Tea with Tara Z The limousine crossed the bridge into the city and the once distant twinkling engulfed her, as if the air itself had combusted into the white-hot light of a sparkler. She at once felt connected to something so much bigger than herself, and yet, she also felt tiny and unseen. She was a spec upon the brightest star. She rolled the window down so she could remember what the night she met Tara Z smelt like. She was nervous and seriously considered not even going. She wished the contest had at least let her take a friend. That was the only thing she'd change if she could. Selfies alone in the backseat of a limo look sad, even if you playfully tucked a champagne flute under your chin. She waited until the sun began to rise, right as they turned onto 5th Avenue, before taking the shot she posted to her Insta. "Breakfast at Tiffany's, bitches!" She had 10,000 likes and comments by the time the driver opened the door. One follower wrote: "You are the luckiest girl in the world." The math certainly reflected her good fortune. More than 300,000 people had entered the national contest to have "Tea with Tara Z" over breakfast at the iconic NYC restaurant. But last week she awoke to a headline in her feed that made her scream, as her father would describe it to relatives on the phone later, as if she was being stabbed to death. "New Jersey YouTuber Wins Pop Star Meetup." Luckily her brother was home, so they were able to reshoot the moment she found out--for TikTok and Facebook Live. By the end of the day, she had 100,000 new subscribers to her channel. When she awoke the next morning, that number had tripled. A tall woman with high cheekbones and blond hair pulled back into a bun, stood waiting for her just outside the limo. Dakota marveled at how perfect her makeup was, and how her outfit-- a leather pencil skirt paired with a purple satin blouse and thick belt-- seemed worthy of a red carpet, or the runway. She held a tablet like a clipboard, and, in the other hand, a walkie talkie. "She's here, main entrance. ETA to you: 5," she said into the device before motioning for Dakota to follow her. "Sorry, we just have to walk and talk. You're late." "Oh, I," Dakota stammered. "I-- " "No worries. Not your fault. Fucking limo driver was told to take the tunnel. That's on me. Our usual guy's got COVID. Oh, which reminds me, you're going to need to show her security guys your vaccination card and they’ll also do an instant PCR on you so you can meet her without a mask." Dakota was having a hard time keeping up with the woman, who glided in her red-soled high heels with the athleticism of a speed skater. The grandeur of the lobby was a blur of crystal and marble. As the elevator doors closed a woman struggling to carry a stack of teetering pizza boxes pleaded. "Can you hold it?" The woman in the purple satin blouse pushed “Door Closed” and looked at her watch, then at her tablet, then at her watch again. "I'm sorry, I don't even know your name," Dakota said. The woman smiled at her. The doors opened at their floor. "I'm just a production assistant." The lobby of the restaurant was filled with baskets of flowers. A group of men were setting up lights and two women were discussing how many feet apart two armchairs needed to be for the interview. The production assistant walked her over to a tanned man in his 30s, wearing a pressed oxford shirt, designer jeans and expensive looking leather loafers, without socks. "Dakota, this is Max Schoenfeld. He is the director of the shoot today." She looked at Max, her eyes practically squinting with annoyance, and, without breaking her stare with the director, said to Dakota. "Good luck." He rolled his eyes. "Don't mind Miss Thing, she just found out she won't be in the second season of Love Cabin Alaska, and she is taking it out on all of us." Dakota went to say something, but Max kept going. "Ok, so...." It took her a few seconds to realize he was pointing at her because he wanted to be reminded of her name. "Dakota," she said, looking reflexively down at her shoes, a defense mechanism from middle school she was surprised was still just under the surface. "Right. Like Dakota Johnson. I like it. Good choice for TikTok." "It's actually my real name," she said. Max stared at her as if he didn't understand. "You're hilarious. I was dreading this shoot today. You know, contests, right? How sad." It was her turn to look confused. "Oh, no, darling. Not you. You're not sad. You're fantastic. I checked out your Insta and you are going places. And with a little vocal training, you may even get that singing down. That's how Tara started. Just a few YouTube videos. And now look at her. Did you know she has nearly 100 million followers on her YouTube channel now and CelebrityValueGuess.com estimates her net worth to be 30 million? "Is that right?" He laughed. "I don't think the number matters after the first 10. Anyway, follow me, I need to take you to makeup." Max walked ahead of her down a long hallway with gleaming glazed concrete floors, and modern looking frosted glass sconces set into the walls every few feet. His pace, unbelievably, exceeded that of her previous chaperone. As she struggled to keep up with him in her new, knock-off heels, which she hoped nobody would recognize were from Payless, she spotted a sign for the ladies’ room jutting out of the wall down another hallway. "Max, I am sorry, but do you mind if I use the rest room?" The look on his face emphatically said that he did, but he replaced it with what felt like a rehearsed-to-perfection smile. "Of course! Take your time. Makeup is the last door on the right at the end of this hall. I am going back to the set. Meet you there?" "Yes, sorry, thank you," she said as she ducked down the side corridor, hearing him say into his walkie talkie, "Guest is headed to makeup after a quick tinkle, over." When she entered the bathroom, she for a second thought she had walked through the wrong door. A small foyer, wallpapered in cranberry and gold, offered two upholstered leather chairs on either side of a small table. On it, there were several bottles of very expensive perfumes she had only ever smelt when the girls at Nordstrom’s sprayed her with samples. Against the wall was a glass refrigerator stocked with Gatorades and six kinds of water: sparkling, flat, caffeinated, vitamin-infused, electrolyte-fortified and--who could live without it?-- coconut. The same soft-lit sconces were on the walls, upon which hung original oil paintings. She heard a toilet flush and the creaking of a door. As she rounded the wall separating the foyer from the sinks and stalls, their eyes met in the mirror and she stopped dead in her tracks, as if she had been hit with a tranquilizer dart. It was her! Tara Z! In the bathroom. With her. Just the two of them. "Tell Max to go fuck himself! I'll be ready when I am fucking ready! Jesus Christ, like I want to meet this sad little sycophantic TikTwat!" Tara screamed, making Dakota take a few steps backwards. Tara splashed her face with water and, grabbing a cloth hand towel from a pile between the sinks, turned now to face Dakota. Tara studied the stunned teenager for a moment. "Oh shit. I thought you were...but you're...fuck, I am so sorry. I'm just stressed out today. I--" "Oh, no worries," said Dakota, still starstruck enough to insulate her from the comments' sting. "I don't think I'm a sycophant, although I am not sure I 100 percent know what that word means." The pop star laughed at this, an exaggerated hearty giggle that then dissolved into sobbing. Tara waived the air in front of her as if shooing away a fly and, with her other hand, used the washcloth to dab at the running mascara pooling in the corners of her eyes. "You are being so sweet after what I just said, and I, man, it was just a shit thing to say, and I am so, you know, stressed out? I told them I didn’t want to do this today. Not because I didn't want to meet you, like, you the person , but because I have 30 of these bullshit appearances this week. I was hoping to get out and visit my aunt while I was here, but by tomorrow, I'll be too tired and I know I'll just go back to my hotel room and, and..." Tara suddenly shook her head “no,” as if she thought of how to finish her sentence but couldn’t bear the thought. She blew her nose loudly into the washcloth, pulled on the hem of her sequined skirt, tucked her long blonde hair above her ears with a quick swipe of both her middle fingers, stood up straight, inhaled deeply and said, "Let's sit for a bit, before we go out there." She walked past Dakota, who turned and followed her back to the fancy foyer. Tara sat down in one of the chairs and motioned for her guest to take the other. For a second, the only sound Dakota could hear was the sconces, bulbs quietly humming like an electric fence. Tara was sitting, facing the door, her eyes closed, as if she was about to meditate, or nap. "It would be funny if we just had the interview here, in the bathroom," Dakota offered tentatively. "You could call it Toilet Talk with Tara, or some shit." "Don't give them any ideas," Tara said, her eyes still closed. "They'd greenlight that in a second if they thought I'd get 1000 more followers." Dakota offered a nervous chuckle. Then silence set in again. Thirty seconds passed, in which Tara said nothing and Dakota pretended to check her email on her phone. "Can I ask you something?" the celebrity inquired, breaking from her trance, and resting her face in the palm of her hand, one elbow on the arm of the chair. "Of course. Anything." As she said it, she still couldn’t believe she was talking to Tara Z. The same person she had just watched in that awesome surfing movie on Netflix the night before. "Are you sure you know what you want?" That answer came easy for Dakota, who articulated her vision to her fans all the time. "Yes, I want to build my brand and develop a following of people who share my goals, positivity and healthy lifestyle." "And then what?" Tara asked, eyes wide open, scooting to the edge of her chair. She reached out and took Dakota’s hands in hers. They stared at one another for a moment, before Dakota confessed, "I guess I don't understand the question?” "Who will you be when you're famous?” Tara Z stood up. Dakota stood too but Tara shook her head and motioned for her to sit back down. "I'm going to head into makeup now for a touch up. It's a small room. Just wait here and I'll have Kathy come get you when she's done with me.” Tara grabbed the door and opened it and Dakota blurted out. "I'll be me." Tara Z stopped and turned and smiled kindly, her eyes filling with fresh tears. "I really hope so."


