I was up at 6.00am as usual ready for my morning run. Standing at the kitchen sink looking out at the back garden, the lawn covered in a film of dew, I downed a glass of warm lemon water, strapped my water bottle to my waist, did some stretches on the bench outside and set off. The forest track was a short walk down the road, our house one of four in a semicircle at the end of the cul de sac. The forest was in deep shade, the sun not yet high enough to filter through the canopy, the branches were dripping from the early morning dew and as I started my run on the leaf strewn damp path I felt icy drops on my bare shoulders, it was chilly but I would soon warm up as my circulation warmed me. I loved my morning run through the forest and fields beyond and preferred to run solo. I ran a few times with a companion but didn’t enjoy the company of another person puffing beside me or the idle chatter that would inevitably take place between us. I recall one of my friends who was also a keen jogger remarking that they were surprised that I didn’t run with an ipod and earphones in my ears which seemed to be the go to requirement for joggers. To me listening to music or story’s could be done at home or in the car and train to relieve the monotony of the journey. Early morning sounds of birds and insects and my own rhythmic breathing was my orchestra. The track twisted its way through the forest and now that the sun was higher shafts of light created pathways of light creating stage like spotlights on the track and the small grassy clearings. In one of them I saw a group of rabbits enjoying the fresh grass and a lone deer in the shadows. I reached a fork in the track and decided, for a change, that I would take the one that I normally ignored, I had heard that some logging and clearing had taken place and was curious to see what that was all about, new housing estates were popping up like mushrooms and I wondered whether this clearing was the precursor to a new development. It was a Sunday and no work was taking place. I stopped and looked at the once alive forest and mighty trees now lying down in rows of logs and waiting to be carved up and made into slabs of wood for furniture and floors, their insides exposed and naked all their branches now small stumps along the length of each tree. The bright yellow machinery looked alien and was scattered over the site of fallen trees, the area was roped off with yellow and black tape. A sign warned that only authorised persons were allowed on the site. Two crows sat on one of the logs cawing as if in mourning for the fallen forest and as if in unison with the crows the familiar sounds of insects and birds had fallen silent. Half hidden in the trees behind the devastation I glimpsed a small log cottage, my curiosity got the better of me. I skirted the clearing and came in behind fighting my way over fallen branches and through vines to the cabin. Moss and lichen was growing on the outside log walls and on the slate roof, many slates had broken and shards were scattered around the building. The windows were covered in spider webs and creepers that had started to take possession of the small cabin. A small deck of rotting and broken planks ran along the front of the cabin and an old bench stood next to the door which in its day was painted blue judging by the glimpses of peeling paintwork that could still be seen. A rusty hasp and staple hung loosely from the slightly ajar door. Climbing up the rotting steps to the deck and minding my footing at the same time I reached the door. ‘Anyone there?’ I asked, feeling a bit stupid for thinking that this wreck would have an occupant. I pushed the door gently, somewhat afraid of what I might find inside. To my surprise the inside was swept clean and the floorboards were all in good order. In front of me there was a passageway leading off the front room and I tentatively made my way down the short passage calling as I went ‘anybody here?’ I went into the first of two rooms leading off the passage. A rusty iron bed stood under the window, woven spider webs draped from the corner of the ceiling and window, a perfect trap for insects seeking the light from the lone window. A wooden crucifix hanging crookedly over the bed was the only other item in the room. This room was not as well kept as the front room and my running shoes left prints in the dust covering the floor. The opposite room was a different story. The floor was swept clean but the window was boarded up, only slits of light came through to give the room some light. A large picture in a gilded frame was leaning against the wall and as I looked around I noticed a number of other paintings, some with dust sheets draped over them lined around the wall. I bent down to take a look at the one closest to me, I couldn’t see much but in the low light there was it looked like an old masterpiece much in the style of Claude Monet, I moved closer to the picture but the light was not good enough for me to see the picture clearly, let alone discern any signature on the painting, but I pondered, I knew that worldwide many famous artworks had been stolen and never recovered, could this and the others lining the wall be some of the lost masterpieces. My eyes were adjusting to the light and now I could clearly see light coming through the gaps in the floorboards near the area behind the door. I could see that it was a trapdoor as I bent to see if I could open it I felt someone behind me. Suddenly I was grabbed by the shoulders and a cloth placed over my nose. I awoke shivering, the only light in the room was coming through the cracks in the door facing me. I was propped up on what appeared to be an old leather settee. My head was aching and the cable ties around my hands and ankles were digging into my skin. I tried to get loose but had no strength to struggle, I tried to take stock of where I was and how I got here. My mind was fuzzy and I felt totally disoriented. I remembered the log cabin and the cloth over my face. I was shivering with cold and fear of the unknown. How long had I been here? I noticed for the first time that my running shoes were missing but I still had my socks on. My running shorts and T-shirt the only other clothes on me. I called out weakly, my throat was dry and I had to swallow several times to get my vocal chords to work. Silence. I tried again but was too weak to waste energy, I leaned into the soft leather and tried to collect my thoughts and must have dozed off. I was awakened by a bright torch shining into my eyes. ‘You awake’ the gruff voice questioned. ‘Can you hear me?’ the voice pushed me on the shoulder. ‘Yes’ I said ‘who are you’. ‘Never mind, I am going to release your hands so that you can drink some water. Do not talk to me, just drink the water and shut up.’ I spilled water down my front as I hungrily drank the cool liquid.’ That's’ enough, give me your hands.’ I lashed out but the voice grabbed my wrists and thrust them onto my lap as he tied them up. ‘You will sleep now’ he said with a chuckle. I could hear another voice whispering something to him and then they were gone. The door slammed and I heard the bolt slide into place. I could hear voices on the other side of the door and was straining to hear what was being said. ‘We’ve got to move fast and clear this place today.’ I was aware of being carried on a stretcher with a blanket over my head, ‘Shit’ I heard a man’s voice ‘this guy is heavy’ ‘shut up’ the other voice said. I felt myself being lifted higher and worked out that I was being loaded into the back of a vehicle, I was on a gurney and the blanket on my face had slipped enough for me to see that I was being loaded into the back of an ambulance. The vehicle took off with a jolt and after a few minutes of rough road the vehicle turned and the ride was smoother, the sirens were now blaring as I felt the ambulance travelling at high speed. I was confused, had I been in an accident? I tried to recall what had happened to me. I remember being tied up and the voice, the same one loading me into the ambulance. The large Monet painting, and the others stacked against the wall, was that a dream? I tried to speak, I could feel that there was someone beside me. I caught a whiff of perfume or powder, it was a woman. A hand on my chest. ‘Don’t try to speak, we are nearly there.’ A soft Irish accent I thought as I once again fell asleep. I am staring up at a moving ceiling and rows of lights, ‘he is not injured, just shocked. ER 2 and we’ll have a good look’ a jumble of words and orders were being said by the medical team, my mind spinning in confusion. I am propped up on white pillows, a tube in my arm. My wife Cynthia sits beside me holding my hand ‘Hello Love, how are you feeling.’ I smile at her. ‘What has happened to me, the last I remember is that I went for my usual run, ended up in a log cabin in the forest and now here I am in a hospital, what is going on?’ ‘You were found alone in an ambulance outside the hospital’s emergency department, luckily you had your ‘dog tag’ on so they could identify you and contact me. You hadn’t been checked in by the paramedics and had just been left there. They have examined you and given you something to settle you down, apart from bruising on your wrists and ankles there does not appear to be anything wrong with you.’ ‘Except for a bloody sore head’ I replied. The police want to question you but there does not seem to be any crime except for a stolen ambulance which was used to transport you to hospital. You have been missing for most of the day and I was getting worried when you didn’t get home this afternoon but thought that perhaps you had taken a change of clothing and showered at the club and met up with some of your mates. You will remember that I had a breakfast meeting with Cindy and needed to take an early train so I wasn’t far behind you when you left for your run. The police have asked if you wouldn’t mind going in to the station sometime tomorrow to answer questions’ ‘I need to talk to them now, I was held captive in a cabin in the forest and the weird thing was that there were large paintings in one of the rooms that looked like old masterpieces. This could be a hideout for a gang of thieves.’ Cynthia smiled, ‘you must be imagining this.’ ‘But what about my wrists, look at them and my ankles, bruised.’ I gave the police a detailed statement that same evening, they told me that they knew of the cabin in the forest, it used to be a haven for druggies but had been cleared out of them some years ago, a developer had purchased the parcel of land with the cabin and was now developing it for a housing estate, the cabin was the property of the developer they said and needed to get permission or a warrant to search and follow up on my statement. A few days later I was curious to know the result of the police investigation and called the assigned constable. He told me that they had gained access to the cabin, it had been cleared by the developer as a site office, the cellar had also been cleaned to be used for storage, there was no trace of any other activity and they were unable to proceed except to record my claimed kidnapping.


