone. My Dad sat there reading his newspaper with his bifocals on. Looks up at me - *that look -* I know that it’s just like Mum. Don’t ask. I’d known Greg since I was eleven years old. Fucking bifocals. Like a gentle old-man. The kind that would slip you a Werthers Original and ask you how your math classes are going. Stephanie tells me she found a buyer for the stone. The stone could be worth millions, but again in a criminal economy you got to take what you can - it’s hard cash after all. They will buy it for £50,000.00. That and the book sales makes £58,000.00. Buy a camper van for ten. Line the inside of the van with the cash and drive to Spain - once in Spain arrange some Western Union transfer to your guys in the Caribbean. Don’t tell Dad. Don’t tell anyone. Do it quickly before Brexit has been finalised. Less need for visas and background checks. Just get out. Stay out. Take a new name. Take a new life. I’m going to start calling myself Joseph Brooks. She told me she loved me again. I still couldn’t say it back. I don’t know how to say it. Stephanie is now gone. My Dad calls me. Asks me about the stone. He found out... . I hear it in his voice. I don’t ask. Once again; I don’t ask. I just know. Stephanie is gone. “Oh. The stone.” I said. “That’s right. The stone.” Dad said. Stephanie is gone... An inflexion can tell me so much. “Dad...” *Where’s Mum.* *Where’s Greg.* *Where’s Stephanie...* “Meet me and I’ll give you the stone.” I said. We met at a cafe. A London cafe. A busy one... With lots of people. I don’t have the stone. Stephanie had it. Whatever happened, she died and didn’t give it up. I don’t know where the fucking thing is. And now I’m done caring. I still have my £8,000. It can take me somewhere. God knows where but out of here. “Where’s the stone.” He asked. He’s talking heists and murder and throwing ketchup on his plate like it’s a pleasant father/son lunch. “Hidden. Too much heat.” I said. “Where?” He asked. “I’ll take you there.” I said. “You lied to me son. You kept from me and you lied.” He said with fatherly righteousness. “From this day out. No more lies.” I promised. I meant it too. We drove out to where I told him the stone was. It’s a vacant warehouse in Romford. It’s Sunday. All warehouses are vacant on a Sunday but this one is especially vacant. There’s nobody around. It is deathly quiet. This lot has been vacant for years. It’s all boarded up and rusted. Greg used to stash his shit here when he was peddling. It never got taken. Nothing ever gets taken from here. I crowbar one of the boards and we go inside. “I hear that stone was worth a lot of money?” Dad asked. *She never gave it up.* “Hmm.” I said. It’s always about money. That’s the game. That’s why we do this. I tell him it’s stashed in the rusted, derelict sink - he’s got to bend down to look. Remove the porcelain base and it’s in there. As he crouched down and gently starts to slip out the base, I finally decided to ask. “Dad. Where’s mum?” I’m holding the crowbar still. They’re all in the same place. It’s Epping Forest. A couple miles in. Dumb c remembered the co-ordinates all this time. I’m driving there now. It’s nearly midnight. In the boot I got a flash light. I got a shovel. I got spare clothes. And I’ve got two graves to dig up and one grave to dig out. It’s going to be a long night. It wasn’t an easy decision to make. Nobody wants to have bury their own Dad. Let alone burying them alive. But I want to give him time to think. Think long and hard while he’s under there. I finally say it. I loved them all. I loved mum. I loved Stephanie. I loved Dad. **The End.