Some time ago, a new boy arrived at the school. As was the custom with all newcomers, the school bully approached him. He was a skinny boy, with brown-rimmed glasses, somewhat disheveled hair, and loose clothing: the perfect target. Not only for Thomas, the biggest bully in school, but also for everyone else. Thomas stood in front of him, arms folded and a crooked smile on his face. The new boy stared at him for a long moment, saying nothing, until Thomas took his arm in one of his huge hands. "I'll explain how things work around here, new," he said. "You give me part of your money, I protect you." The new boy didn't say anything, just stared at him. By that time, we were all watching the situation closely. Many smiled, complicit; others were scared; some rolled their eyes, knowing how it would all end: no matter how much the new guy refused at first, he would end up giving the bully money. However, to everyone's surprise, the new boy disappeared. Thomas's fingers, which had been holding the boy's skinny arm, were left holding the very air. The bully looked everywhere, not understanding what was happening. "What--?!" he started to scream, but was interrupted by a loud crack. Immediately afterwards, and to the astonishment of the entire school, a metallic contraption appeared around Thomas. It looked like a cage, only one side was not made of bars, but a smooth metal plate. Thomas had been hooked to the metal at the wrists and ankles, through metal handcuffs that protruded from the bars opposite the plate. From one of the corners of the apparatus stick out a gigantic drill, which was pointed directly at Thomas's chest. The bully tried to get free, without any success. Many of us, including me, came to take a closer look at the device. One of the girls screamed, discovering that the new boy's face was etched into the metal plate: his face was very clear, sticking out of the metal, his eyes closed. A new crack startled us all, causing us to walk away. The drill turned on and began to slowly approach Thomas. The sharp point aiming straight into the middle of his chest... into his heart. Thomas began to yell and move more, desperate to get away. Many started laughing, others just stared, a couple ran outside to call the teachers. I, for my part, began to walk around the device to see how it was set up and if there was any way to turn off the drill. Thomas was a bully, I myself had been bullied by him for years, but that didn't mean I wanted him to get hurt. Or dead... because if that drill reached his chest, it would kill him, that was for sure. A couple of teachers showed up within a few minutes. Some of the boys began to yell, joining in on Thomas's yelling. "Professor," I said, moving closer to one of them, "I think if we unscrew those things, we can get him out." I pointed out some gigantic screws, metallic like the rest of the structure, that protruded from it and seemed to keep it assembled. The professor looked at me, then looked at the structure and nodded. “I'll get some screwdrivers,” he said, and ran off. As we waited, we all watched in horror as the drill moved closer and closer to Thomas's body. The bully was still squirming, and he had started sobbing like a baby. Many guys laughed at this. Most of us, however, were now more concerned than amused. The new boy's face was still there, in the metallic silver, impassive and with his eyes closed, as if he were a punishing god. The drill was already halfway through when the professor arrived with the screwdrivers. I took one. Several more took others. All together we began to try to remove the screws. They were so big and so locked that it took incredible force to move them even an inch. The vibration of the drill and Thomas's crying and struggling were not helping the overall situation. “Thomas,” the professor said at one point, “we need you to calm down. We'll get you out of there, don't worry. But please don't move." The bully nodded. Tears streamed down his face and he kept his eyes closed, so he wouldn't look at the drill. The screw that I was removing was halfway. The drill was several inches from Thomas's body and for a moment I panicked. What would happen if we didn't get it out in time? What explanation would we give? It would be a disaster, that's for sure. Not just for Thomas's family and the school, but for everyone. I couldn't even imagine what it must be like to watch someone get pierced by a screw spinning at full speed. The entire hallway would be drenched in blood and... other things I didn't even want to think about. I shook my head, trying to push those thoughts away, and turned my attention back to the screw. I twisted and pulled with all the strength I had, causing the screw to come out a little more. At that moment, one of the teachers managed to remove one of the screws, which fell to the floor with a metallic noise that startled us all. The other teacher was already close to removing another. I was in the middle, and the other boys were in situations similar to mine. But Thomas didn’t have that much time. The drill was dangerously close to his body, to his chest. When the second screw fell, both teachers began to help with the others. Thomas's eyes narrowed, and seeing how close he was to death, he gave a desperate squeal and began to move in all directions. "Thomas, calm down!" yelled one of the teachers. The third and fourth screws fell to the ground. There were only two left. One of them, mine. The teachers went to help, as well as the other boys. The bully's scream filled the hallway, the drill was very close. The fifth screw fell. Thomas was still yelling. The drill seemed to be already touching the leather jacket he was wearing. The professor and I gave the last pull; the sixth and final screw fell to the floor. The metal holding Thomas in place split open and he fell to his knees, shivering. He covered his face with his hands and began to cry again. The teachers went to help him. Almost automatically, I looked at the drill: it had stopped. The teachers helped the bully to his feet and took him away, trying to calm him down. The rest of us stayed and watched the device, which began to vanish into thin air, as mysteriously as it had appeared. No one ever saw the new guy again. Nobody even remembers his name, if he ever said it. The teachers don't know who he was...apparently there was no transfer scheduled for that day. Thomas is no longer a bully.


She lost everything but somehow managed to gain comfort from the only thing she taught herself to love, or probably became obsessed with, after the death of her family. 11th January 2021, it is so simple to say and vividly remember the occurrences but they are shattering. So much that Maya suffered from severe post traumatic disorder. She didn’t need anyone’s help because according to her, she had no one. Two weeks earlier, her whole family, except her decided to fly in a parachute. It was their first time but her dad promised everything would be okay. She still remembers his assuring words in a deep, calm voice shat she never got tired of hearing but she will have to get used to his absence. She insisted on being left home because she has height phobia which made her eleven-year-old brother make non offensive jokes aimed at her. She remembers everyone laughing at her which pissed her off and she run to her room not knowing that would be the last time she would not only see them alive but also hear them laugh. Thirty minutes later, Maya was scrolling through her phone when she heard a thud, almost as if an aircraft had crashed. She decided to mind her business and sit tight but after minutes of intense screaming from her neighbors, she decided to go check it out, after all, she had nothing to lose. She slowly walked outside only to find people running towards her neighbor’s house. She took a few steps closer and the first sight almost made her lifeless. The colorful parachute her family was in was partly hanging on the neighbor’s roof. Her phone slipped out of her hand as her eyes were glued on the colorful patterns. She tried running towards the site but she couldn’t. Every part of her had suddenly became numb. A sharp sting of tears turned to continuous crying and screaming seconds later and she couldn't contain it anymore. It was her family in there and she didn't know whether they were alive or not. She involuntarily fell on her knees still crying and screaming, she was hitting the ground so hard that she started bleeding. If not for Mrs. Wendy who came to her rescue and comfort, she would have done worse. Her family unfortunately passed away and The funeral was a week ago but there’s not a day she hasn’t visited the cemetery. Yesterday however, something happened that will probably change her life for god. She was lying on her mother’s grave crying when suddenly a bearded dragon showed out of no where and rested on her dad’s grave. It looked at her unblinking which made Maya curious and scared at the same time. She accepted the challenge and stared back at it. The animal was an adult, golden and with amber eyes just like her. She wiped the tears on her cheeks using the back of her hand and slowly stood while still staring at it. The animal looked down when she approached it but looked at her again when she squatted next to it. Maya was confused, it was not moving or trying to defend itself from her. She had only seen such an animal in pictures but it looked quite scary in real life. She looked around but there was no one. Just her and the wierd animal, she didn’t know what to do next. She looked at her father’s name, then her mother’s and then finally her brother’s. She couldn’t help but cry again then look at the animal which was still looking at her. She slowly lowered her hand while maintaining eye contact with the bearded dragon and finally touched it. Its skin was so rough but it felt kind of right. The animal still did not move. She run her index finger on its back which somehow gave her a comforting feeling. She cautiously lifted it and rested it on her left palm and using her right hand, she run her fingers on its body. She looked down at the graves and for once since they died, she smiled. She took the animal as a gift from her family and decided to keep it as a pet. Her walk back home was a short one since she had company. She pet it until she got home and didn’t stop until she went to bed. The feeling of touching its skin reminded her of her own life. She is alone, stressed and certainly going through very rough times. Maya decided to name her new friend Gin. She used the first letters of her family's names to come up with the name, in their remembrance. Her father, Gilbert, Isabela her mum, and Noah her brother. Today, she hasnt let Gin go for a second or take him out of her sight. She is sitting on the floor where she spent the night still petting the animal. Her messy hair is all over her face and she prefers it that way. She has grown to hate showing her face to the world because she should be with her family wherever they are, laughing and creating more memories. She should have flied with them and she certainly wouldn’t have walked away on them. The poor animal tries to free itself but she doesn’t let it. She holds it tighter fearing that if she let it go, it won’t come back and she will be all alone again. Her phone rings in her pocket but she doesn’t bother to look who is calling. She holds Gin close to her chest and lies down again. A few minutes later, there is a Knock. She opens her eyes but still doesn’t bother waking up. She hears the door slowly open and then there are footsteps towards her. A pair of black stilettos appear in front of her forcing her to look up. It is Mrs. Wendy. She squats next to Maya and gently moves hair from her face. “Hey, how are you feeling?” Mrs. Wendy asks in a low and soft voice but doesn’t get a reply. “Who is your new friend?” She asks after seeing Gin almost buries inside her palms. “She is very beautiful but looks like she needs some air.” Mrs. Wendy says referring to Gin. “It is a he and he is fine here.” She says angrily. “Whatever you say darling but has it eaten. Have you eaten? You both look weak." She says but Maya is silent which answers her. “What should I get the two of you then?” “I don’t know what he eats.” Maya answers in a weak voice crying. “Sssh its okay honey. We will figure that out. Sit up.” Mrs. Wendy says trying to help her. “We will get you something to eat okay? Where did you get him?” “My family, they gave him to me.” Mrs. Wendy is speechless. Maya seems to be obsessed with this animal and her condition is getting worse day by day. She is afraid the animal might die if not well taken care of making her more devastated. She helps Maya sit on the couch and goes to prepare something for her in the kitchen. Maya is still holding the animal close to her chest which makes Mrs. Wendy confused. Maya suddenly has a weird animal which she claims she got from her family and she has never been a pet person. Either way, she is going to get her help because she needs it. Its all in her head that her family gave her the weird animal but if that is what is going to make her the old happy, naughty, smart, friendly Maya who didn’t suffer from post-traumatic disorder, then so be it.