Princess Aoi awoke from her deep sleep and stretched. She rose and walked toward the balcony where, only two weeks prior, she encountered the glowing orb that aided her in appreciation of life and the people she loved. Taking a deep breath of the dewy morning air, she headed to her wardrobe and got dressed for the day. She left her room and walked down the large corridors to her office, where she found Giles, Alyn, Leo, and Louis waiting for her. They bowed as she entered. The princess grew cautious at the unusual sight. “Is something wrong?" “Your Highness,” Giles began, “we have just received a letter detailing an official request from the King of Stein.” Princess Aoi’s eyes widened at Giles’ words. “He would like to meet with you and visit the palace.” Alyn sighed in frustration. “Not only that, but His Majesty King Byron also requests a tour of the castle town with the princess who’s a mere commoner.” Princess Aoi frowned at Alyn. “Was it phrased that way in the letter, or are you being sardonic, Alyn?” He looked away, a harsh expression on his face. “It was clearly implied," he huffed. "I don’t trust this at all." Leo looked at his twin brother and sighed. “I agree with Alyn that it is suspicious, but I don’t think His Majesty believes you’re incapable of upholding your duties to your country.” Louis stepped forward and spoke reassuringly. “It’s likely nothing to worry over, Your Highness.” “Although,” Giles cautioned, “it’s not a stretch to be wary of this request. Stein is still fairly secluded and has only recently began to sign trading contracts with neighboring countries. And only two weeks have passed since they opened their borders.” Giles lifted the letter from the princess’s desk and walked toward her. “Ours and Isharui are the only two countries which Stein has not opened its borders or engaged in trading agreements with.” Giles handed the paper to the princess and she began scanning its contents. “But why would he request a meeting with me?” Princess Aoi looked up from the letter at the men. “Why not our King? Wouldn’t that be more appropriate or beneficial for King Byron?” “Not quite,” Leo said, leading the princess to her desk. “You are now the ruler of our country, so it’s vital that you begin making important decisions in His Majesty’s place.” “Leo is correct,” Louis said. “And there may be more to this request than negotiating trading contracts.” Princess Aoi tilted her head in confusion. “What do you mean?” “He means,” Alyn sighed, “that King Byron may be planning to propose a unification of our countries” “Since you two are closer in age than any other nearby rulers, it makes perfect sense. And after all, who could resist a smile like yours?” Leo’s suggestive tone made the princess blush in embarrassment. “Enough, Leo.” Alyn pulled his brother away from her desk by his collar. Leo shrugged at him. “If that is what the meeting is centered around, agreeing to Stein’s request to visit is entirely your decision, Your Highness.” Giles gave her a reassuring smile. “However, I believe he is only asking to discuss trading between our countries. What would you like to do?” Princess Aoi looked down at the request document and smiled. --- Princess Aoi stood by the gates with Alyn and Giles on either side and a handful of guards as the dark blue carriage came to a careful stop in front of them. A tall man in regal attire stepped out following his aide. Princess Aoi took a few steps toward him and curtsied, bowing her head low. “I welcome you, King Byron.” She met his steady gaze with a smile. “I am the ruler of this country, Princess Aoi.” King Byron’s aide stepped forward and bowed to her. “His Majesty is humbled that you graciously accepted his request to visit.” Giles moved to stand at the princess’s side and bowed before speaking to the King’s aide. “You are Captain Albert, are you not? His Majesty’s advisor and captain of Stein’s Royal Military?” “I am,” Albert said, placing a hand across his chest and bowing again to Giles and the princess. “We have a traditional dinner being prepared tonight, Your Majesty. Our country’s national dish, in fact.” King Byron nodded. Giles turned is gaze to the princess. “Your Highness, would you like to escort His Majesty into the palace?” “Of course,” she said, turning and motioning toward the palace behind the open gates. “If you would please follow me, Your Majesty.” The King nodded and fell into step behind the princess with Albert at his side. Alyn walked next to Princess Aoi protectively as they headed up the brick path. Upon entering, Giles guided King Byron and Albert upstairs to the rooms they would be using for the few days they would stay at the palace. Princess Aoi sighed and walked to her office, followed by Alyn. There were documents she and King Byron were to look over and discuss in their meeting the next day. Giles informed her earlier that the King would rest from the long journey until their dinner in the evening. She sat at her desk and began reviewing the trading documents once more, making sure every detail was correct and looking for any overlooked mistakes. Though she was well prepared, she still felt anxious. Alyn sighed next to her. “You’ve reviewed those at least a dozen times, Your Highness. You don't need to go over them again.” “Just one more document,” she said, picking up three. Alyn reached over and pulled them out of her hands. “You should go rest. You’ve had an exhausting past few days. Tonight’s meal won’t settle in your stomach well if you’re worn out.” She sighed at Alyn and reluctantly rose from her chair. She walked over to the windows and looked at the garden below, only to find King Byron carefully inspecting a bed of flowers at his feet. “Alright, Alyn. I’ll go take a walk.” Alyn nodded to her and watched as she quickly walked out the doors of her office. He shook his head once he couldn’t hear her footsteps anymore. “You’re already doing great, but you’re so unsure of yourself.” He sighed to himself as he walked toward the doors to leave the room. “Maybe King Byron will help you find the confidence you need.” --- Princess Aoi walked slower once she reached the garden grounds. She looked around and found that no guards or servants were present. King Byron had been looking at a large willow tree that sheltered a bench underneath it. The princess took a calming breath and walked towards the tall man. “This is quite a beautiful tree,” he said quietly in a deep, smooth voice. She looked up at him in shock. It was the first time the princess ever heard him speak. She turned to the old tree, still a more than respectful distance from the King. “It is.” Princess Aoi carefully walked to his side and looked up at the tree with him, only just then appreciating its beauty in a way she hadn’t before. She then looked up at King Byron’s features. He was a handsome man, only a few years older than herself, with striking dark blue eyes. He looked down to the bench under the tree and began walking toward it. As he sat down, he calmly gazed at her. The King gestured for her to sit on the bench next to him, and she approached, sitting on the bench hesitantly. “Your country is a beautiful sight.” Princess Aoi’s eyes widened, and she turned to look at King Byron. “I quite enjoyed the long trip from my castle.” She nodded. “I’m glad, Your Majesty.” The princess turned to face the garden in front of them. “I love this country very much. Hearing others speak of it in such a way is heartwarming.” King Byron glanced down at her. “I’ve heard that you are very knowledgeable of your citizens’ ways of life, and that has aided you in trading with other countries. You are aware of what is needed and what is not.” “I simply think of all the times where I visited the market before I was princess and remember what was lacking and what kept coming in excess. I’ve never thought of it in the way you explained it." She met his gentle gaze. "Thank you, Your Majesty.” He gave her a small smile. “Princess, you do not need to be so formal with me.” Princess Aoi stared at his smile for a second before looking down uncomfortably at the grass. She got the feeling that his smile was a rare sight. “I don’t understand what you mean by that,” she said quietly as she looked back up. “Allow me to rephrase.” He turned his body towards her and placed his gloved hand over his heart, bowing to the princess. “I formally request we call each other by our names instead of formal titles while we are alone.” He straightened, giving her a beautiful, gentle smile. “I want you to just address me as Byron, if you’ll allow me to address you as Aoi.” “What do you mean ‘while we are alone?’” “Well, I don’t believe Al and Giles will like it if we were to be so informal around them.” Aoi giggled with Byron at the thought of their advisors’ reactions. “Alright, Byron.” They sat in silence for a while, watching the garden and sky and equally appreciating the calm moments they knew they would not experience again for a long time in their busy lives. Suddenly, Aoi spotted a familiar light at the far end of the garden. She watched the glowing orb travel from the ground to the side of the palace, heading in the direction of the balcony outside her room. A thought occurred to her. “Byron, have you ever wished that you could know what it is like to be a citizen of your country instead of royalty?” He nodded. “Yes. I find it difficult to know the needs of my citizens and make decisions that will benefit them.” He let out a long, melancholy sigh. “I love my country and would do anything to protect and aid my citizens.” Aoi gave him a smile. “I feel that way too. Though I do have experience as a lower-class citizen, I still find it hard to know what is best for my country. I want to do my best for my citizens and will do everything in my power to keep them happy.” Byron nodded and gazed up at the willow tree. “I know many bureaucrats of this country oppose the princess system, especially when a citizen of the lower class is chosen.” He reached down to the grass and picked a small blue flower. “However, I think they are wrong.” Aoi stared at him in awe as Byron carefully reached over and tucked the flower behind her ear. “I have more respect for you than I do any ruler in the world. I believe a perspective like yours will cultivate a much happier country than a leader who only lived in luxury and knows nothing about their citizens’ needs.” She gave him a beautiful smile and he returned one that could almost rival hers. “Aoi, I am here to unofficially ask you for your guidance in making decisions for my country.” He stood and offered his hand to help her up. Aoi placed her hand gently in his and rose. “I’d be honored to help you, Byron.” They exited the shade of the willow tree and entered the sunlight illuminating the garden around them. As they walked the path to the palace, Albert approached them in a rush. King Byron’s smile disappeared. “Your Majesty, I’ve been looking for you,” he said with a bow. “There are items that need your attention, and we must get you ready for dinner this evening.” The King showed no emotion. “Very well, Al.” He nodded to Princess Aoi and she watched them walk away and enter the palace. “Your Highness,” Louis called as he walked across the courtyard to where the princess stood. Leo waved from Louis’s side. “How’d the King treat you while you were alone, Your Highness?” Leo wore a teasing grin. “Shut up, Leo. She’s anxious enough without your teasing.” Louis stopped in front of Princess Aoi and looked down sympathetically. “His Majesty didn’t say anything to upset you or make you uncomfortable, did he?” “No,” she said, shaking her head quickly, “nothing like that. His Majesty told me that the journey over here was nice and he thinks our country is beautiful.” Leo's eyebrows furrowed. “I suppose he’s saving important conversation for dinner and the tour around the town,” Leo pondered, folding his arms. “Or our previous suspicions are correct,” Louis whispered, “and His Majesty is-” Louis stopped speaking when he noticed the princess’s ear. “What is it, Louis?” “Your Highness,” Louis said quietly, “what did you two speak about, exactly?” She tilted her head in confusion. “Yeah, Your Highness,” Leo said, pointing at what he and Louis noticed with a smirk. “If it was only about his journey here and the scenery, then why is there a flower tucked behind your ear?” The princess’s eyes widened and her cheeks reddened. “It’s just a flower, nothing significant or worrisome,” she rambled. “Anyway, I need to get ready for tonight’s dinner, so if you'll both excuse me.” She rushed past the two men and hurried into