Dark, wet stones are beveled from the age and erosion that they suffered from years past. Droplets of water drip from the ceiling to the weathered ground below. *Plip... plip... plip... plip...* As each drop falls, footsteps could be heard falling upon the stones in disharmonic time with the water droplets. Crimson robed figures walked with a brisk pace only seen in these men. Their pacing did not make sense. It was slow, blurred and choppy as if filmed through a smudged and malfunctioning Super 8 camera. But it was not filmed. It was not staged or scripted. What one’s eyes saw was reality. These enshrouded figures clad in crimson velvet cloaks, they were out of touch. They were not in time with the natural harmony of the universe. Each footfall taken was a shattering step that seemed to shake and bubble the reality in the eroded hallway. Their movement defies explanation and defies known reasoning. Each step taken was like a sickly palpitation in an otherwise healthy body. As these figures traversed down the hallway, green torches bound by otherworldly tendril-like clasps upon a dark material of an odd, rotting and nearly fleshy appearance. With every passing shadow, a wraith-like wisp of smoke reached out from between the cracks of the old stones and grasped at the passing figures. The figures paid the malevolent smoke no attention. The sound of the droplet was almost deafening. It felt as though it got increasingly louder with each passing second. And with each passing second, the seconds seemed to grow longer. Each tick of each microsecond felt like an agonizing eternity. The figures entered a round stone chamber that housed a large-gilded statue of two rings within each other with eyes along the inside bearing many wings. Light seemed to radiate from the statue, basking the area in a low, golden radiance. The figures walked upon the stone pathways that lead around the statue. From the spaces in between the stones their discordant feet walked upon, black, viscous liquid started to seep through and form into puddles on the floor of the stone chamber. It made low squelching sounds as it creeped across the floor, following and conforming to each little crevice and crack in the stone. As the hooded figures started to encircle the statue, sounds were heard. Ungodly sounds, like those from the depths of the non-divine and formless void. Rumbling echoed through these ancient stone walls. The sound wet, slobbery flesh being dragged on wet stone. The robed figures started to shake as if they were being controlled by some force that was beyond their own will. One of the figures reached up a gloved hand and stood silently as the leather glove split and shredded from inside, revealing grey-green pustules of the black viscosity that had seeped through the ground. Silently the hooded figure started to rip and tear at his robe, as if it were covered in insects. He ripped off the velvet shell to reveal more black pustules growing at a horrifying rate. His skin had now started to grow bone-like protrusions. Piercing through his flesh and spearing inches out from his deteriorating flesh. He started violently scratching at his flesh all over his now naked body, creating deep gashes that bled profusely. All this happened while his other robed companions stood idly, looking straight into the amber light of the statue. Soon after the man started scratching, the other robed figures started to show similar symptoms. Black pustules filled with black, viscous puss and protrusions, followed by violent scratching. The bone like protrusions had started to inflict deep cuts and gashes with every small bit of movement, inflicting more agonizing trauma upon the tormented bodies. Eventually, the once robed figures started to tear pieces of flesh off to rid themselves of the deathly ailment. The sickly sound of shredding flesh echoed in the silent room. Crimson blood poured from the deep holes that the men were inflicting upon themselves. One of the men had gotten to his ribs and started to break off individual ribs and bones that were covered in the black pustules and the ever-increasing number of cancer-like protrusions. Another had grabbed scratched so much at his exposed skull that his fingernails had broken and cracked, causing more blood to spill forth from his shredded digits. With each piece of flesh discarded, more pustules showed up in the place of the flesh. Eyes were being ripped from sockets in futile attempt to rid themselves of this disease. Intestines were ripped and grasped at from their place of rest. Countless feet of fleshy, bloody rope had fallen onto the clean stone floor, painting it the morbid color of the men’s life force. Then, one by one, the men fell to the ground, splashing down in pools of blood and piles of self-mutilated viscera. Shredded and bloody genitalia and split muscles littered the bloodied stone floor as the last man struggled against the affliction before finally grasping his head by the jaw and his crown and sharply yanked it in a clockwise motion. A sickening crunch resounded through the chamber before silence took over. The room was now devoid of life. Blood covered the floor. The carcasses were completely devoid of pustules and bone cancers and no black puss was in sight. Only the stinking of freshly butchered flesh remained. The silence of the gallery of butchered viscera was cut short by a low warbling resonating from the statue. The statue began to become misshapen, contorted and dull. The golden luster of the statue turned to a writhing, seething mass of festering maggots and worms. The grotesque mass of detritovoric worms fell to the ground, spilling the thousands of flesh-eating worms down and onto the viscera. The maggots and worms started to feast upon the deceased carcass-flesh of the dead corpses, using their tiny mouths to rip bits of flesh off and digest it in their tiny body, making it come out of their anuses as putrid excrement. Hours pass as the worm’s fester and feast upon the rotting and putrefying flesh of the once living men. Then as the last bit of flesh gets devoured by the man-eating worms, the low warbling returns, pulling all the worms back to the center of the room, molding them back into the shape they were once before. The unsettling texture and sound of thousands of wriggling worms disappears as the golden luster fades back into view, leaving nothing but the sound of water droplets dripping from the wet corridor. *Plip... plip... plip... plip...* The sound of disharmonic footsteps can be heard clashing with the steady beat of the water droplets.