“It’s time for school!” my dad yelled as I was running late for my classes. I head downstairs, eat, and get ready for my school class. I am in my pj’s enjoying a great day. Today is the first day of health class and we are starting by learning how babies are made! Fun stuff, right? I sit in front of my PC and put on my virtual headset. Class for me has always been virtual, in fact, everything we do is. When we want food, we put on our headset, order and an hour later a drone arrives with our food. The drone is sanitized after each use and reused to deliver anything we need really. If we want to go on a trip, we put on our headsets and take a family trip. Everything is done this way! It protects us and keeps us safe while giving us the freedom of experiencing the real world in some way. We can feel, touch, interact with anything using our headsets and controls. We can interact with the world, meet people, and see animals all from the comfort of our home. School started as you would imagine, with us reading our global pledge to be good, clean citizens. We took a roll call and got started on the day's lecture, June Day. I might have gotten ahead of myself when I said learn where babies come from. They come from sex we all know that. We are 15-16 not stupid. The real reason I was excited is I get to finally have a good explanation as to why everyone’s birthdays fall in the same week of February. I always thought it was strange, and my dad would never tell me. Mom would always deflect the question and just tell us health class will tell us as they told her. “Does anyone know what June Day is?” asked our teacher as a few raised their hands. “Yes?” he said pointing to one of the girls in the back. “June Day is the one day a year we are allowed to leave our homes without a VR headset,” she said but in a way that implied she wasn’t 100% sure. “That is partially true,” Said the teacher “June day isn’t so much the one day a year you are allowed out of the house when you are an adult but it is the one day a year you are expected to mate.” That sentence rang hard with me. “Expected to mate” as in I am expected by our government to have sex with someone, anyone, in hopes of having a baby? It is understandable as the population has declined since the great wave and we became a virtual/digital society but “expected to” almost felt like a dead word that was used 100s of years ago called rape. I found the term in a really old dictionary. We don’t have this in our society since people can’t see each other with the exception of very early childcare. You might have thought my father this morning was yelling up the stairs but it was over an intercom. I see him every day on the monitors or on my headset. We play, make food together, have meals together. Just not in person as you would expect. I raised my hand. “Yes? You have a question?” the teacher asked when I raised my hand. “Why are we expected to mate? Isn’t the day about human contact? That’s the impression I was always given.” “No. We have human contact every day. You see your friends and play with them any time. See your parents whenever you need to. Right now, we are in class interacting, but there is only 1 day a year we can get close enough to each other to reproduce. Only one day a year our doors unlock, and we are allowed out into the world to mingle and interact. After which, we go home and back to our lives.” We spend all year virtually meeting people and connecting, then get one day a year to meet face to face and try and reproduce? Or just have a little fun? I had more questions as I never knew the life outside of our virtual one, so I raised my hand again. “Yes, miss?” “What happens after June Day and how exactly does it work?” “Miss... I am getting to that. The day starts at 9 a.m. on June the 3rd and ends the following morning at 9 a.m. This gives us 24 hours to meet with our mates, have a little bit of time to get comfortable and mate. After which, hopefully, the female becomes pregnant and continues our way of life.” You will have 24 hours to do anything you wish in the outside world. You can explore a little bit, although there isn’t much to explore and mate. Then head back home or face the consequences of not making it home in time.” Raised my hand again and was called on “What happens if we don’t make it back home on time?” “You will be banished for society never to be heard from again!” He said with a serious look on his face to suggest he was not joking. “Doors open at 9 am and they close at 9 am too! If your face is not recognized in your home shortly after, then you will be deemed unsuitable for society and cast out into the wilderness to live with the feral humans. The dirty, unclean, and unkempt humans if they can even be called that anymore. Don’t let this be you!” I had never heard of feral humans before, but it would make sense that they are unclean and dirty since they have no technology and live with each other. It sickens me to think people spend all day every day right next to one another, passing germs and disease like it is currency. I can’t help but wonder why as our history books skip over some parts with the explanation that it will be covered in health class. Here we are and I waited eagerly for my answers. “Why do we do this you may be wondering,” the teacher asked “populations boomed here on Earth. Children went hungry and there weren’t enough resources for everyone. Then came the great plague that wiped out 70% of our society. After that happened, we rebuilt, but we rebuilt with the plan of never letting resources be an issue; or plague and sickness affect us again. So we built our virtual world and cut ourselves off physically from one another, except for once a year, to mate.”  \  I hope you enjoyed my short story. It's my first one I have put out there so be kind lol.


"What I remember about the assault of naboo was how...sad it was. During the final hours of the invasion, I was still guarding our fair queen's tomb as wave after wave of stormtroopers and walkers finally broke through our Anti-air blasters and our defensive line. The fires that engulfed the anti-air blasters could be seen even in the thick of the storm. The white soldier of the empire ran up the streets and barged into the homes of many like a plague of death to our fair kingdom.The skies were still gray with rain and patches of silhouette battleships hovering our city that cast a looming shadow over us. Most of the civilians got evacuated, a few transport were shot down as a warning not to resist. A few squadrons were making their way towards the queens tomb with thermal charges. To destroy the tomb to make a statement to us citizens of naboo. As one of the hand chosen few of the royal guards. As someone who watched over our fair queen before the rise of the empire...before she was brought back to the royal palace without her life. I was taken to an oath and swore I would defend the final resting place of the last queen of naboo. To be the last man standing as the city is torn from the inside out . It was a death sentence I know...but our queen ment everything to us. I steadied my hand as it held the blaster rifle and held my aim. The world around me grew quiet as if it was holding its breath to see who would make the first move. As fortune would have it, I made my move. I pulled the trigger and opened fired on the first stormtrooper that came into my line of sight. We traded shots after shots. One fell down dead, two more came to take his place. I dont remember how many I have taken down, but I taken down enough of their forces for them to call on a Walker. Their heavy blaster knocked me on my back and I slam to the ground. I skidded on the wet concrete a few feet from the queens tomb. I slowly got back up as I lean heavily my fighting staff. They began to draw in like a pack hungry beast who have cornered their injured prey. My rifle was broken, my vision was darkening as they drew their blasters on me. Under my breath I muttered,. "Forgive me your majesty...i tried my best..." I closed my eyes and waited for death. The sound of something drawn came from my left and the sound of a blaster being fired. I open my eyes to see a man in black with a red lightsaber deflect blaster shots and slashed the stormtroopers. The Walker backed away and I knew why. It did. Darth vader. The Sith lord's apprentice. His breathing through the rain sent chills down my spine. He turns to me with the lightsaber still active and slowly walks over to me. I glance back at the tomb and to the sith in front of me. I took a stance. Ready to fight once more. He stops and tilts his head a bit. He turned off the light saber walked next to me. He stops and spoke, " you have guarded her well." I was puzzled by the sentence. He goes close to the tomb. He slowly reaches and touches the tomb. For a good few minutes their was just silence. After that he turned and walked away where the troopers came from. My knees buckled and I was on the ground. Tears running down my cheeks as the world faded to black. I woke up weeks later at a base on Yavin 4. The rebels found me unconsious and brought me to their base. They said that mostly the royal palace was in ruin. But royal tomb was still intact. Not even a scratch or debris was around it. As the survivors spoke of that day they said that it was the most horrific day. When I see that image of the sith lord and the tomb I cannot say it was a horrific day, but a rather sad day...and I just dont know why.... -tenzin seltora, the last royal naboo tomb guard ((Edit: sorry bout the format.


##“To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.” -Ralph Waldo Emerson #Welcome to Serial Sunday! To those brand new to the feature and those returning from last week, welcome! Do you have a self-established universe you’ve been writing or planning to write in? Do you have an idea for a world that’s been itching to get out? This is the perfect place to explore that. Each week, I will post a single theme to inspire you. You have 850 words to tell the story. Feel free to jump in at any time if you feel inspired. Writing for previous weeks’ themes is not necessary in order to join. Each week you are required to provide feedback for at least 2 other writers on the thread. Please be sure to read the entire post for a full list of rules.   *** #This week's theme is Identity! This week we’re going to explore the theme of identity. Identity is something we all struggle with at one point or another. Who are we? What is our purpose? How do others see us? Will they accept us for who we really are? This can be an important moment for your characters, whether discovering their true selves, their destiny, or learning how others view them. What affects our identity more: genes and nature or environment and experiences?How do events change when a character denies their identity or purpose? What happens when the things they try to hide about themselves comes out, when the mask comes off? What about when they let go off of their fears and take a leap? These are just a few things to get you started. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. | |   *** #Theme Schedule: I recognize that writing a serial can take a bit of planning. Each week, I release the following 2 weeks’ themes here in the Schedule section of the post. You can even vote on the upcoming themes on the Nomination form! - March 27 - Identity (this week) - April 3 - Justice - April 10 - Kindling   *** **Previous Themes:** | | | | | | | | | *** #How It Works: In the comments below, submit a story that is between 500 - 850 words in your own original universe, inspired by this week’s theme. This can be the beginning of a brand new serial or an installment in your in-progress serial. You have until 6pm EST the following Saturday to submit your story. Come back later in the week and leave a feedback comment on at least 2 other stories on the thread.   *** #The Rules: - **All top-level comments must be a story inspired by the theme.** You can interpret the theme any way you like as long as the connection is clear and you follow all post and sub rules. Use the stickied comment for off-topic discussion and questions you may have. - **Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets** (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). This will allow our serial bot to track your parts and add your serial to the full catalog. If you don’t use the correct titling format, your serial will be automatically removed by the bot. (Please note: In order for the bot to recognize your serial, you **must** use the exact same name each week. Titles can not be edited in after the fact. Should you make a mistake or forget, you will need to repost.) - **Do not pre-write your serial.** You may do outlining and planning ahead of time, but you need to wait until the post is released to begin writing for the current week. Pre-written content or content written for another prompt or post is not allowed. - **Stories must be 500-850 words.