the palace, heading in the direction of her room. Leo and Louis looked at each other with astonished expressions, then walked into the palace after her. --- Princess Aoi rushed the door closed when she entered her bedroom, breathing heavily from running through halls and up many staircases, desperately wanting to scold whoever gave her the farthest bedroom in the palace. The orb she noticed earlier was dancing around her room as she walked to her vanity to get ready. “I thought you only came around to grant wishes,” she said as she sat down before the mirror, watching the familiar gorgeous glowing man approach from behind. “Well, I couldn’t aid my newest client without coming to see my favorite,” he said with a mischievous grin. The princess turned around to face him. “Newest client?” “You haven't realized?” She shook her head. “A man wished he could marry the woman with the most beautiful smile." The princess blinked as he gestured to her. "I told you not to underestimate your smile, little one.” “You mean King Byron made that wish?” He nodded. “But what about the trial period? What did you take from him?” “I took what others deem most important about him.” The man’s smile dropped into serious expression. “He is the son of a tyrannical king. The most important thing his citizens believed about him was that he would rule the same way his father did.” “But he seems so kind,” the princess whispered. “He is truly kind. I never changed anything about him. I merely erased his citizen’s negative assumptions about his abilities and values. A blank canvas for his actions to paint on." “And no trail period?" “He said if he did a poor job, his citizens had every right to hate him. He wants them to form their opinions on his actions, not his father's.” The man smiled at Princess Aoi and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Now, I believe you are needed in the dining hall, Your Highness.” She stood and raced to her bedroom door. Just as she began to open it, the glowing man spoke up “Oh, Princess?” “Yes?” “Smile for me.” She gave the glowing man one last beautiful smile filled with gratitude and happiness. “Never underestimate your smile.” “Thank you,” she whispered before hurrying down the corridor. She stopped near the entrance to the dining room where Giles stood waiting with Alyn. Giles gave her a stern look of impatience. “Where did you run off to? His Majesty will be here any second.” Suddenly, Princess Aoi heard the doors from the opposite hallway open and she moved to stand next to Giles, facing King Byron as he entered the room with Albert. Giles bowed to the King as Albert bowed to the princess. “We thank you for joining us for this evening’s dinner, Your Majesty,” Giles said. “His Majesty was glad to accept the offer,” Albert said as he straightened. Giles gestured toward the dining hall. “Please, follow me.” Alyn opened the doors and bowed as they walked in. The table had been set ahead of time as usual, though the two settings weren’t at opposite ends. Instead, a certain meddling bureaucrat had the settings across from each other at one end of the table. Princess Aoi looked over her shoulder at an annoyed Giles and the bureaucrat outside the dining room. She watched Leo wink before walking away from his scowling brother who closed the doors on him. She let out a quiet laugh and turned forward when she realized that King Byron had noticed too. Giles and Albert kept their distance and stood near the door behind King Byron. As he and the princess sat across from each other at the same end of the long table, King Byron gave Princess Aoi a wink. She caught her breath, remembering the smile he showed her in the garden that was absent while others were around. They were silent as the formal dinner was presented and their plates were set in front of them. The servants bowed and stepped away. “I hope Your Highness will accept the trading contracts that Stein will be proposing during this visit,” he said, lightly emphasizing the word ‘proposing.’ Aoi smiled beautifully at Byron. “We’ll see.”


Alessia had anchored her boat in a small cove on the northeast corner. The space was too small for any larger vessel, and the tides meant she was grounded much of the day, but the boat and her home were safe. That night I walked back to the boat with her. I told Xander and Kurbani I was going to keep her company, but in reality it was so we could talk more about the island and how we would convince the islanders to leave. Spring was slowly arriving. For the first time since I left Kadear, the night air didn’t feel bitter and cold. The sky was clear, and we walked under a blanket of stars and a waning moon that gave just enough illumination to the fields in front of us. “How do you think they’ll react?” Alessia asked. “Have they discussed needing to leave?” “Back when we first met, Sirad said something about some islanders not being ready to give up,” I thought back to that moment lying on the floor of that abandoned room, my ribs aching with the memory. “I reckon some are ready to go, though.” “So we’ll have some who agree and some who disagree,” Alessia nodded in thought. “The bigger issue is how they’re going to leave,” I shrugged. “There’s no boat big enough in the harbour to survive the seas, and they won’t all fit on yours.” “One passenger on my boat’s enough anyway, thank you.” She forced another smile. “But yeah, you’re right.” We continued to walk down the long hill towards the cove. As we descended, the sound of light winds rustling in trees was replaced by waves lapping on the shoreline. Alessia opened her mouth to speak, she took a deep breath in before finally saying the words. “You still got any artefacts left?” “Yes. Why?” “I’m going to need you to trust me... a lot.” “I already do,” I replied. A large beaming smile crept across her face for a brief second before she tried to smother it with a more stern expression. “I don’t think you know how much those things are worth. If you have enough, we could buy a boat - a big one. I could sail off, find a suitable ship, and come back.” “How much do you need?” I asked. “If you still have some of those lighters left. Maybe eight or nine of them.” I tallied what I had in my head. I’d be left with a shadow of what I started with. I hadn’t been living in luxury since I left Kadear, but I had never had to worry about how I would sleep or eat. This would change that. I would no longer be self-sufficient. A brief doubt crossed my mind. That selfish part of me that wanted nothing but to travel, to jump from island-to-island exploring - it begged me to refuse. But my conscience won out. I swallowed the id down into my stomach. “It won’t leave me with much, but sure. I can give you the artefacts.” “Great. Can any of them sail?” “In a dinghy by the harbour? Probably. Coping with an unexpected ocean swell with no sign of land?” I shook my head. Alessia tutted. “I’ll have to teach them - but we need to get to Tima Voreef. They’ll have to learn as we go, so we sail in tandem, at least initially.” “We can tell them tomorrow. I’ll get everyone together in the evening. Then we can explain it to them and hope they see sense.” Alessia stopped and looked back between me and the boat on the beach. The ship lay on the sand, listing to one side, the anchor stretched along the sand in front of it. “This is going to change things. For us both.” “What do you mean?” I looked to the side and let out a dismissing chortle. “Until this gets sorted, you can’t just travel for fun going off wherever you want now. And I can’t go taking whatever trading routes I want. Sure, I gotta make a living still. But...” she paused, and looked out to the sea. “Like it or not, the second we leave this island we’re taking on a responsibility. To the people of Deer Drum. The living and the dead.” “I know,” I said. “Good.” Alessia furrowed her brow. I took a long deep breath and waited for Alessia to catch my eye. “I’ve been running around chasing things since I left Kadear. This is the same, just more focused. But you... are you okay with this?” “No,” Alessia chuckled. “But... I don’t see any other way of this ending without blood on my hands. I’m not prepared for that. Sometimes what’s right comes before what you want.” “You sure?” She rolled her head from side to side. “I like being able to sleep at night.” She looked up at the stars flickering in the sky. “Speaking of which, it’s been a long day. I’ll catch you tomorrow.” The following evening we gathered the residents of Deer Drum to discuss our plan. All sixteen adults and the two older children all sat around in a large circle as Alessia explained their options. “The boat won’t be huge. You won’t all be living in luxury. But you’ll be comfortable. We’ll teach you to sail on the way to Tima Voreef. From there, you can sail to whatever island in the Archipelago you want to. That’s your decision.” “How long do we have to choose?” asked one woman. “I’m leaving tomorrow.” Alessia replied. “Are you telling us what to do, or is this an offer?” Sirad shouted from across the circle. “An offer,” I replied, sensing the tone in his voice. “Look, we can’t force you to get on a boat,” Alessia replied. “So it’s not an order. But I’ll tell you bluntly; if you stay here you will most likely die.” Silence fell across the circle. There were no further questions. “They’re right. We have to go,” Xander said, his eyes staring his hands, as he slowly tore up a piece of grass over and over. “You want to leave?” Sirad replied. “No. But I want to live. I want them to live,” he nodded to his daughter sitting beside him. “We can’t just give up, abandon Deer Drum,” another woman replied. “Like it or not, Deer Drum is already dead,” said Xander. “We’re here, but the island... Who we were. It’s gone.” Xander’s bluntness hit a few members of the circle. One man bucked, his head falling into his hands as he covered his face. “He’s right,” said Eir. Her voice seemed even thinner than when she had inspected my injuries when I first arrived. “We have to move on.” “What?” Sirad stood up. “This is our home. I’m proud to be from Deer Drum. I’m not letting our island name die.” “Sirad, we have to.” Xander said. “And Eir, you’re listening to him. You didn’t study leadership, Xander. We’re supposed to do whatever a farmer says now.” “And you were a naturalist.” said Kurbani, standing to meet Sirad. “Were. You’re not anymore. None of us are what we were.” “So Xander is our leader?” Sirad pointed his finger at Xander, who was still hypnotized by the shredded grass in his hands. “No. We were farmers.,” Kurbani interrupted, raising her voice to cut him out. “And I’ll tell you what farmers do know. How much food people need to survive. So I’m telling you, with all I know, that if we stay, we die. And you can be nostalgic all you like. Spend weeks being so. You’ll still die. Your loyalty to Deer Drum won’t feed you.” “Please. Calm down.” Eir interrupted, she lowered her hands, trying to simmer the mood. “We’ve all been through more than anyone should ever have to. But we all want what is right.” Kurbani and Sirad heeded her point and sat back down. Once they did, Eir continued. “One thing’s for sure. We all go one way or another *together*. If some of us leave, those staying behind stand even less of a chance. So, are we all in agreement that whatever we decide, whatever the majority choose, we’ll all abide by?” She looked around the circle. Hums of agreement or nods met her gaze. “Good,” she continued. “There’s eighteen of us here. How many of us have already made up our minds?” “We’re letting the children vote?” Sirad replied. “They’re members of this island too,” Eir replied. “How many have made up their minds?” Hands rose as Eir counted. All but five had already decided. Xander’s daughter, Mirai, the other child, and three others. “And of those that have already decided. How many say we should leave?” Eir replied. She counted again. Xander and Kurbani’s arms were raised, as were seven others. “Nine. One more for a majority.” Eir declared. She looked around the circle, she was about to open her mouth when she was interrupted. “We go,” Mirai said, raising her arm firmly into the air, her face hardened. “Are you just doing this because your parents did?” asked a man on the other side of the circle. Mirai laughed. As the laugh faded, I could see dampness on her cheeks, and water in the corner of her eyes. “You don’t know how much I loved living here. You will never know that. I would shout at my parents till I died of exhaustion if I thought they were wrong and there was some way I could keep living here. I’ve lost so much. My best friend is buried in some pit outside of town, my uncles and aunts are there too. And I’m going to have to leave them, and their memories, and every good thing that ever happened in my life behind. I would give anything to not have to lose something else... But we have to face loss. We have to try and build something else, somewhere else.” “The best things grow from the worst disasters,” said the musician who I had seen playing with Novak earlier. “What?” Mirai asked. “It’s a line from a song I was taught once. ‘The best things grow from the worst disasters. The best things grow when we begin again.’ There will never be a point in any of our lives lower than this. But, from that - all that loss and emptiness - we can build.” He raised his hand from the elbow. “I vote we go too.” “That’s eleven for, four against, three undecided.” Eir said. “It’s done. We go.” There was silence across the circle. A few members stirred, wanting to dissent. But they bit their tongue. Everyone stared into the space, processing the moment in solitude. At least a minute passed before Eir spoke again. “Alessia, Ferdinand. Tell us what to do and how we can help. We are coming with you.” Alessia nodded and slowly stood up as she explained to everyone what would happen. The next day Alessia set sail. I stayed behind with the islanders as they packed up whatever goods they couldn’t dare to part with, and any food they could carry. It was a long wait for Alessia to return, but two weeks later one of the kids spotted the ship on the horizon. A handful of us rushed down to meet her as we watched the boat slowly sail towards the shore. The vessel Alessia had found was at least five times the size of her own. In reality, it was too big for one person to manage, but with a loose sail allowing a slower pace, and a lot of patience, Alessia had managed successfully. We watched the boat crawl towards the island, Alesia’s ship tugged behind by a long rope. Eventually, Alessia weighed anchor and rowed a smaller boat ashore. It was time for the people of Deer Drum to leave. My own island had turned out to be a lie. It had imprisoned me and tried to kill me. And yet, I still missed it. I was still from the Kadear Coalfields. Our homes hold identity over us. And I could see each survivor mourn as they stepped into the boat, and their feet left the sand of the island. They left in groups of three or four in the small rowing boat. Some stared straight ahead, refusing to look back lest long-cherished memories reappear. Others watched the land the whole time, hoping it would call them back, beg them to stay. With everyone on board, we set sail away from the island. For the first time in many hundreds of years, perhaps since the Archipelago was first formed, Deer Drum was uninhabited. Its purpose was now nothing more than a geographical reference. Its population, nil. We all travelled on the larger ship, Alessia’s boat towed behind. As Deer Drum disappeared over the horizon, Alessia was resting in the cabins, while I was helping the survivors get used to the seas. I knew enough of the basics to be of use in calmer waters. Eir was the first to take the helm. She seemed at ease, slowly turning the wheel as the gusts of wind caught the sails. I stood by her for the first couple of hours. Behind me, the man with the guitar was sitting on the edge of the boat, plucking a few chords. He stopped. Paused. And then began playing again, now with a more resolute purpose. After a few bars of plucking the chords, he began to sing over the top, serenading his fellow passengers. *My friends, come along. Don’t you hear the fond song?* *The sweet notes where the nightingale flows?* *For to hear the fond tale of the sweet nightingale,* *As she sings in the valley below,* *As she sings in the valley below.* He stopped for a second, thinking, before starting the second verse. *My trav’lers don’t fail, for I’ll carry your pail,* *Safe home to a harbour we’ll go.* *You shall hear the fond tale of the sweet nightingale* *As she sings in the valley below,* *As she sings in the valley below.* I looked at Eir, making sure she was okay by herself, before turning to speak to the man. He stopped as he saw me approaching. “Did you write that?” I asked. He laughed and shook his head. “No. That song’s older than the Archipelago itself. I was trying to switch the lyrics up a bit. Make them more relevant to our lives.” “What’s the original about?” “Guy trying to schmooze a woman. Same as most old songs,” the man grinned. “Thank you, by the way. You’re saving us all.” “It was the right thing to do,” I said. “Good to meet you...?” I offered out a hand. “Lachlaan,” he said, returning the handshake. Once he was done he picked up the guitar again and started plucking a few strings, playing with the melody of the song. “You seem pretty relaxed out here,” I said. “There’s been a lot of pain lately,” he said over the chords. “But maybe for the first time since everything, it feels like we’re moving forward. We might be sailing into the great unknown, but we’re moving. Sometimes that’s a victory. We’ll just have to see what’s over the horizon.” As I turned and headed back to the helm, he picked up the song again. *My friends, come along. Don’t you hear the fond song?* *The sweet notes where the nightingale flows?* I looked over the bow of the ship, as we cut through the crisp winter waves on our way to Tima Voreef, and hopefully answers to what happened on Deer Drum. “This seems easier than I expected,” Eir said to me over the singing in the background. “It gets harder when the weather isn’t so kind,” I chuckled. “I’m sure, but for now.” “For now, just keep pointing at the horizon,” I said. “Point to the horizon, and see what’s on the other side.” # END OF BOOK ONE. \ The Archipelago will be taking a brief hiatus before returning with the start of book two on Thursday 22nd July.


This was from on r/WritingPrompts, but I wanted to put this here too because I think it's one of my favorite stories that I've ever written “If you are hearing this message, then the human race is dead. The information I am about to tell you is crucial, and it is imperative that you listen closely. I can’t say what our future may bring. I can’t say who or what will receive this recording, and under what circumstances that will happen, but there’s one thing I can say: this will be all we have left.” Adam picked up the device with a metal arm, and turned back to Eve. “Eve, take a look at this!” “Where you are standing used to be our home planet, Earth. We sent out a manned space vessel, the Ark, into the deepest regions of space carrying the last of our kind, in case those on Earth were wiped out by our interstellar neighbors. At the time this will be found, we expect that the mission will either be successful, or every single person on that ship will be dead. But it gives me peace of mind to know that, maybe someday, we’ll be found.” The two androids stood dumbfounded at the creature who was delivering the message. From nothing more than a small box, the creature was projected as a hologram. Two legs. Two arms. Bipedal, yes. A head on top that seemed to be where the thought processor was. It was built similarly to the android observers, but it was very organic, no metal parts anywhere. “They call themselves humans, then” Eve said, waving an arm back and forth through the hologram, finding that the human wasn’t in solid form. “It’s just an image,” Adam said. “I’m not sure if there are any real ones left” “It’s an interesting finding, nonetheless. If they built these ruins, I’d be pretty impressed” “Must’ve been the place the ship was launched. Maybe a military base” The human continued to speak over Adam and Eve. “In this ship you can expect a library of the stories we’ve written and the history we’ve made. I hope you can find solace in knowing that we didn’t waste our short time in this universe. The stories are ones of triumph and suffering, of good and evil, and of a species trying to do their best. Myself and the other members of the crew, if we live to see this day, await your arrival with anxiety and eagerness. If you encrypt this message, you can find the estimated coordinates the ship will be at on the date you receive this. I hope we can meet each other sometime soon. I hope whoever is out there will see that we are kind, and mean no harm. May the Gods be with you. Signing out.” The androids stood in silence for a second before Adam began scanning the device. “What are you doing?” Eve asked. Adam finished his scan and turned around. “We’re finding the Ark. The people aboard that ship might be the last organic lifeforms in the universe” “It’s the human’s own fault that they let their planet die. I mean, what’s the point anyway, if they’ll be gone in the blink of an eye, leaving behind only what they destroyed” “They made us” Eve sat down on a rock. “We don’t know that. You’ve said that about every other lifeform we’ve come across” “No-you don’t understand. We didn’t just come from nothing. If we really are the only ones left in the universe I at least want to know who gave us that opportunity” “How is Earth any different? How is it different from the hundreds of planets that we’ve searched?” Adam started to pace around the ruins. “Stories. They said they tell stories. And they kept them on the Ark, an endless vault of information both real and imaginary. If they made us, we’re the stories they’ve made, we’re the stories that they passed on to stay here long after they’re gone. We have a wealth of knowledge as expansive as the universe itself, and that's what they would have wanted. I just want to know that we’re not chunks of metal. I want to be the universe. I want to be infinite.” “Fine, we’ll go. You know, it’s ridiculous that we contain the entire wealth of knowledge in the universe and we can’t even find who gave it to us. You’re right, we owe them a debt. Did you get the coordinates?” Adam nodded. “It transmitted radio waves that I downloaded, and you could find the numbers in the code. It’s only a few light years from here.” “Great” Eve eagerly marched back to their ship. “Let’s meet our maker” \~ Adam slowed the ship to a stop as they reached the coordinates. “It should be here. That is, if it kept going on the intended trajectory.” Eve pointed at a gray blur in the distance. “Look!” They flew closer to find a massive, box-like ship that was about 50 miles long. Atop it seemed to be a city- or what used to be one. Massive skyscrapers with hundreds of glimmering windows dominated the area. Once it must’ve been full of light, but now, there were just occasional flickers behind the windows. Eve’s excitement turned into melancholy. “They must’ve done so much here. I’ve never seen anything like this.” Adam approached a landing pad that was coming into view. “I hope someone’s still in there. Even Earth isn’t like this, at least not anymore.” The exit ramp lowered and released a puff of gas. Carefully, Adam and Eve both stepped out and surveyed the surroundings. “There’s an entrance in that building over there. And- an elevator” Eve rushed to the elevator, Adam trailing behind her. The doors closed, and they began travelling to the lower levels. It was pitch black for the first few minutes. The tunnel was probably a mile long. After some time of silent anticipation, the glass doors slid open to reveal the bottom levels. Right away it was clear that the Ark was no more. The halls were barely illuminated by only a few flickering lights, and sparks flew out of some machinery on the wall. A loud ringing sound filled the room as they stepped onto the unstable metal floors. Something had happened here. Perhaps the extraterrestrials they were trying to avoid caught up with them. Perhaps they ran out of supplies. Or were killed off by a disease. But no matter what, Adam and Eve were now the only remaining inhabitants of the universe. Eve led the way through the winding, almost labyrinth-like halls. “Typical organic beings. They could never get along. Always out for blood. It just makes me sad that they had to end like this.” Adam stopped to look at the chunks of metal that were scattered across the hallway floors. “Everything has to end eventually. You can’t have a beginning without an end.” “Who’s to say you can’t begin again?” “There’s no way we can do that, Eve. Come on, let’s find that library” They turned right to find a massive chamber that was several stories high. Along the walls were hundreds of pods, each one carrying a human. “Cryosleep. They must’ve been kept in suspended animation. They’re alive” Eve barely smiled, but she knew this was