** Use to check your word count. Stories outside the wordcount will be disqualified, so don’t forget to check! **You may include a *brief* recap at the top of your post each week if you like, and it will not count against the wordcount.** - **Stories must be posted by Saturday 6pm EST.** That is one hour before the beginning of Campfire. Stories submitted after the deadline will be disqualified and not be eligible for rankings or Campfire readings. - **Only one serial per author at a time.** This does not include serials written outside of Serial Sunday. - **Authors must leave at least 2 feedback comments on the thread each week (that’s on two different stories).** The feedback must be **actionable** and should include at least one *detail* about what the author has done well. You have until Sunday at 1pm EST to post your feedback. Those who go above and beyond (more than 5 actionable, in-depth crits) will be rewarded with “Crit Credits” that can be used on our sister sub, r/WPCritique. ***So what is actionable feedback?*** Actionable feedback should be constructive, something that the author can use to improve. A critique not only outlines the issue or weakness, but uses specific examples and explanations to describe why it may be doing, or not doing, what it should. for tips on providing feedback. - **Missing your feedback requirement two or more consecutive weeks will disqualify you from rankings and Campfire readings the following week.** If it becomes a habit, you may be asked to move your serial to the sub instead. - **Serials must abide by subreddit content rules.** This includes, but is not limited to, explicit suicide or suicide-note stories, pedophilia, rape, bestiality, necrophilia, incest, explicit sex, and graphic depictions of abuse or torture. You can view a . If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask!   *** #Reminders: - **If you are continuing an in-progress serial (one that you began off of Serial Sunday), please include links to the prior installments on Reddit.** - **Saturdays I host a Serial Campfire in our .** Join us to read your story aloud and hear other stories. We provide feedback for all those present. We start at 7pm EST. You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. You don’t even have to write to join! - **Nominations for your favorite stories can be submitted .** The form is open Saturday at 7pm EST until Sunday at 1pm EST. You do not have to participate to make nominations! - **Authors who complete their Serial Sunday serials with at least 12 installments, can host a SerialWorm in our Discord’s Voice Lounge, where you read aloud your finished and edited serials.** This is to celebrate your wonderful accomplishment and provide some extra motivation to cross that finish line. Authors are eligible for this only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule (and all other post rules). Visit us on the Discord for more information. - **There’s a Serial Sunday role on the Discord server**, so make sure you grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Sunday related news, including posts and Campfires!   *** #Ranking System The weekly rankings work on a point-based system. Note that you must use the theme each week to qualify for points! Here is the current breakdown: **Nominations (votes sent in by users):** - First place - 60 points - Second place - 50 points - Third place - 40 points - Fourth place - 30 points - Fifth place - 20 points - Sixth place - 10 points **Feedback:** - Written feedback (on the thread) - 5 points each (25 pt. cap) - Verbal feedback (during Campfire) - 5 points each (15 pt. cap), this does not count toward the required 2. **Nominating Other Stories:** - Submitting nominations for your favorite stories - 5 points (total) *Note: In order to be eligible for feedback points, you must complete your 2 required feedback comments. These are included in the max point value above. Your feedback must be **actionable**, listing at least one thing the author did well, to receive points. (“I liked it, great chapter” style comments will not earn you points or credit.)*   *** #Rankings ###A few notes on feedback Before we jump into this week’s rankings, I’d like to take a moment to talk about feedback. I love seeing the extensive feedback that so many of you exchange on the thread every single week. It’s warms my little crab heart. So starting this week, I will be awarding “Crit Creds” (to be used on r/WPCritique) to users who go *above and beyond* providing feedback for others. This applies specifically to several in-depth, actionable critiques on the thread (more than 5). **Wondering what makes an actionable crit? Check out these crits from last week:** - - - ###Last Week - - by u/Zetakh   - - by u/rainbow\-\-penguin   - - by u/nobodysgeese   - - by u/gdbessemer   *** ###Subreddit News - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


"I wish i could breathe away my problems", The words chanted by Josh before beginning each morning to work.As much as he's blessed with his current simple life, the envisaging of luxurious life always lingered on his mind every now & then. Josh often hears well spoken stories about his family & the accumulated heritage wealth even after the disastrous fire that cost all their lives. He was merely seven years old when everything was taken away from him. He takes the final sip of his coffee before sighing to himself recalling his flashback. Just like any other ordinary man,Josh goes off to his office with plain emotions riding his bike at a steady pace.It's been three years since he started off his career as an editor in an well established & leading newspaper company because he pretty much enjoyed supplying high-quality manuscripts.Just when the traffic light turned red,his phone ringed & a text popped out from his foster mother saying " I'll crack the mystery today so don't worry. have a good day darling, do visit us later.i'm sure papa would miss you. ''A soft smile crept through his face upon reading this because his foster parents accepted him as their child & always took his side no matter what he's up to. He slid back his phone into the pocket & went pass the green light with his mother's words still on mind with a slight spark of excitement knowing the mystery would be solved. Josh stopped his bike at the shed & stepped inside the company feeling curious of what awaits him today. The receptionist informs Josh upon the arrival of the boss & heads to his office. Josh adjusts his tie & ruffles his hair anxiously before threwing himself into his work.He goes through his emails,examining each articles & polishing the words to the finest as he go on with it.As cool as it seems, Josh actually spent hours covering couple of murder issues to strange incidents such as man running naked in the streets,cheating wife was punished to eat dog food & so on. Abruptly,Josh felt a rush of uneasiness & lost focus on his article,he sunk his face into his palms & took a deep breathe.He felt somewhat odd is gonna take place & he hate whatever he felt at that moment of time. Josh stood up and got out of his office just to greet face to face with his boss's secretary . She apologised with an unreadable expression & informed Josh about his Boss wanting to meet him. They exchanged nods ,he walked up to the boss's office with a gentle knock on the door. "Come in" , a content voice heard & he stepped in at once greeting the boss,Mr Boston. Josh noticed the uncertain gaze of the boss having fixed on him upon his appearance, to clear the awkward air,he spoke up first. "Sir?''. He again noticed how his expression changed from scared to serious in a split second . Mr Boston was secretly hoping for him to not be questioned for his weird actions nor decisions.Mr Boston offered Josh to seat & begun to speak. "So Josh, you're one of the few dedicated employees I have in this company.... I must say i'm honoured to be your employer.I have something to tell you." Josh felt the same rush of uneasinesss again yet kept it cool & nodded his head calmly. Mr Boston continued with "There's this new article that should be covered by you but i don't feel it's right.I'll be handing it to the other editor,I felt the need to tell you this." Josh felt strange about it as normally he'd be called either for a pay raise or his non attendance for meeting. He held his urge back to question the Boss but he ended up with '' Sure Sir. I'm good with whatever decision made. " Mr Boston gave a proud smile at his reply,glad he was able to accept things. "Sir ,shall I get going then?" ,The Boss nodded, was amused with Josh's maturity that he was still in control after what has happened until Josh turned around "S orry Sir,I can't contain myself.May i know what is the context of the article? ". Josh took in sight on how Mr Boston's face dropped pale stuttering nervously . "Josh...i-i thought you've heard it already... Your mom passed away & your dad was admitted in the hospital ." , said Mr Boston slowly while standing up shakily knowing he wouldn't be able to bear it. That's all it took to crush Josh into pieces, he couldn't believe whatever he just heard, he recalled his mom's text in the morning & he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up from the floor now to Mr Boston who was trying to persuade him, "Losing beloved ones & happenings of unexpected things are a part of life, my boy.Don't dissolve yourself too much in it,strong man.Take a few days off if you want ." Josh stuttered a thanks & left to his office with cloudy head & heavy heart.The rage in him grew bigger to the extend he wanted to scream,break everything & even punch the wall like he did during his teenage times.Josh became vulnerable ,his legs got too weak where Josh dropped on his knees crying his heart out.Something in him admonished to move forward & sort things out.Poker faced Josh then washed his face in the washroom,shrugged himself to the desk chair & reached for his phone. He had a shock of his life when he saw seven missed calls from his mom,immediately Josh sat straight while thinking probably she wanted to tell him something. He regretted for not once bothered to check his phone,then it hit his brain to retrieve the voicemails although there was only two. " Son, I found it...there's a mind-blowing mystery behind your parents' death....You'll be coming home later right? so we shall discuss it at home. Papa and I are in your biological parents house, remember...?the one that got burnt down? we found few clues but it's like a puzzle that we can't solve...'' . Josh sat there in silence trying to process those informations into his mind. He then played the second recording that sounded terrifying '' JOSHHHHH...I'm s-sorryy ... please don't kill me!!!pleasee!!!! " At this point,his blood boiled with anger at the thought of someone actually killing his mom. Gathering all of his strength together,he continued the audio "Don't ever come to this house again josh!! It's ...not...safe... arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ..please.. .." He dropped his phone,hands trembling in agony as he couldn't understand anything at this point of life. A momnet or two,he jerked up looking at the door,his co-worker who's also a very reliable friend.Edwin came closer to Josh and placed the article about the incident,Josh picked it up in a dash as curiuosity took over him which is to identify what was the cause behind the death. Josh turned into a mad beast when he read "Mrs Parker was found dead.according to the Forensics,she had high blood pressure that led to massive cardiac arrest.Meanwhile Mr Parker was found half conscious under the burnt staircase,he is currently receiving treatment in the Lexus hospital.The police are now investigating the motive of their presence in the abandoned house". Josh grabbed his phone & dashed out of the office all the way to his bike "papa you're my last hope.." ,with that he sped off to the hospital.After confronting the doctor,he decided to do the needful for his mom & did the awake plus burial.It's been an hour yet his father remains unconscious with the nurses checking on him every now & then.Mr Parker's fingers twitched ,the old man barely opening his eyelids then shut closed with doctor rushing in , too late as he slipped off reality also known as coma.Josh sat for hours by the graveyard & mourn for his lost.He now stood alone like a lost puppy,he wandered around in the streets on his bike until he spotted bar.Without hesitation,he pulled over & went inside, took few shots of Bacardi.Even after getting all wasted, he refused to leave & was shoved outside by the muscular bartender .Due to intoxication,he fell asleep on the bench by the bar.Josh stood there in the now burning house.He saw his younger self panicking trying to help his parents.Unfortunately,He couldn't afford to do anything ,fear overtook his innocence.He ran out of the house,Josh followed behind & noticed Mrs Parker jumping out his house's window.Josh began to get curious & watched him banging on the neighbour's door.Mr parker opened the door after few minutes & calmed the kid saying "I've called the emergency line,Son. Don't worry ''. This made the litle boy to calm down but Josh stood there with goosebumps rising on his skin.He couldn't believe his eyes ,Josh then began thinking to himself "why did my step-mom climb out of my house?'' ''my step-dad didn't even see what was going on but he beforehand called for help?''. Josh turned around & to his horror,the house wasn't on fire anymore. Adrenaline shoot up his body as he stepped closer to his house,he entered the house & saw his parents sitting there greeting him " Welcome Home Josh Audrey!we missed you!" .Tears swell up his eyes , The people whom he missed dearly was there right in front of his eyes. He sat on the floor ,right infront of them who were calmly settled on the sofa . His mom spoke as he took in how beautiful his mom looked & how soft spoken her words were with those eyes admiring him as she spoke." Son,it's time for you to know this.we have an ancestrial treasure that needs to be taken care with sincerity. In the master bedroom,under the rug there's a latch.open that ,it's a magical portal.Follow the path as you go the paths will divide into four.in each path there'll be an angel guiding you for what you wish.Be careful.You shouldn't be too greedy for what you ask for. If you do so,the angels would punish you by adding on sufferings to you & vanish one by one.' ' Josh was amazed with the thought of him who's going to take over the treasure. " Mom , was that how the wealth was built?'' . She gave him a warm smile & said ''Yes dear,the angels blessed us as we did good deed both for the poverty & family". ' 'Look at how our son has grown ,he's now a man!' , joked his dad. josh chuckled softly . " I'm sorry josh. We're not here for you anymore. Don't drown yourself into darkness.You'll find your match soon and about Mr Parker ....I'm sorry son. He would've passed away by now ." Josh's eyes flashed with shock. " D-dad ... h-how " His mom held his cheeks gently " Darling, They're not as good as they seemed.He & his wife were our neighbour so we shared everything including the magical portal. Unlike us,Mrs parker carried venom in her heart & disliked our reputation. She caused the fire & Mr Parker covered up the whole issue.After years,She started to have trauma.The angels started taunting her for the damage she has done.That's when they felt guilty for having greed & decided to move out in order to give you a good life. " Josh sobbed hard & buried his face in his mom's chest. His shoulder was shaken slightly & he opened his eyes slowly.Josh jerked up to see himself still at the bar,night has turned day,realising he was dreaming.His sleeves were slightly wet as he cried in his sleep earlier, He felt his head getting heavy from the alcohol he consumed yet he managed to ride home safely.The water was running down his body as he relaxed,his dream kept playing through his mind unsure whether to just take it easy or it meant something serious.He then wore some comfortable clothes & heated up the leftover pizza. Josh concluded to just forget it as a dream,due to frustration,he raked his fingers in his smooth hair & noticed his watch was missing. As he was still all sobered up, he thought must be somewhere around there & decided to search later. the weather was quite good,he thought it'd be mind-relaxing if he went a ride on his bike.In a speed of flash, he dressed up & revved his bike around the town & the thought of papa being admitted striked his mind.He then went ahead to the hospital,passsed through the hectic crowd & got into the elevator followed by a doctor discussing with his nurse. "Make sure you inform the guardian right away,anything might happen." Then the nurse looked away from the doctor, tucking her hair behind the ears & made an eye contact with Josh '' Sir? You're the guardian on behalf of Mr Parker right?'' Just when Josh nodded " He's in a critical stage right now,please stay calm as the doctor would try his best " . All three of them rushed in a hurry but Josh was left behind as he shouldn't enter.As soon he saw his dad's face, he somewhat felt hatred instead of sadness.Josh felt confused & guessed papa won't make it alive. After what seemed like hours,the doctor came out & uttered apology. Josh felt his dream might be true & straight away left to his old house.On his 30 minutes journey,he cried at the thought nobody is left for him. There'll be nobody to greet him each day nor to share laughter with.The more further he got towards the house,The more anxious he felt deep down yet he went on boldly as he felt done backing away with fear.Josh stopped infront of the abandoned house & glanced over at his foster parents' previous house,where he got adopted. Though he was a grown man now,he still stood there oblivious.Baby steps were taken by him to enter his house,he knew he wasn't ready to face the situation.All it took was a slight push & the door opened , just dusty & ashed living room. His mind somehow pictured how it originally looked like,creating a tainted smile on his lips. Each time his feet came in contact with the wooden floor,it produced a cranky sound.his heart ached to explore such an unprepossessing house that was once majestic looking. Josh continued to stare at the living room,floods of memories flowing through. The ones where he would run around trying to catch his dad with mom giggling resting on the sofa looking at us both in awe, Josh's jaw twitched & eyebrows scrunched when he noticed his missing watch was there near the sofa. Now Josh got an answer to everything,his doubts turned into a dust. He was aware of what's going on.His confidence boosted up & followed the vivid picture in his mind to his parents' room.Just like what his mom has told him,there was a slightly burnt rug,he lifted it up gently & he was lost for words upon what he saw.there was indeed a latch but he refused to open it, feared of what awaited him. Josh gathered courage & knocked on the wood where an echo could be heard as if there's space beneath it. Eyes shut closed as his fingers got a hold of the latch ,carefully lifting it up despite of heaviness. After few seconds of silence,he opened his eyes & grabbed what seemed like a rope,he climbed downwards & the path got bright with old lamp lights on the wall, marble tiles around giving of fancy vibes.he couldn't believe why was there such landscape when the whole house was made of wood,he continued walking on the straight path which began parting into four. He stood in the middle puzzled on what wish to make ,little did he know he always dreamt of owning the family's wealth.He continued his journey in third path,it was decorated in blue tiles. Pictures of him being fired from his current work,his art works gaining attention & receiving huge amount of cash,renovating the house with him settling down with a family began showing up against the walls.Josh kept walking totally mesmerised by it & saw a similar rope like he used before & groped it,climbed up just to find himself end up in the room again. His mind went blur trying to take in everything that has happened,suddenly his phone rang .He answered & heard a lady's voice at the other end. " Hello,is this Mr Josh? i saw your paintings on sale i'd like to purchase it for 10 million dollars.Can we discuss about this in detailed?" .He tremendously shivered at how luck just hit him hard & responded swiftly agreeing to her.He let out a hearty laugh on how his life is changing filled with rollercoaster of emotions .Josh recalled the dream he had while inhaling a deep breathe & let it out slowly, "I'm thankful for every breathe i've had & grateful for the upcoming ones."


The metal chair was bolted to the floor. A chain wrapped around my chest and lower body, securing me like a package. Strength ebbed away like a slow tide returning to sea. My naked body shivered from cold or fright. I focused on the latter. Left-arm unrestrained provided enough freedom for my hand to find the button that pumped drugs into my bloodstream, courtesy of an IV bag. Light flickering from an old cathode ray tube television set was the only illumination in the room. I recognized the wooden console TV as a model I had when I was eight. A remote control and cable box sat on top of the finished wood relic. Old black and white cartoons with funny characters danced and sang on the screen. The volume was muted, but I could still hear the cartoon melodies in my head. As a poor child with no toys, I recalled drawing the crude animations for show and tell in school. No one liked my drawings. As bad as that day was, I wished myself back to that time, away from this awful day. It dawned on me that I was in my old childhood home. My parents were long gone, but the house was still there. On the bad side of town, the real estate was condemned after a girl was held captive and killed inside. I was in a space with three white or maybe grey walls, a door, but no windows. This was the walk-in closet the teen was murdered in. My best friend used the fear I had as a child and built a horror story around it. All I had to do was create a new story in the book of death when I was asked. Nonsense, I thought, even though my name was in the table of contents as the author of the next chapter. This book seemed meaningless to me as a chain letter, something to dispose of, not to be taken seriously. The instructions were to write a personal horror story about your best friend, using a pen filled with blood in the pages next to your name. That’s all I had to do, then continue with my own life. When I finally believed in the book of death, the chapter that I was supposed to write was already written by my best friend. That was not my script, so I tried to appeal to the gods of its design. My offering of fresh goat blood and the body of my neighbors dog around a basement alter was not enough to make the change. Human blood, and the body parts of the long ago murdered teen were needed to erase the story that was already written. It was too late by the time I decided to defile the young girls final resting place. The three days given to me had passed. Another story had been published, completed in the universe, waiting for a new author upon my demise. It takes a lot of effort to murder a person with your bare hands. Up close, and very personal. I killed my friend in an act of revenge before I realized it was the book that caused me to act out. Just touching the hideous thing brought out murderousness. Filling a drum with cement, I threw the book in and sealed the lid. I rolled the damn thing off my boat, along with the lifeless body of my friend. I hoped they would never be found again. Whenever I died, the author for the next chapter would not know his time was due. The book could not be presented to him by a family member or his best friend. The stories would end with the book at the bottom of the sea. At least, that’s what I thought. I couldn’t continue to ignore the smell of the decomposing body in the room with me. My restraint prevents turning to the side to verify, but peripheral vision was enough to confirm his identity. Also, it became clear that the cable box on top if the old TV was really another copy of the book, opened to my chapter. I had not eaten in a few days, but the furry creatures roaming freely around the room didn’t have that problem. Feasting on my bound feet, I could do nothing but keep one hand on the button that sent me into a painless fog, or use that hand to cover the family jewels. I prayed the red eyed devils would not have them as an appetizer. While dry heaving, and shaking violently, the rats lost their grip on my flesh for just a second. I screamed ‘GET OFF ME!’ in a commanding voice, which trailed off to hapless, as I began to accept my fate. The vermin, smelling fear, continued tearing away flesh with abandon. Too weak to protect my legacy, I held the button down as the strongest of the mighty beasts dined on my testicles, the pain trumping the drug. I was not the author, it was not my script. This was the last story written, penned in human blood. I guess that’s why I woke up here from the boat. The outcome could not be changed, once it was written in the book. That’s how I got the starring role in a horror story I could have written differently. My fingers no longer had the flesh, muscle to hold the button down. It didn’t matter though, as the little bastards ate through the IV line. I guess it’s true, rats will eat anything. I guess I tasted better than my friend. The TV was still on, but I couldn’t see anymore. They started on my eyes, but I don’t feel anything anymore. I was in shock, or just close to death. I chanted in my mind, “I am not the author, this was not my script,” to no avail. I realized I just inherited it, after I tried in vain to change the outcome..