wishful thinking. “No. Look at the pods.” They observed the bodies more closely. Many of them seemed to be in the middle of a scream, or were writhing in pain. Some of their skin had started to decay, and frost had built up inside the glass shield. A few of them had bones that were exposed. And every single one of them had the same cold, empty, dead eyes. One full of life, once full of pride, once full of the wonders of a species that was determined to make their mark on the universe and reach beyond the night sky. “That’s what happened, then” Adam said. “The pods were turned off, and everyone in them suffocated. The aliens- whoever or whatever they were- then looted the ship” They stood in silence, almost in mourning. Mourning people they never even knew. Mourning the death of organic life. “I need to see the library,” Adam said, turning around to continue exploring the ship. “I just need to read what the humans had to say so I can have peace of mind.” Eve didn’t say a word, but she continued on, and Adam followed. They were dead silent as they continued down the halls. Windows to either side of them gave a stunning view of the realm outside, of the infinite void of space. A reminder of what the universe represented. Discovery, survival, possibility. The creatures of the cosmos working in harmony. That chance for universal peace, that began its path to destruction the day the Ark was attacked, would never come back. The hall only led to a dead end, with access to only one room. As it came into view, it was clear that this was the library. It was nothing like the rest of the ship. Instead of metal, it was built with wood. A winding staircase circled the room and kept going up, beyond a point that was even visible. Shelves lined the wall- bookshelves. Physical manifestations of the human legacy. Each packed with a book, a book tirelessly constructed by one person, with nothing but a pen, and a dream. The creators of the Ark had chosen to abandon a modern digital storage system, instead opting to pay homage to the work of the authors who had written about and documented the legacy of a species. Adam and Eve began browsing the bookshelves and flipping through every title. Historical books like *The History of the Roman Empire* or *The Renaissance*. Works by great thinkers who were long gone. *Romeo and Juliet. To Kill a Mockingbird. The Great Gatsby. War and Peace*. New worlds, new universes, completely sculpted by thought alone. It was like a chance to start over, to construct the universe in your own image. “The humans sure told good stories” Adam said as he browsed through the works of Shakespeare. “I guess the only way to cope with the fact that you are alone on a ship in the middle of nowhere, and you’re the last of your kind, is to start over” Eve smiled at the thought. “Who’s to say we can’t start over too?” “What?” “The only thing you need to create a new universe is thought. We contain every thought there is to know. Who’s to say we can’t give these humans another chance? A chance to start over in a new world, where the only thing they need to enter it is a thought.” “So we put them in a simulation?” “It’s the least we can do. And then they can keep writing stories, and they can keep sculpting their own universes. We can’t die. These people can. But their thoughts don’t.” Adam nodded in agreement. Then he spotted a single table in the middle of the room, with only one book on it. *The Holy Bible.* Hesitantly, he came down the stairs, opened to the first page, and read. “In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters” The world around him began to dissolve, and Adam began to feel like he was floating. “Then God said, ‘Let there be light’” Everything went black. And there was light.


Saturday. 7am. Alarm rings. I’m quick to spring out of bed, but that’s only to snooze the alarm and return to the fleeting warmth trapped under the blankets. 9 minutes later again the alarm rings. A pernicious cycle of getting up only to return immediately continues until 7:55 am. Admitting defeat, I knew I couldn’t snooze again. I growled walking to my desk. A mere 20 feet from my bed to the chair where I would spend the next 9 hours of my life wishing I was dead. I never was a coffee person. I sometimes wonder if that’s why the mornings always felt extra rough, though I wasn’t a fan of the jitteriness alternative either. On my desk were 3 monitors, 1 large one in the center and two slightly smaller ones on each side. The center and right monitors were reserved for my main working activities while the left one was reserved for the disquieting purpose of displaying the call queue. I sat in the chair staring blankly ahead. What began was a session of leering at the impending doom of what waits for me. Those early morning minutes were ones I hated the most. Knowing that there was a fresh young day ahead of me, ripe with opportunity, an abundance of possibility. Yet I could only see it through what felt like the window of a jail cell, reminding me that today would not be that day. No, instead I would be handed a day filled with anxiety, frustration, and unfulfillment. It was 14 minutes past 8. I still hadn’t moved. My morning routine consisted of me getting to my desk, doing the absolute bare minimum to sign into the computer, then doing nothing. Absolutely Nothing. Sitting there staring off into the distance. Or more often than not, closing my eyes and placing my head on top of my arms on my desk. Sometimes staring at the carpet beneath me other times remaining in the darkness surrounded by the silence. I was trying to escape. Trying to seek shelter from the world, from what was about to happen. Trying to bring back peace to my own mind and body. Trying to forget, maybe even just for a second, that I wasn’t here. The attempts were futile, only delaying the inevitable, or on some occasions making it worse. Then of course there were the tics (motor-tics). Moments where my whole-body twitches in an uncontrolled involuntary movement as if I was flinching from a gunshot going off in the next room. These began a few months back and would happen every so often when I lied down to sleep. But as my stress continued to grow so did the frequency. Eventually they even followed me from my bed to my desk. Whenever I was to place my head down and try to close my eyes the tics would chase me, making me realize that I can’t even escape to my own mind without being chased. On one severe occasion while placing my head down the phone next to me rang, causing me to flinch so dramatically it was truly painful. The way my body reacted had frightened me. I remember the overwhelming feelings immediately after of sorrow and remorse that I had ever let it get this far. That I hadn’t stopped this sooner or gotten help. I looked up at call queue. 3 calls in queue. There was only one other employee working currently and he was already on a call for 8 minutes now. My second coworker wasn’t set to start working until 30 minutes later. But that was it. Just us three guys. Three soldiers in the trenches, set to stave off what felt like an unrelenting horde for the next 9 hours. I felt like I let the anticipation build up for long enough. I took the first call. It was a young gentleman that had a question that frankly had nothing to do with IT at all, but instead was suited more for HR. This was a common occurrence as no other department in the company had a support phone line other than IT. I explained to him in a detached tone that he would need to email the HR department with his inquiry and wait for a response from them. His tone changed from probing to one of irate with a hint of mistrust. As he explained to me that he had already done such thing and still received no such response his choice in words made it seem like he believed I knew the answer to his original question, yet I was withholding it for some reason. And that maybe he would be able to strongarm it out of me. But no, I did not. If I had I would have gladly told him it because I knew that would have been the quickest way to make him go away. I told him once more that only HR would be able to assist him and then ended the call. (2 min 11 sec) I waited for a bit before the next call. I always do now. When I had first started, I used to be able to churn out call after call. Seldom ever using the allotted 2 minutes of *after call wrap* (ACW -- additional time after each call before the next to complete a ticket or paperwork). Though now I use every second I’ve got. I actually use more than I’ve got. A colleague early on taught me a trick to extend the ACW after a call for as long as I need to before going back into available or taking the next call from the queue. It was a handy trick but one to be used sparingly. If the use of it got too high it would prompt a conversation from my manager discouraging its use. But that only mattered back when I cared about my job. Let’s get one thing clear. I am not a good employee. I was. I might still be able to be. But currently I am not. I could care less if I am on time. I could care less if I am meeting metrics or standards. I could care less if I have 200 overdue tickets in my queue. Something has caused this apathy. Maybe its burnout, maybe it’s the fact that these are trying times the world is in currently, or maybe it’s because management doesn’t seem to care either. We have been severely understaffed since back in November when people began to leave our team. Help Desk is an entry position, so it’s not expected of you to stay there forever. Don’t get me wrong some do and end up stuck there for what feels like forever. But the idea is to move on at a certain point. The problem arose when all of these people left their positions, but the positions were never refilled. The size of our team continued to slowly decrease over the year all while we were entering the busiest period we had ever seen. Management doesn’t seem to care that we are understaffed and overworked. Or at least they don’t seem to be doing anything about it. I take the next call. It’s an older Hispanic man. He speaks in broken English. He’s having an issue with the time punch software and he can’t log his hours. He is one of our contractors down in the southern part of the state who works with the roofing teams. He is upset because this is the third time this week he has had to call us for support. *I am upset* because this is the third time this week he has had to call us for support. However, I empathize for this gentleman and the many like him at the company. He works in the field and fulfills a general contractor position. The most advanced piece of technology he uses is a 2010 Motorola Razr. Yet in order to do something as simple as clock in and clock out he has to navigate multiple sites and use two different usernames and passwords that he is expected to remember. This man never thought he would need a degree in computer science just to cash a paycheck as a roofer. I listen to him rant and afterwards I reset one of his passwords. He is able to log in now. He continues to spout about how he shouldn’t have to go through all of this and how all of this is a waste of time and that he shouldn’t have to remember two usernames and two passwords. I ignore him and ask him if there is anything else I can assist him with. He says no and hangs up the phone. (16 min 32 sec) The longer calls (anything over 6 minutes really) always seem to take the most damage on me. There’s something about taking 15 minutes to solve an issue that should have only taken 3 but couldn’t because you needed to over explain everything in the beginning and try to test every single aspect of it afterwards. All while you hold me hostage. Like a teller who you’ve made open the safe but you refuse to leave or let us go until you have counted every last bill inside. As if somehow there would be any different outcome based on the amount. You’ve got your money. Now leave me alone. I try to get up and walk away from my desk. But I’m not sure where to go. I know I’ll have to come right back, so why even leave in the first place? The chains only let you reach so far anyway. I try to cope the same way I do after every call, by either using my phone and scrolling for a distraction or placing my head down. I’m not sure what makes me put my head down on my desk the way I do. I guess I get a false comfort from it. I’m still a bit tired and with my head on the desk I start to doze. A tic hits me and I violently jerk. I can feel an increased pressure in my chest, but I can’t tell if its real or all in my head. I look at the clock. 9:00am. 8 more hours to go.