Thick blue smoke plumed and pooled around the old man's head. His grandson sat crosslegged before him on the harsh concrete floor of their subterranean shelter, watching the coils of smoke slowly unfurling upwards and collecting beneath the low, stained ceiling. There was one window in the room; a small rectangular pane of filthy glass close to the top of the wall. A pallid stream of light penetrated the layer of grime welded to it. The boy's grandfather sat across the room drinking in the meagre ray of light, the leathered seams of his face moving subtly with each inhale and exhale. He would sit there until the light was gone. Sometimes he would read a book, an old newspaper, or a magazine. Sometimes he would simply sit and stare and smoke. But on rare occasion, he would speak. Sometimes he would even tell a story, a story of the way things used to be. The boy could count the amount of times such stories had passed from his grandfather's lips on one hand. He could count the times he had slept soundly through the night with the same fingers. Those were the nights where he would dream of a better world, a world with televisions and internet and schools. A world with blue skies and sunlight that wouldn’t peel the skin from your body after more than thirty seconds in it. A world where everyone had had a place and a purpose, and the surface had not been a barren tundra of death, decay, and baking heat. A world full of life and colours. The boy often had questions about colours, much to his grandfather’s irritation. Colours were difficult, if not impossible, to describe to someone who had never seen said colour before, as his grandfather had explained to him. But a young boy’s curiosity is not something to be quashed. Only something to be sated. He asked his grandfather to describe green to him. The old man remained silent for a long time, first appearing annoyed, until his lip trembled and tears welled in his eyes. He shook his head ever so slightly and eventually leaned down, at least as far as he could, towards his grandson. He closed his eyes and removed his glasses with a shaky hand. The boy had never seen his grandfather at such close proximity; usually he was a statue in his armchair, ancient and unmovable. His eyes were squeezed shut, the crow's-feet either side deep, splitting crevasses mapped into his face. Stamped on either side of the bridge of his nose were little indents from where his glasses sat. The bags under his eyes were damp and tears threatened to well out despite his eyes being closed, but with a tight, rattling breath, they suddenly opened. "Look," he said huskily. "I'm looking," the boy replied. "Your eyes are blue, like mine." "Look closer," he said, not unkindly. The smoke from his pipe curled between them like something alive, stinging the boy’s eyes. He blinked the mild pain away. The boy squinted at his grandfather’s eyes. "Look between the strands of blue. What do you see?" he asked the boy. The boy looked again, knowing where to look this time. He inspected the glassy convex of one of his grandfather’s eyes, following the wavering threads of blue that curved out from the pupil. His forehead and eyebrows relaxed and his eyes widened. "What...what is that?" he said. "There's... there's more than one other colour there. I know that one...that's yellow! And that other one..." He suddenly grabbed his grandfather's face with both hands, holding it in place. "How many...how many colours are there in eyes?" he demanded. His grandfather wheezed a chuckle. "As many as you can see." "I like green," the boy decided, returning to his original sitting position, his own blue eyes round and lit up. "Yes," his grandfather agreed, "it's a good colour." He sucked on his pipe and sighed the fumes out, a cloud of bluish smoke once again rising above his head like a thought bubble in a comic, slowly dispersing. "You want to hear a story then?" he asked. The boy only scooched in closer on the ground, the answer obvious on his face. "Alright. Well, once upon a time, there was a grumpy old man,’ he started. “Are there cars in the story?” the boy interjected. ‘Not this one,’ his grandfather said, with a shake of his head. He opened his mouth to continue. “What about healthcare?” the boy said. “ No, ’ his grandfather replied. “I don’t know why I ever tried to explain healthcare,” he grumbled. “And before you ask, there’s no aeroplanes or chocolate bars or...or fridges or anything like that either!” The boy looked up at him meekly and swallowed, his eyes almost perfect circles. “What’s a fridge again?” he asked, quietly. “Keeps things cold,” he replied. “Don’t ask me how!” he added quickly. “Anyway, where was I. Once upon a time, there was a grouchy old man.” “Grumpy.” “Grumpy! Whatever.” He sighed and took a drag of his pipe. “Truth was, he was both grouchy and grumpy. He was very sad, too. And bitter and resentful. He had a lot of reasons to be. He hated sitting in a stinky, cramped shelter all day every day, and he hated that his daughter had to go out and risk her life on the surface in order for him to survive. He yearned for the ways of the old world from whence he'd come to return." He smiled at that little turn of phrase. "But a miracle occurred," he continued, his smile growing ever so slightly. Little jewels of moisture sparkled in his eyes and trickled down his cheeks when he blinked. "He realised, that he gets to spend more time with his grandson than he ever would have in the world the way it was before. He realised that that boy, that wonderful boy, was the only thing that sustained him in this miserable existence. And slowly, he's learning to appreciate what he has. Slowly." He took a draw of his pipe, tears streaming freely down his face now, collecting in his many wrinkles. He caught his grandson's eye, and they were both grinning, both crying. "And guess who taught me that?"


"La Femme Fatale of the Frontier" By AJ Lemos “La Femme Fatale of the Frontier” is what she calls herself. Or maybe that’s what “they” call her. Not entirely sure. Either way, she’s causing quite a stir, from what I hear. “I swear she owns the town,” the young female ranch hand Bobbi Sue semi-giggled as she uttered the words, and I continued our interview. We strolled along on horseback along the long, dusty dirt trail. “How she ended up here, I got no idea. Don’t figure a town of this size would show up on any of them maps they sell in the downtown shops, know what I mean?” I was a middle-aged investigator in my second year at the local county sheriff’s department who had been assigned to look into reports of what appeared to be organized crime involving a young, up-and-coming female who was making quite a name for herself in our small-town community. To investigate someone like this deserves - and requires - multiple perspectives. This young rancher named Bobbi Sue was a lead I had gotten from a local women’s social club. Apparently, Bobbi and “la femme fatale” were seen socializing together a time or two. “Acquaintances...nothing more, I can assure you,” was Bobbi’s response to any assumption there were any social or other ties between the two. I think Bobbi is aware of “La Femme’s” criminal ties. “How did y’all meet again?” She paused for the first time during our interview. Her horse was stopped abruptly in its tracks. I highly doubt she stopped to let a deer cross the path. Sudden stops like these are usually not a good sign in my line of business. Bobbi Sue looked down at the ground. Her golden blonde braids of hair fluttering in the breeze under her chocolate brown wide-brimmed hat. “We both belong to the same women’s social club, but I honestly don’t exactly remember,” Bobbi tried to recall, as she and her horse came to a complete stop on the path. “We were never formally introduced, if that’s what you mean.” “Seems to me you would remember having met someone like this person...” “Sorry; don’t remember.” We continued as the day got hotter. The unforgiving high country heat out here in this part of the west can put a beating on even the most healthy of humans, which I admit I am not one. “She just showed up one day at one of our meetings, acting like she was all in charge,” Bobbi Sue continued, in an annoyed tone of voice. “You know, like she was the president or whatever.” “I’m guessing that was not a welcome sight?” “Noooooo.” “Then I saw her a few nights later in one of our gambling halls, talkin’ all sorts of crazy things about, like, her husband and stuff.” “What sorts of crazy things? Care to explain?” “Oh, like, how he don’t say much, especially ‘round her. Almost like she was braggin’.” “And that’s crazy?” “Well, out here, in the frontier culture and such, a lady kind of needs to know her place. Not always male-dominated necessarily, but a wife shouldn’t be talkin’ such negativity and down on her husband like that.” I could tell by her facial expressions and gestures that these words were driven as much by personal belief and conviction as they were by societal norms. “Do you know when she came to town and where she came from?” “When I have been around her, I have noticed a slight Irish accent, I’d say. Maybe she was born in Ireland? My family came here from Scotland originally, so we know a little about western European history. She reminds me a little of the stories I’ve heard about Anne Bonny, that famous lady pirate. Heard of her? “I have.” “Yeah, just the attitude and stuff. Nah, you’d have to ask someone ‘round here who knows her better about when she came to this town. I’d guess a few years back.” “Her nickname...’La Femme Fatale’...given to her or she created it herself?” “Ahhh, now that’s one I can help you with!” Bobbi almost seemed appreciative that that was my next question. “Come to find out, anyone who spends any more than, say, 20 minutes talkin’ with her will learn that her nickname is self-proclaimed.” “....And the reason....or reasons?” “Hah!” There was an unexpected long silence that followed. Perhaps our interview on horseback had reached its conclusion, albeit abruptly and without warning. Perhaps I had crossed a line I didn’t know existed. Or perhaps my guest was thoughtfully considering her response. Either way, patience was my ticket to the answer I so craved. That much I knew. “She breaks all the rules, that one.” “Huh? Would you care to....” I didn’t even have time to finish asking my.... “We all know it’s not a matter of ‘if,’ but how many? You know, men, I mean. Don’t take the ‘fatale’ part literally. From what I hear, she’s being funny with that part. But she goes through them. Some married, some not.” Her tone of voice ranged from that of a stern, no nonsense courtroom judge to a high-pitched, Sunday morning church pew gossip. “Affairs you mean?” I asked her. “Adultery?” “And her charm...my god, that charm!” Bobbi Sue said with her voice rising, as she looked out over the horizon. “Not to me, but to them...those men. I feel so sorry for their wives, girlfriends, and such!” “So, she’s a homewrecker, I take it?” “More than that! She has money. Or her husband does. She’s bought 2-3 businesses here locally. She’s driving out the originals, too. Disgusting! Business savvy, I tell ya! Out for blood, more like it!” “Wow, doing damage both publicly privately. And she’s younger, yes?” “Um, wanna say early 30’s maybe? So, yes. I’m in my mid-20’s.” Whatever the reason, this interview felt at this point more like casual conversation between old friends or two family members. Maybe it was because we were on horseback? Maybe it was the scenery....the landscape...not much to offer that was pleasing to the eye. Patches of brown grass. Cactus scattered about. Old, wrought iron fences that indicated property boundaries and wind direction with its creaking noises as it responded to the wind’s gentle push. I continued my interview. “So....know anything about her supposed ties to criminal activity?” “Nope! Can’t help ya there, friend,” her response as quick as the weather patterns change where we live. “’Cause I’ve heard...” “Look, she hangs out with ‘em in gambling halls, know what I mean?” “From what I’ve heard and what you’ve said, yes.” “All I can say is...she probably shouldn’t run for public office ‘cause of all the dirt they’ll dig up on her, know what I mean?” “Any specifics?....” “You don’t give yourself the nickname ‘la femme fatale of the frontier’ if you’re sitting around your home all day, doin’ the dishes, lookin’ after the kids, cleanin’ the house, and such.” “Probably not....” Another long pause. I continued the interview. “So, anything else I need to know before I head off?” “I don’t know. Is there? Like I said, I swear she owns the town,” Bobbi Sue semi-giggled yet again as she uttered those now eerie words again, and I finished our interview. We strolled along back to her ranch so she could get back to her afternoon job duties. As I was leaving to head back to my office, I know my search for “La Femme Fatale of the Frontier” was far from over. And I was also determined to find out who “they” are. Not entirely sure. Either way, she’s causing quite a stir, from what I hear.