Grass and... “What was that other smell again?” She wondered. She knew, but could not remember precisely what it was... She felt herself rolling down over the wet grass. Isabella blinked, but she did not see it properly. Everything was a little blurry. Was She rolling down a hill, maybe? The sweet, delicious scent in the air. It smelled like green too, but a little sweeter than grass. She wanted to remember what it was. She took a long breath. It was delicious, a tender smell, delicate, smooth... Childhood... “Ohhh, yeah! That was it! Childhood” She remembered, something from her childhood. A flower? Something grandma used to have in her garden and, when she was a little girl, she loved it! Isabella remembered. But she also remembered that she only had sensed it at night... Ohh, yeah! Not exactly a flower, but a small tree, full of small little beautiful white flowers. Grandma called it Lady of the Night because the flowers only open at night and only at night we can feel their fragrance. A remarkable scent, it can be sensed in a distance. Although... as far as she could remember, it should still be early in the morning yet and she was at her father’s lab. There was no Lady of the Night there. It was her birthday and she was talking to her father in his Lab... wait a minute, something was not right... Trying to understand what was happening, she recalled in her mind the last events before she felt herself rolling down in the humid grass: After breakfast, her father called her to his Lab, to ‘show her something’, he said. He always had all kinds of interesting inventions in the lab. As a never completely satisfied alchemist, he was always up to something new. What could it be now? She was very curious about it and she was excited! It was always something astonishing, even though most of the time it did not work as expected... Lab was a mess, as usual... he worked until after midnight last night. She knew it because she and her mother were still talking in the kitchen, eating coconut cake, around midnight and he had not come back yet from the lab when they went to bed. That morning, her father was very very happy and looked proud too. For sure he had a great new invention! Once in the lab, he gave her a small box. Yellow, with a white bow and some sparkling purple little little points. It was clumsy, but beautiful in its own way. “Your birthday present!”. He said smiling. “Ohhhh...” She smiled at him too. The box had a rough touch on her fingers. She opened it carefully and took from it a necklace. She held the cold blue rock, the necklace pendant, inside her hand. “It is gorgeous!” “I’m glad you liked it!” Gordon, her father, laughed to himself. He turned his back to Isabella and began to wash the alembic and the aludel in the sink, it was a mess there. Then he started blabbing: “And you know, your mother was not so sure about it for your 21st Birthday present”. He laughed again. “You know your mom; she always worried too much about nothing. You just have to be a little careful and I’m sure you are old enough for that now.” She tried on the necklace. It was a little bit heavy on her neck because of the rock, but she would get used to it. She looked at herself in the mirror close to the door. It was indeed a beautiful necklace. When she looked back at her father by the lab’s sink, he was fading away... All the utensils in the lab were fading away... the balconies, the sink, everything around her was fading away... But she still could see his eyes opened widely in the shocked expression on his face when he turned to look back at her since she was not responding to him. She also saw when he put both of his soaked-in-soap hands on the side of his head. When she did not see anything anymore, she still heard him screaming: “Isabella? Isabella? Ohh, my God... Isabella!!!” He exclaimed. Was she fading away to him too? “Your mother is going to kill me! That is for sure!” “Ohh, my God...” She heard something crashing. “Oh, my God... your mother is going to kill me, for sure. I didn’t even explain to her how to...” And then there was she. Rolling down in the wet grass, sensing the smell of the Lady of Night’s flowers. She finally stopped with a last bump of her head in the soil. “Uhuu...” She contracted her eyes. “That hurt.” She began to hear some crying in the new environment... several crying actually. A very sad crying. Why were they so sad? She wondered. Little by little those people began to appear in her view. Where was she? She sat on the grass; it was almost night already and there were several Lady of the Night around her. That explained the smell she was perceiving. It was a large field of grass. Who were those people and why were they all crying? Why were they dressed so differently from everything she knew? Ohhh... it was not a field of grass. It was... a cemetery. Someone had died. She decided just to stay there and wait. In respect for those who were in grief and in respect for the one who had just left this world, she waited. She waited while they did their prayers, while they cried some more, while they said their goodbyes, while they hugged and comforted each other. She waited until the day finished completely and became a full night. She just stayed there sat under a Lady of the Night tree, in silence, appreciating the sunset and the delicious aroma of wet grass with the sweetness of the Lady of the Night’s flowers. Someone was playing a peculiar musical instrument. She heard someone calling it ‘violin’ and Ravel’s bolero. It was a nice song for someone’s soul to be received in heaven. It was a spectacle just for her, apparently, since the others were too busy crying. Then, they all began to leave the place, still crying a little. Sobbing. She was thinking about what she should do next when the oldest lady in the group passed by her and called her: “Come on, dear. Let’s go. Let us all go together.” The old lady had a sad smile, a very sad one. Her invitation sounds like something that she should follow. So she got up and walked by the side of the old lady, who embraced her with one arm and said: “There is a hot soup for all of us. You should have dinner with us tonight.” Why did she feel as invited for that moment? As someone who should be there? The old lady gave Isabella a cozy sensation, a familiar one. She felt like at home embraced by her and the old lady had the aroma of vanilla with cinnamon, one of her favorite aromas. The old lady continued to walk side by side with her. Isabella looked back. There were way more people there than she noticed at first. Most of the women there were wearing pants, like the men. She had never seen that before. There were a lot of things that she had never seen before that moment... Some of the women had their arms and their legs without being covered by any clothes. That would be a scandal as far as she could understand. But it looked pretty normal there. Suddenly she had a clue, that necklace... and she asked the old lady: “What day is today?” “You are not from here. I notice. But that is not a reason for not to have dinner with us. You are here for a reason.” Isabella was confused. If the lady knew she was not from there, why was she being so friendly with her? “Today is June 23.” The old lady answered. What? Her birthday was in May...” The old lady smiled at her “from the year 2019.” Isabella opened her eyes in astonishment at the old lady and thought: yes, Dad, it is a big, huge, ‘Oh, my God!’ “By the way, my name is Clara.” The lady introduced herself. Isabella looked down, trying to organize her thoughts. The necklace must be a time-traveling dispositive. Clara gave her a clever smile: “Don’t you worry, honey. You must be hungry. Let’s eat first.” Isabella got the courage to ask Clara what she was wondering about: “Who died?” Clara sighed heavily: “Well... someone’s old friend, someone’s newer friend. Someone’s lover. Someone’s teacher. Someone’s inspiration. Someone’s buddy, someone’s last harbor, someone’s first door...Someone’s wife and someone’s best friend...” There was a tear in Clara's eye. “Someone loved, someone very very loved.” The old lady might be a little bit crazy, Isabella thought; that would explain a lot. Anyway, she was very hungry indeed. She would stay for soup... hopefully it would have some crackers, too. During soup, the crying had stopped, finally, but the sorrow was palpable. Everyone was in deep silence. Only she was there not sharing that sadness. She was confused, true. She did not know what would happen next in her life, which also was true. Nevertheless, despite that, she was pretty much okay: she watched an amazing spectacle, the soup was delicious, and there were crackers. Later worries were for later. The silence was a little bit embarrassing, but that was fine, too. Then Clara, who had been sitting in front of Isabella, asked everyone for attention, looked at the strange girl in front of her, and said: “Isabella, why don’t you tell us one of your stories to distract our minds?” What? What? Wait. Why? She questioned in her mind. But the old lady kept smiling at her. She was already a fan of Clara and she felt as if she should pay for the soup or something. “Well... hurm, hurm”. She cleaned her throat. She was taken by surprise. She heard some wings flapping outside and looked through the window. There was a beautiful white bird flying against the blue sky. It was a big bird and the sky was so blue, without any clouds on it. His white feathers got remarkable in the sky. His freedom, flying away to the infinite, melted her heart in tears. “Well... ahh... It all begins with Once upon a time, isn’t it?” Everyone stopped eating and turned their heads to her, listening. An old man, not too far from her, was smiling tenderly. His smile gave her comfort and the sense of a safe place. Warm and cozy, like a home. She instinctively smiled back at him. Then it all started to begin inside her and the story just flew as a river... “Once upon a time, there was a young woman called Alya. She had brown skin and dark hair that matched the deepness of the even more dark night of her eyes. She always wore very colorful clothes in the old India where she lived. She lived in a small village and she used to walk to the Ganges very often. In those times, the path to the river was full of trees, flowers, and other natural beauties. She was happy that way. She had a lot of friends inside and outside her village. Her father was the leader of their village, but it was only to organize things since everyone worked for the well-being of all of them. Everyone had their own chores to keep things well balanced. People in that village were so peaceful that they were vegetarian, unable to kill anything. In her free time, she danced alone, keeping the silence of her mind. She walked alone in nature, sang, or spent time with her best friend. A boy who was born on the same day as her, but two years earlier. One day, though, the village was conquered by some foreign warriors. Since people in her village were too peaceful, they were left to surrender themselves. The chief of the warriors said that he was ‘taking care of them’ and obliged them to serve him. Her father tried to argue that they were doing pretty well until then and did not need any kind of protection, but that was.. in vain. The warriors’ chief became fascinated with Alya. He forced her always to dance, sing and make company to him. She was also forbidden to walk outside the village. She missed her lonely time and her walking to the river. In the beginning, Alya thought things would change in time. That the Chief would forget about her, that she would be in peace again and would have time for her own again. But that did not happen. Every day, she became sadder and sadder. She did not want to dance, sing, or even eat anymore. The warriors’ Chief got worried. Ayla’s father could only say “She got sad.” Then the Chief got her one gorgeous, beautiful white bird in a golden cage that sang so preciously that she could stay all the time just listening to him. She loved the bird, of course, she loved animals. And she loved to hear him singing. Over time, though, the bird too stopped singing and eating. She looked closely at him. Would he be ill? She looked at him and wondered what would be wrong... He always had fresh and clean water. He always had the best fruits to eat, and the best grains. And, also it was a very beautiful golden cage... She sighed... The bird sighed too, looking at the endless blue sky. It was a cage. She understood. Even though it was a golden one, it was still a cage, like her own. She looked at the bird, so sad he was... from time to time he looked to the freedom above him. Thus... she opened the cage and released the bird. He immediately flew away to the big blue. His wings were wide open, flapping and flapping away. As higher as he could go. She cried a lot in missing him... You know, as we always do when we miss someone. But she knew that freedom meant everything to the bird. And she was happy for him.” People smiled at her at the end of the story. “But...” someone asked. “What about Ayla?” Isabella smiled as if she could hold everyone and their sorrow in her own arms and comfort all of them, one by one: “Well, some say that she ran away in the middle of the night. Others that her soul flew away from that body. Her father said once, ‘Every sorrow finds its ends, here or beyond, in the afterlife.’ Alya lived the time she had to live there, then, she left...” People smiled at Alya’s happy ending. Then Clara, the oldest lady in the room, concluded: “When the Soul ends its journey in its body cage, it is time to leave. It needs to fly away to the infinite blue sky. To where is its real-life... as the bird” Isabella smiled at Clara as if smiling at an old friend, although it felt like a fresh new friendship. The old man smiled at her again and then, everything began to fade away... she could still hear some of them whispering about the story, how their beloved one was flying happily in freedom. She could still sense the vanilla-cinnamon smell from Clara. Then she could smell recently baked honey cookies for breakfast in her house while hearing her father and mother arguing loudly about her in the kitchen. Her mother worried, calling her father crazy and threatening to kill him if he did not bring Isabella back before noon. He was trying to explain and justify himself. Although it was not working... At this point, she arrived on the couch. How convenient was that! A soft landing this time. She would eat again, that was great, she was hungry again! She quickly took off the necklace, she would need some explanation from her father before wearing it again. “Mom, mom!” she called, making herself to be noticed in order to finish that confusion in her house...


An Impossible Dream Dreams are scary things. People will sacrifice everything they have in pursuit of a dream. They can both drive people to achieve great things and imprison them in insanity. Some people have dreams that they can follow quietly. Other people have grand dreams that trample over the dreams of others, leaving nothing in their wake. Even after a dream has long since faded away and been tossed into the darkest depths of the mind, it still simmers. And if a dream has completely disappeared from a person’s mind, then they are no longer human, for they have no dreams. \ Ever since I can remember, my family has lived in poverty. I grew up in a small townhouse in the lower south side of Atlanta and was surrounded by gangs, drugs, and violence growing up. Many mornings I would sneak into my dad’s office cabinet and borrow his old Browning High-Power pistol because I was afraid that someone would jump me on my way to school. I never had to use it, thankfully. But I was still always scared. I would never stay out with friends past sunset. I refused to go to the west side of town. I only went out to shop or run errands when necessary. My friends all called me a coward, but a lot of them died before we graduated high school. I imagine that they would be just as careful as me if they had a second shot at life. I shared a dream with everyone who grew up in neighborhood back then. I wanted to leave this life of poverty. I wanted to grow up and become rich and make something of myself. That was my sincerest dream. I was nineteen years old when I found out about the organization. My father had been spending late nights outside of the house and our family was suddenly bringing in sums of money that wouldn’t have been possible otherwise. I begged my father to let me go out and earn money as well, but he adamantly refused-- until the day he lost his job at the hardware store. That night, he packed his bags and departed our house at midnight, and when I begged him to let me come along, he finally obliged. I was inducted into the organization by his recommendation that night. The organization was made of faceless phone numbers. I was assigned an operator who would give me jobs to do every now and then. At first, the jobs were relatively simple. My operator would ask me to deliver a package of drugs to a certain location or help in a looting of some warehouse. They paid me well with each completed job. Eventually, the jobs started to get more dangerous. My father tried to convince me to abandon the job and go back to school, but I refused. I killed political figures, drug lords, rogue agents, and anyone else that troubled the organization. As the intensity of the jobs increased, so did the pay. The first person I ever killed was a young boy who had managed to learn some secrets behind the higher-ups of the organization. I remembered the look in his eyes right before he died--pleading desperately for life. It was the look of someone who knew that all their unfinished hopes, desires, and goals would remain just that--unfinished. He begged me for his life and cried, promising that he wouldn’t use the information against us. I closed my eyes, shot him once, and left him there to bleed to death as I couldn’t stomach to shoot him a second time. I vomited afterwards and I resolved that I would never get used to killing people. I started counting every time I took a life, and eventually it did get easier. I lost track past 100. After every mission I was awarded with thousands of dollars, expensive clothing and jewelry, exotic vacations, and so on. Slowly but surely, my dream was starting to come to fruition. One day my father took a job to kill some important underworld figure and managed to get himself killed in the process. His funeral had all the makings of a somber moment. My relatives gathered around his grave while my mom knelt next to his coffin, screaming at his corpse to wake up. There was not a dry eye during the procession that evening. The whole funeral, all I could think about was how much of an idiot my father was for taking that job. He should’ve known how risky it was. I really couldn’t feel sad over my father dying. I only felt disappointment. I remember thinking to myself how strange it was. But I knew that I was supposed to feel sad and cry during funerals, so I did. But I knew that regardless of whether my father was alive, my dream still was. My phone gently vibrated on the nightstand next to me, flashing a notification about an incoming text. I groggily awoke and read the message. It was from my operator. *Are you available for a job?* *There’s a rogue agent near you right now that is suspected of killing an agent named Edward Nuvelle.* I stared blankly at my screen for a while, contemplating if this job was worth the risk. I generally avoided jobs where my life was in jeopardy too. Another text message. *We can pay $50,000.* I immediately texted back to accept the job and got up to put my clothes on as a drop pin was sent to me of the location of the crime scene. I checked the time. It was 1AM, and I could be back before sunrise. I dawned my black coat and set out into the frigid night. My taxi pulled up to the pin location at around 1:30 AM. It was an extravagant mansion located about 20 minutes from the center of the city. A spiked metal gate loomed over me as I exited the taxi, as if warning me of imposing danger inside. The house itself was ostentatious. It had a large Victorian garden in front of it with immaculately trimmed bushes, well-kept flower gardens, several statues of Renaissance figures, and a giant Lotus fountain at its center, spouting off torrents of water. The grass itself was a bright green and clearly mowed recently. It was picturesque. As I walked through the steel gate, a concrete pathway was laid out for me that cut through the middle of the garden, around the fountain, and straight to the front door of the house. The house itself occupied the size of a football field and was made entirely of white bricks and stucco. It had countless windows and a steeply pitched roof that was sectioned off with different wings of the house. Waiting for me at the front door was a woman in her mid-20s. She was wearing a short red silk nightgown with black lacing around its edges. She had voluminous dirty blonde hair that fell around her pale shoulders and neck like curtains of gold. Her eyes were a shade of deep blue, but they were red and puffy from crying. “Are you the agent they sent?” She said shakily. “Yes,” I said. “And you are the spouse of Edward, Emilia Nuvelle?” She nodded and beckoned me inside the house through the two mahogany wooden doors. “Thank you,” I said, and paused before adding “and my sincerest condolences.” The inside of the house was barren. The floor was an ocean of polished marble tiles while a grand chandelier of diamond and gold loomed over the entrance hall, but there was barely any furniture or decorations. It didn’t feel like a home. “My husband is in the dining room. I left the body untouched.” She said. I nodded and made my way through the entrance hall and into the dining room, where Edward’s body was slumped in a corner of the room. His blood was spread out across the wall and there was a dark red bullet wound to his chest. His face was twisted in an expression of worry. Edward’s tracking badge was still with him, an instrument which documented every human encounter he had over the past 72 hours. I took out my phone and scanned the badge chip. My phone lit up with a list of names arranged from most to least recent encounters. The list of names had mainly documented encounters with his wife and another person by the name of “Charles Nuvelle,” which I presumed to be his son. The two names that stood out, however, were “Yuri LeBlanc” and “Elise Martritz.” I quickly passed along the information to my operator to locate the last known positions of these two names. As I sent off the request, I heard voices coming from the entrance hall. I ran over to see Emilia and a young boy. “Charles! Go back to your room. Don’t worry about Daddy, okay? He’s safe.” The boy was on the verge of tears and instantly turned to me as I entered the hallway. He ran up to me, with tears still in his eyes. “Mr. Agent, is my dad safe? He really is okay right?” he cried. I hugged him and shed tears, patting the back of his head before facing him with a reassuring smile. “He’s going to be okay. Don’t you worry. Now listen to your mother and go back upstairs.” The boy nodded and ran back up the house’s spiral staircase into his bedroom. As soon as he was out of sight, I wiped the tears from my face and asked Emilia, “What I said wasn’t insensitive, right?” She shook her head. “No. I’m sure he was very comforted by your words.” She hesitated, opening her mouth for a few seconds as if she had something to say. “How- how long have you been with the organization for?” “About ten years.” She laughed and said, “Do all agent of the organization have that look on their face?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “You share the same expression that Edward always had. The look of someone who doesn’t care about anyone but themselves,” she said. “I could tell you were faking crying back there. Don’t you have the slightest bit of empathy?” “My father died when I was young. I-” I hesitated. “I cried at the funeral.” She scoffed. “None of you are human,” she said, as she walked away. Her words bit at me. After all, I had a dream, and to chase a dream is the most human thing that one can do. My phone vibrated in my pocket with a text message from my operator. *Yuri LeBlanc seems to be the agent who killed Edward.* *He’s been in the junkyard downtown for the past hour.* *Elise Martritz seems to be an agent who died a few days ago.