We laughed as the ice cream dripped from my mom’s waffle cone. She raised her cone above her head, ducking under it in a futile attempt to catch the drips. The green pistachio would wash out of her silver-streaked hair, but I wondered if it’d stain her white cotton blouse. After the Memorial Day weekend after my ninth-grade year, I never again wore white to the beach. Attempting to blot the cherry coconut ice cream hadn’t ended well. I could still hear my crush whistling and laughing at me. My stomach had clenched in dread, remembering how I’d see him with his friends at school on Monday. I had discovered white linen shorts became see-through when wet that day. Resentment bubbled up again that my mom hadn’t warned me. Looking back now, I wondered if she regretted her actions that day. Had she replayed it in her mind, trying to see where she could have supported me better? Even at that age, I’d considered us friends. Mom now asked the cotton candy vendor for napkins. The harried teen motioned at the container absentmindedly before turning back to the young mom with two small children clamoring for their own flavors. I wondered if that mom would share her experiences with her children or if she’d use my mother’s favorite line, “Oh, honey, I thought you knew”? Today I’d grabbed a few extra napkins to catch the drips from my own waffle cone, aware I’d regret it if I didn’t plan ahead. I took another bite of my two-scoop cone, Rocky Road and Chocolate Peanut Butter Swirl, while I waited on the edge of the boardwalk. Mom sauntered back, grinning. Now my heart ached, remembering the afternoons gardening, the piano duets, the long talks when driving into town to help Grandma. When had she changed? With her dripping ice cream temporarily dammed, we resumed walking towards the picnic area just above the beach. I preferred the rough, rocky coastlines of my new home. Mom had always enjoyed the wooden boardwalk. She insisted it was easier to walk on and looked nicer, declining a trip to my beach the few times she’d visited. When Mom asked if I wanted to walk along the boardwalk, I’d jumped at the chance. I needed the energy from the ocean. I considered asking why she wanted to visit, but I didn’t want to be disappointed. “Before we leave the boardwalk, I want to take you to the Briar Boutique. I think you’d like their outfits, and I know the owner. She might even give us a discount.” The name rang a bell. One of her sorority sisters had started an upscale boutique. I suspected this was it. I also suspected my accomplishments would be touted and pressure placed on getting a ‘going away’ outfit from her friend’s shop. The chances she carried my style were slim-to-nil. Now Mom’s insistence to buy the ice cream rushed back. I don’t have much, but I can do this for us! It’s my treat for today! I wondered how many times I’d been encouraged to do or buy something that boosted my mother’s image, my own situation unimportant. “Sure, we can stop in there.” “The wedding is coming up soon. Has Geoffrey finally cut his hair?” I forced myself to breathe slowly. I’d be less ‘reactive’, giving me a chance to be heard before she dismissed me. Geoff and I’d exchanged bets on when she’d start in on him. It was a feeble attempt to lighten what we knew could be a stressful afternoon. He’d tenderly kissed me before he said, “She’ll bring it up in the first hour, maybe half hour.” I’d looked at him, begging him with my eyes to be wrong. He’d brushed my cheek and studied my face for what seemed like minutes. “I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You have no idea how amazing you are. My dream is to see you realize that. I hope you’ll still love me when that happens. Either way, I am a lucky man.” He brought my hands up, kissed them. “How about we make the bet a reverse bet for the 30-minute mark? If I win, I’ll make you dinner and draw a hot bath for you.” He wrapped his arms around me and held me while I pretended to not cry. “Geoffrey would look like such a hunk if he cleaned up a bit. Short hair can take some getting used to. Honestly, he should have cut it a couple months ago.” Even though I’d made the bet, I’d hoped to experience an afternoon like the ones she and I had once enjoyed. She gave me a quizzical look when I asked, “You’ve met him half a dozen times, and that’s your first comment today about my future husband? Your future son-in-law?” The edges of her mouth tightened. “I thought I’d bring up the wedding. Should we talk about something different?” At that moment I realized I was no longer friends with my mom but an equal, or near enough. “The wedding plans are going well. Geoff arranged for the catering, which I’d stressed myself out over. Did you like the menu? His best friend is in chef’s school, and he had some great ideas. Turns out he’s able to even do the catering with the date of the wedding.” “A friend of his? Not a real caterer?” She sat down at a picnic table away from the water, selecting the seat shaded by the umbrella. The boutique Mom wanted to visit faced our table. She’d be clearly visible, chatting with her only child. Then she’d claim I suggested we stop in, or something that would be sufficiently close to the truth that it’d be hard to refute. I sat facing Mom, thankful the wind blew my long bangs away from my face, making it easier to finish my ice cream. I wondered if she knew she’d given me my preferences or if it was accidental. “Did you remember to wear sunscreen? We’ll not be out long, but a sunburn would be unfortunate.” “I remembered. Geoff already handled the details. We picked the menu with you and Dad in mind.” I watched the waves reaching for high tide, smelling the decaying seaweed. It had been cleaned from the beach nearer the boardwalk. Further out, away from the beachgoers, the line of kelp waited to be pulled back into the depths, to be drowned by the waves before being rejected once more, left again on a distant beach. Mom shifted in the silence. “Have you decided which florist you’re going with? Last time we talked, you hadn’t settled on one yet.” “Like I said, I decided to arrange my own flowers. It took me a couple weeks, but they’re done. I have pictures--” “Sweetie, you know they aren’t the same as real flowers. People will know.” Mom looked inside her waffle cone. She deepened her voice. “Looks like I ate the whole thing!” I ignored my mom’s attempt to revive an old joke we’d shared. I focused on the almost-crunch of my waffle. It might not be the best waffle cone, but it was my waffle cone, on the beach, dripping with chocolate ice cream. “If people care that much, they don’t need to bother attending. It’s my wedding, and I enjoyed arranging the blooms, enhancing each flower’s beauty by pairing it with another. I realized that’s how a strong marriage works, blending each individual’s strengths, shoring up their weaknesses.” She put her cone on the scarred picnic table. “All that from sticking fake flowers together?” I shrugged, wondering what we’d talk about for the next hour. Wondering if Mom had changed or if I had. Did it matter? Either way, when I got home, I’d have a warm bath and a hot supper waiting for me. I just needed to tell Geoff what order I wanted them in. I would text him from the dressing room, trying on an outfit I would never wear. ~~


As they had plenty of time for the journey, Madeline, Lena, and Billie did what they could to enjoy it. Though none of them had said it out loud, Madeline knew that her friends were thinking the same as her. *If anything went wrong with their rescue mission, this might be all the time they had left. So they had better make the most of it.* They plotted a route that avoided most towns or cities, stopping for the night in idyllic villages or quaint farm cottages. Their journey took them through fields and forests, out in the wilderness where you could almost fool yourself into believing the world was as it had always been. And they took plenty of breaks along the way. After not having seen a Poiloog ship in days, they allowed themself the indulgence of the occasional face-to-face meeting, though only ever two of them at a time. The third would always keep watch for any approaching trouble. Sometimes, Madeline would spar with Billie, getting used to fighting again after so long on the bench. Other times, she’d gossip and giggle with Lena, growing ever more fond of the woman. Then came the times when she left the other two alone, patrolling the area to keep them safe. There was still a twinge of jealousy when she thought of the pair reliving old times while she wandered around on the edge of things. It felt reminiscent of what her life had been like before. But this wasn’t like before. Nothing was. Billie and Lena had a history, and she had to accept that. Heck, she was glad of it really. Without the medic, she probably wouldn’t still be alive. And though she hadn’t known them long, she realised that she loved them both dearly. Not some silly crush that was bound to distract from more important things. The love of friendship and respect and shared ideals. It was a feeling she was pretty confident was mutual. And what was a tiny twinge of jealousy in the face of that kind of love? On the fifth day of their journey, they stopped for lunch at a beautiful lake secluded in a valley of kinds, surrounded by rocky hillsides with a few burbling streams. They walked around its circumference until they were spaced equidistantly on its edge. With a good few hundred metres between them all, it seemed like a safe enough spot to relax and enjoy the scenery. As she settled on the grass, Madeline could see the two small figures of her friends doing the same. She giggled as she saw Billie waving enthusiastically and reached for her walkie-talkie. “You don’t have to communicate via semaphore, you know?” she said. “We still have these to talk through.” “Yeah,” their voice came through in reply, “but normally there’s building or trees in the way when we talk. I’m just making the most of being able to see both of you at once.” “At this distance, I doubt you could even tell us apart,” Lena said. “Now hush, the pair of you. I want to enjoy the tranquillity of nature.” “Why do *we* have to be quiet just because *you* want to be?” Billie asked. “Can’t you just switch to another channel if we’re that annoying?” “But then I might miss out on all the interesting drama!” the medic replied. Before Billie could respond, Madeline pressed the button on her radio. “Fine!” she said with a huge sigh, doing her best ‘reluctant teenager’ voice. “We’ll behave.” “For now!” Billie added quickly. Madeline chuckled to herself. Then, there were no more hisses of static or clicks of buttons or teasing comments. There was only the rustle of the wind through long grass, the chirping and buzzing that showed how full of life that grass really was, the ebb and flow of birdsong, and the gentle lapping of the lake at its shore. As much as she enjoyed talking with her friends, she had to admit Lena had a point. The soundscape was wonderfully soothing. And it was *beautiful* here. It was the kind of place she might have planned a day trip to before the Poiloogs came, hiking up here in the morning to have a picnic by the lake only to hike back after. Except then, it would have been bustling with other people. There would have been dogwalkers and birdwatchers, large groups of friends lounging about, drinking and eating and laughing, and maybe even children playing in the lake. Back then, she’d have had to grit her teeth at all the noise they made, *tolerating* it for the sake of the view. Now, she’d give almost anything to get *that* soundscape back. When they’d finished eating, it seemed that none of them was quite ready to leave their little island of tranquillity just yet. Though they’d have to eventually. As tempting as it was to hike out into the wilderness with a tent and some tins, whatever supplies you took would run out soon enough. And in her experience, journeys were far more dangerous than staying put. Whatever you could do to minimise your time on the road was for the best. It was Billie that broke the silence first. “Are we allowed to talk again?” they asked. Madeline could hear the cheeky grin in their voice. “I suppose...” Lena replied, drawing out the words in an exaggerated show of reluctance. “Good! Because I’ve got a suggestion.” As they spoke, Madeline saw the little figure on the other side of the lake wriggling about a bit before standing. “Yes?” she prompted, knowing already that she was likely to love and hate it at the same time, whatever it might be. “Does anyone fancy a swim?” they asked. But before either Madeline or Lena could answer, Billie had dropped their radio to the ground and half-walked half-flopped into the lake. Madeline let out a bark of laughter and heard what almost sounded like an echo from where Lena sat a couple of hundred metres away. She lifted her walkie-talkie to her mouth. “Aren’t you meant to wait an hour after eating or something?” she asked. “I think a little cramp is the least of our worries,” the medic replied. “I suppose we should join them, then?” “You first,” the medic replied. “Someone’s got to keep watch and deal with any Poiloogs that might appear. Besides, I think it might be a little chilly for me. You enjoy though!” Rolling her eyes but grinning at the same time, Madeline pulled off her trainers before edging closer to the lake. She tentatively dipped a toe in and let out a sharp hiss of breath. Lena had guessed right. It *was* chilly. Then again, it wasn’t anything she wasn’t used to after endless morning “showers” from her water butts in the library garden even through the dead of winter. It would be *refreshing*. At least, that was what she tried to tell herself. Besides, after all of the walking, she could definitely do with a wash -- and so could her clothes. Deciding it would be easier to do it quickly, she copied Billie’s “half-run half-flop” manoeuvre. Cold water splashed around her, the chill knocking the air out of her lungs for a second. It was invigorating. After a few moments of getting used to the strange weightlessness of being in the water, Madeline realised this was probably the first time she’d been swimming in years, possibly more like a decade. It wasn’t something she’d felt comfortable doing even before the Poiloogs came, having to strip off in front of others and throwing herself into something that could kill her. It had made her feel far too vulnerable. Strange, then, that now the hug of the water lifting her up felt oddly comforting. Her clothes billowed around her as she swam out a little further. Soon, she heard the gentle slosh of an approaching swimmer. As she came to a stop and started treading water, Billie did the same a few metres away. Their hair was slick to their head, the wet turning it a darker shade of brown to the point it almost looked black. Madeline hadn’t realised how long it had gotten -- for them, anyway -- almost reaching their chin when it wasn’t effortlessly tousled. “Enjoying the water?” they called out. Madeline tried to think up a witty response, but as she looked at Billie’s head bobbing up and down with a wide grin plastered on their face, all attempts at thought fled her mind. “Yeah,” she replied, returning the smile. “Yeah, I really am.” “Good! Because you’ve got more coming your way!” Before Madeline could even attempt to puzzle out Billie’s meaning, they’d raised an arm and brought it sweeping across the surface, sending a wave of water splashing into her face. Spluttering and laughing, Madeline returned fire. She wasn’t sure how long they splashed and laughed and swam for, but when they finally agreed it was time to leave, her fingers were wrinkled and her bones ached with the cold and the tired. Perhaps she’d regret it when they started walking again, but she doubted it. Some moments and the memories they made were worth a little discomfort over.


Tea Time in Boston “Just another day in Boston.” David said himself.” The same people walking by, same old stores and taverns. Nothing ever changed. He let out a sigh as he watched the soldiers patrol the streets. He stood outside his house for a moment and watched a bit longer. He was greeted by his wife as soon as he entered. “What’s wrong dear? You look sad.” “Anna, I hate the way it looks out there. People every where look so miserable. Come to the new world they said. So we came not knowing we would be ruled by an empire thousand of miles away.” Anna gave her husband a hug. “Don’t worry dear something will happen that will make things better.” David released her from the embrace. “Anna do you know something I don’t know?” “No dear of course not. Now come into the dining room, dinner is waiting for you. Xxxxxxxxxxx “Lieutenant Smith, welcome. The usual?” Nick the barman asked. Charles nodded and sat at his table. His ale was served by a barmaid. She set it on the table in front of him then walked away. Charles took one sip of his drink. Nick noticed the look on Charles’ face. He walked over to the table. “What’s on your mind? You look tired Charles looked up at Nick. “I am tired. Tired of patrolling the same streets with the look of hate on the peoples faces. Nick patted Charles on the shoulder. “Change will come some day. Things will get better.” “Nick, do you know something? If you do, best you tell me.” Nick shook his head. “Nothing at all.” He walked back behind the bar. Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx David rushed into the house all excited. “Anna,” he called out a bit breathless. Hearing her husband, Anna stopped what she was doing and left the kitchen. “What is it dear?” She asked and walked up to him. “Men.” “Men? What men?” Anna asked David raised his hand and pointed his index finger upwards. Anna waited patiently for her husband to catch his breath “Some men in disguise boarded a ship and threw an entire cargo of tea into the harbor.” David answered, his breath now under control. Anna gasped. “What? When? Where? Are you sure?” “Yes, yes, it’s all over town. Everyone are excited. Apparently it has started a conflict. There are whispers of war may be possible.” Anna stood in silence for a moment. “Over tea? Does t seem there should be war over tea.” David moved closer to his wife. He held her shoulders. “Not just tea, but taxes and not having a say in legislation. We, they, you, me, everyone want freedom from the empire. The tea was just the last straw. “ Anna smiled. “At last the change has come.” David didn’t pay attention to what she had said. He let go of her shoulders, brought her into his arms and hugged her. xxxxxxxxxx The Lieutenant entered the tavern followed by his soldiers. “Everyone stay where you are. Nick come out behind the bar. “ Nick did as he was told and stood in front of Charles. “What’s going on.” “There was looting aboard one of our ships,” Charles replied. “I’ve been charged with finding the person or people who did it.” Amazed Nick stared at Charles. “Certainly you don’t suspect me?” Charles gave Nick a cold stare. “I suspect everyone,” he said then gave his attention to the rest of the people. “Anyone here involved or knows who was, best to step forward now!” Nick stood his ground and remained in front of Charles. No one else moved. Angry, Charles ordered his soldiers to search every one. No weapons were found. “Satisfied?” Nick asked Charles. Charles raised his hand to slap Nick, but stopped. Instead he ordered his men out of the tavern. Not saying a word he followed them out. Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx David and Anna just outside the general store. They heard the town cryer coming their way and wanted to know what he was saying. “Here ye, here ye, all abled men fetch a weapon and prepare to fight. A war has begun against the empire.” “We have to go home so I can get my gun,” David said to his wife.” Anna grabbed his arm “No, David, please don’t get involved. Please don’t leave me.” “I have to Anna. Every man counts. I have to do my part,” The two went back to the house. All the way there Anna pleaded with him not to go. David ignored her pleads. Back in the house, David got his gun, gave Anna a kiss goodbye then left. Anna stood in the doorway weeping. Xxxxxxxxxx No longer a soldier a haggard Charles had taken on the task of informing those left behind that their loved one would not be returning. His last stop was at Annal’s. He knocked on the door and waited for a response. A woman who had lost the luster of youth answered the door. Charles couldn’t help but to notice hollowed eyes and worn clothes. “Are you Anna?” The woman nodded. “Yes, I am Anna and I know why you are here, but please don’t tell me my husband is dead. Charles frowned. “I am sorry, but that is why I am here. However you should take comfort in knowing he did not die in vain. The last in the soldiers are leaving back to the Empire. “Yes, I know and perhaps I’m being selfish but I want my husband back.” Charles sighed “I understand. I lost friends in the war. I realize that’s not the same as losing your husband. But still it can hurt.” Anna suddenly realized they were still standing outside. “My apologies here we are outside. Please come in and sit down They sat on the settee. “It just accursed to me, I don’t know your name.” Charles smiled. “I am Charles Smith. You probably remember me as Major Smith by the time the war ended. I lead the surrender.” Anna quickly stood and backed away. “Y o u, we’re with the Empire,” she pointed a finger at him. You’re the enemy,” she cried out. Charles stood. “No, no longer. I turned in my commission and left the military. I am a common citizen of the colonies. “ Anna stared at him in disbelief. “Oh, really is that so,” she said and placed her Hands on her hips. Charles let out a breath of air. “I just made major when I felt I couldn’t go on. The anguished look on the faces of so many people on both sides was tearing me a part. The people of this colony deserved to have their own country. So I resigned my commission and decided to help those left behind.” Anna softened and let her arms slide down to her sides. “I’m sorry, I had no idea.” Charles smiled and nodded. “Of course not. How could you know.” Anna pointed with her hand at the settee. She was about to suggest they sit again when they heard a loud noise. They walked outside and looked up as a ship flew by. Charles looked at Anna. “That’s the last ship carrying soldiers back home. The Empire surrendered a few weeks ago,” Charles explained. A look of relief crossed Anna’s face. “Finally, the change I was hoping for. Mars is free again.” .