* I looked up at the room that Emilia had retreated to, and decided against pursuing any further argument. The sky was dark and even the birds were silent at 2AM in the abandoned junkyard. The junkyard itself was just a large field of dirt and gravel with countless broken-down cars littering the area. The cars were arranged in disorder, with vehicles of all different shapes and sizes being scattered randomly about. Some were tipped over on their sides while others were slammed into each other. A couple of yellow school busses lay abandoned in the junkyard too, towering over the smaller cars like giants. The only signs of life were the weeds growing rampantly around some broken down cars that looked as if they had been sitting in the junkyard for centuries. Empty trash bags and lost toys sat still on the ground, waiting for someone to pick them up. I closed my eyes and listened to the silence. Several minutes passed by of listening to my heartbeat until I heard the faint sound of a piece of trash being knocked over. I twisted around to the source of the noise and caught a glimpse of a silhouette running past a group of cars. I immediately took off in pursuit. Once I had a clear view of the figure, I steadily aimed my pistol and shot once. Then twice. The figure shrieked and immediately collapsed to the ground. I ran up to see a young man lying on the ground with two bullet wounds to his abdomen. He was dressed in a dirty dress shirt and pants, clearly having had been in the junkyard for some time now. He looked up at me from behind the threads of his long black hair. “So, you found me,” he said dejectedly. “Yuri LeBlanc. You killed another agent of the organization.” I said. “I’ve been assigned to kill you.” I raised my gun to his head. “Before you kill me,” he interrupted, “I want to ask you why.” “Why?” I questioned. “Yes,” he said. “You don’t seem hesitant at all. I want to know what drives you.” “I do what I’m told,” I said. “I-” I paused. “I have a dream that I must see to fruition. A dream to stand above all others. To succeed in life. To escape poverty.” Yuri laughed. “A dream, huh? I had a dream very similar to yours, once. But... that dream changed. Your dream... it’s very empty.” I lowered my gun. In a raspy voice, he said, “I have a different dream now. And I killed Edward for taking that dream away from me.” “What was it?” \ My name is Yuri LeBlanc. I was born in a black box. I was raised by the uncaring hands of uncaring faces to become just that--Uncaring. As a child, I would waste my days away in a cramped, damp, pitch black room watching shows on an old TV set that just barely illuminated a corner with whatever program it was playing that day. Food was delivered to me 3 times a day, through a little doggie door in the far end of the room. I started the counting the amount of meals I got--1,2,3... I eventually lost track. The first time I was taken out of the room I was brought onto a surgical bed and had several operations done on me by strange men with uncaring faces. Something was implanted in my brain that day. I went back to the black box. A few weeks later I was called in for another surgery where something else was implanted in me. This cycle repeated for more surgeries than I could count--1,2,3... I eventually lost track. The day I was finally done with countless surgeries, I was taken out of the black box and greeted by a very enthusiastic man who told me that from that day forward I would be serving the organization. He smiled at me too, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. Despite how much he wanted to put on a façade, he was just another uncaring face. The organization was filled with uncaring faces. Day in and day out I would get sent on missions to kill certain people and no one would ever care. I would find some person who had angered the organization in one way or another and I would kill them, and I never knew why. But a lesson had been ingrained in me from birth--I had to do what I was told, without question. So, I did. And I didn’t care. Maybe something they implanted in my brain stopped me from caring. Maybe I had just become desensitized to it after a lifetime. One day, the enthusiastic man told me about a wonderful thing called a dream. It was a desire that fueled men so deeply in their hearts that they would do anything to accomplish it. So, I imagined that instead of killing for no reason, I could kill for a dream. A dream of success. I was seventeen when I first met Elise. She had just joined the organization at the time. She had the most determined, blood-thirsty look I had ever seen when I first met her. Perhaps that’s what drew me to her at first. The first job we went on together, I saw that my evaluation of her was right. She knew how to sneak around, how to operate weapons, and how to do everything just as well as any other agent. Yet, she was unique from anyone I had ever worked with in that she always cried after completing a kill. Every time we got sent on a job together, she would always successfully kill our target. And every time we killed anyone she would always cry afterwards. One day I got tired of wondering why. “Why do you cry after we kill people that you don’t know?” I questioned one afternoon, after she had finished crying from a job. She looked down. “I can’t help it. I know I should be used to it by know, but I just-” she paused. “I just think about the children, siblings, and parents they’re leaving behind when we kill them. And it gets to me. It doesn’t get to you?” “No,” I answered. “I guess I can’t relate.” We walked in silence for a while longer. “Then... If you’re so remorseful for our target’s loved ones, why do you kill them at all?” She frowned. “Because I have a dream.” “I see,” I said. I took more jobs with Elise. We would always discuss each other’s lives after we were done. I learned little things about Elise every day. She loved chocolate. She was squirmy around mice. She wanted to go to South Africa one day. She loved drawing with charcoal. She had a best friend named Cece growing up. She was raised in a small apartment in a dangerous part of a city where she worked hard to support her parents. Her mother was a recovering drug addict while her father was a blue-collar worker. She ended up joining the organization because her parents died, and she resolved to work her way out of poverty. She hated school and her boss was strict. “Are you glad that you left that life?” I questioned her one day. “No,” Elise quickly answered. “My best memories were with my mom and dad.” “But they were-” I interrupted. “I know,” Elise said. “But it was great to have a home to go back to every day. I could come home from a long day of work and my dad would ask me how my day was. My mom would be in the kitchen cooking up something tasty. And we would sit down and have dinner together.” “That sounds exciting.” “It wasn’t,” Elise chuckled. “But...” her voice trailed off. “It was nice.” When she remembered that moment, I saw her smile for the first time. A smile that reached her eyes. Before I knew it, I wanted to spend every day with Elise. I spent every day thinking about her. When we weren’t together, I felt lonely. Whenever I was with her, I felt content, happy even. I started spending time with her outside of missions. Sometimes we would go to observatory and stare up at the stars together--she knew an awful lot about constellations from her time in school. Sometimes we would go to the junkyard and practice shooting bullets into old cars, just to see how accurate we could get our aim. We would rent movies and watch them together. She would always cry at the sad ones. She got scared easily. She would blush every time I called her by her full name. She had the cutest smug smile every time I would treat her to food. She became everything to me. My life was contained in our little moments. And among the thousands of agents I had worked with over the course of my life, she was the only one who had managed to change my dream. Elise was killed by Edward Nuvelle two days ago. The report from my operator read that Elise was working for another organization as a spy, and she had recently been commissioned to kill me. Agent Nuvelle took care of her for me. I didn’t know what to think after I read that report. I felt something break inside of me. I did understand that Elise may have been planning to kill me, but for some reason all I wanted at that moment was to see Elise. Why did I long for her like this? Why did I feel pain that someone who was out to harm me had died? Why did I desire the touch of someone who no longer exists? I collected my thoughts and figured that I may find some answers if I went to Agent Nuvelle’s home. Agent Nuvelle’s wife answered the door for me. She welcomed me inside their lavish home. She told me that she was cooking dinner while her son was fast asleep in his bedroom. They were getting ready to eat dinner together as a family. Agent Nuvelle was seated calmly in the dining room, reading a book. “Yuri,” Edward said. “So, you heard about Elise’s death?” I nodded. Edward’s face was a deadpan stare, showing no remorse over the fact that he had just taken a life. “It is... regrettable that such a promising young agent ended up being a traitor.” “Do you have a dream, Edward?” I said. “Excuse me?” “Everyone has a dream. I had a dream. Elise had a dream. You have a dream. Your wife has a dream. Your son has a dream. Even the biggest, scariest executives of the organization have a dream that’s precious to them, right?” I said. “I suppose,” Edward said, “I’ve achieved my dream of starting a family.” He smiled as he gestured to his wife in the other room. “You have achieved that dream by trampling over the dreams of others,” I said. “Does that leave a bitter taste in your mouth? After all, if someone were to take this dream away from you, you would be very upset, right?” Edward nodded. “You ruined my dream, Edward. So I’ll take away yours.” I then raised a gun to his head, and calmly pulled the trigger. As I left the house, I glanced back to see his wife cradling Agent Nuvelle’s dead body. Their son was still fast asleep in a bedroom upstairs. And I begun to shed tears. *Maybe*, I thought, *I’ve become like her.* \ Yuri coughed up blood onto the dirt beneath him. “You asked for my dream?” I nodded. He managed to whisper out his last words. “I wanted... to tell her that I l oved her. I wanted to text her that I missed her when she would leave me, and I wanted to say welcome back and hug her when we saw each other again. I wanted to watch movies together. I wanted to crack jokes with her. I wanted to argue. I wanted to make up. I wanted to start a family together and have a kid. And most of all, I wanted to leave the organization with her and get a normal house and a normal job.” He grinned and said, “And... It was a silly little dream, but... I thought that I could come home from a long day of work. And... she would say, ‘How was your day today?’... and I would say... ‘It was good.’” He died with a smile on his face. One that reached his eyes. I knelt next to Yuri’s body for a while. Tears finally flowed down my face, for my father who had died so many years ago. And they really wouldn’t stop.  \-- Hi guys I'm really new to writing and would appreciate any feedback on this story that I've been working on.