Another in the 100 two-minute myths I'm writing here:  It was early July and the young people in Baie Verte were drinking so much, they had to post blurry pictures of themselves online, or their friends wouldn’t recognize them. The only person under 25 immune to the fever was Maxine Payne, who worked at the Legion where she moved behind the bar like she was acting out poems about water. Her hair cascaded down her back and broke over her hips as she walked away from Bill Downey, who sat at the corner of the bar, as far away from Maxine as he could get without leaving the place. Like all men over 30 on the Baie Verte Peninsula, due to zinc levels in the water, Bill suffered from venustraphobia, a rare disorder which left his nerves unable to bear the weight of beauty. A side effect of the affliction was being scared stiff in the company of single women. So, small capelin of fear teemed here and there just under his skin at the thought of the unthinkable - actually having a conversation with Maxine longer than a drink order - but he had no choice if he wanted the $25,000. That was what Viagra, a pill for men who suffered from erectile dysfunction, was offering as the prize for whoever came up with the best advertising campaign. His idea was to show a woman and man in a hotel room where, just as he starts to take off her sweater, she stops him, goes into her purse, as though looking for a condom, and pulls out a Viagra pill instead. The camera would then pan out to show a waterfall through the window with the words, *Take a Second Honeymoon in Viagra Falls.* Bill knew his idea depended on getting a woman for the ad who was so beautiful that men would have no choice but do what she said and he knew that the woman had to be Maxine Payne. To build up his nerve, he’d been coming to the legion for 18 straight nights, but even when he was playing pool with friends he still couldn’t find the balls he needed. But, the contest was closing and he could no longer avoid the conversation, so he’d been sitting at the bar for two hours pounding beer and dying in his seat. When she came back with his beer, words base jumped off his tongue and fell to their death on the bar top. In a liquid voice that came from a small spring and flowed over her tongue as she spoke, she told him his idea was so lame it needed a crutch. What men had always wanted, she explained, was both an easy way, as well as hard, and offered to meet him the next day to kick around some ideas. Within an hour of that meeting, Bill was so captivated by the breadth of her mind that he had forgotten she was beautiful, and the two laughed the afternoon away as they drew stick men and women on napkins in the corner coffee shop. Three weeks later an image of them being presented with a giant $25,000 check went viral. Six months after that a billboard appeared on the lip of town showing a couple, blurred in the background, behind a spilled bottle of Viagra pills on a hotel room night table. Over the image were the words, *One pill. One hour before,* and underneath, written in an unassuming font, *Viagra.


Just three days from leaving Afferton, Armin saw the tower built by old King James puncturing the horizon like a hundred-foot needle. Its long shadow cast the final leg of his day’s journey into darkness. One hundred soldiers call it home, guarding the kingdom of Peccothia from the foul beings that haunt the waste. Armin had heard the stories of scorpions with claws that could cut a man in two, and worms that could swallow a horse whole, he supposed they were little more than stories. As they approached, a guard hailed them from atop the battlements, liveried in red emblazoned with the golden eagle of House Thorebourne. ‘Halt! What business do you have this close to the waste?’ ‘Hello there! I am Armin of Jakai, and these are my men, Asad and Kadeer, we’re on a mission of exploration.’ ‘You must be mad!’ ‘Many have said the same, but I still breathe! I bring with me some of Averleon’s finest vintage. I’m sure your comrades would appreciate a drop?’ ‘Well, when you put it like that!’ His head disappeared below the parapet. They heard shouts from behind the wall, before a great groaning of iron hinges as the gates swung open to reveal a small courtyard. They entered through the barbican into the darkening ward and the guard introduced himself. ‘Watch Sergeant Jon Berrington at your service. It’s been quite some time since we’ve had guests here.’ ‘The men of the border towers do us a great service, for which I am extremely grateful. It only seems fitting to share a little drop of something with you whilst I’m in the area.’ ‘Most kind sir, follow me and I’ll take you to the sergeants mess.’ Jon led them inside the tower and up the circular stone staircase. Men in the same red and gold uniforms rushed this way and that, sergeants strutted around like peacocks, barking orders. Armin looked at the chaos in the tower, surely the military was supposed to be organised. A young soldier of no more than twenty years approached them and addressed Jon, looking worried. ‘Sir, a report has arrived from Seawatch, they’ve had numerous attacks on their patrols today. They request assistance from us at first light.’ ‘Very well. Tell tomorrow’s Patrol Sergeant he can have half of my watchmen. If they ride at first light they should get on top of the situation.’ Jon seemed unflappable, a rock of calm in the tempestuous ocean of the tower. ‘Very good sir.’ The young guard sped off, dodging between other men on his way downwards through the tower. Jon shook his head at the group and proceeded to an unremarkable door in the corridor. He opened it and stepped back to allow them to enter. The room was large with a fireplace at each end, to one side stood the beds of the sergeants, each with its own nightstand and chest. The other end was the sergeants mess, a large round table in the middle dominated the space, a few armour stands and dressers stood against the walls. On one dresser there were full bottles and empty glasses, Armin doubted the sergeants were ever short of a drink. ‘Please sit, take the weight off your feet.’ Jon said, pulling chairs out from under the table. Armin sat between Kadeer and Asad, the two guards he’d hired in Elvia. Kadeer was tall and lean, muscles rippled under his shirt, Asad short and stocky, but deceptively quick. He’d been assured they were the very best. His intention was to prevent them drinking too much, there could be fighting tomorrow when they crossed into the waste. Jon poured them each a glass of red wine he retrieved from a dresser. ‘I believe I can uncork this since we have guests.’ Armin sipped the wine, it was excellent, if a little dry for his taste. ‘That is fantastic, where did you find that little gem?’ ‘Some of the men returning from the crusades brought it back. Say what you like about the Teyans, but they produce a fine vintage!’ Jon smacked his lips and filled his glass again. ‘How goes the crusades? I’ve been away in Jakai and news doesn’t travel so far these days.’ ‘Ah Jakai, wonderful city I hear. If only I could visit one day, I would dearly love to see the coliseum.’ Jon began with a rueful smile. ‘I’m afraid the crusades don’t go as well as they ought to. Rumour has it that the Teyans are looking east for aid, Gelgarand and Elon-Gar have sent troops.’ ‘What does that mean for the northern armies?’ ‘I couldn’t claim to know the mind of Lord Wedderburn and King Tristan but I expect his highness to want to meet force with force. He needs to calm down if he’s to be remembered as fondly as his father.’ Armin noticed Jon’s glass was again empty. ‘Asad, fetch the cask of Averleon red, our host needs a refill.’ Asad poured another drink for Jon, making sure his glass was full. Much to Armin’s delight, Jon approved of the wine. ‘What is it about Averleon that means they can create such a fine drink?’ Jon mused, slurring his words ever so slightly. ‘It must be the warmer climate in the south, the grapes grow bigger and juicier. I’ve seen their great glass houses where they grow all manner of queer fruits. There’s one that’ll grow as big as a man’s head, bright yellow they are! They call them melons; can you imagine such a thing?’ ‘Ha! I’d love to try one, what are they like?’ ‘Juicy and light. Refreshing on a warm summers day!’ Armin was keen to get some more wine down the man and gain more information of the world. ‘A top up for our gracious host!’ He called, ignoring that his wine glass was still half full. Asad poured another full glass for Jon, careful not to spill a drop. It was bad manners to spill in your host's hall. ‘How fares King Tristan? He’s not been on the throne more than a few moons now, surely?’ ‘Three or four now, I think. He’s bright enough and wants to do the right thing, but he needs better people around him. Between you and me, I’ve never liked that Khoran fellow who leads the army. Slimy and manipulative that one. Hell of a swordsman though, some reckon he’d even best Luthar Shoresmith. Shame we’ll never see that, it’d be a battle to end all battles.’ ‘What’s wrong with his advisors?’ ‘You hear there was a dragon sighting over Myllyria last year? Well, Lord Hanford travelled personally to Threftall to report it, and asked for money to build scorpions and other defences. Anyways, Lord Andron, steward of the realm, told the king that dragons have been gone for hundreds of years and Lord Hanford couldn’t trust his eyes. This is all third hand by the way, but I hear there was nearly swords in the court! Khoran had to step in.’ ‘That doesn’t bode well for King Tristan! If he has lords nearly fighting in the court, then it’s going to make his reign a troublesome one.’ ‘Aye, and we don’t need any of that! Well, it’s nearly dark outside and I’m full of wine, so bed it must be! I’ll show you to our guest quarters.’ ‘Just one thing before bed, sergeant. I was wondering if we might join a patrol tomorrow. I’ve always wanted to see the waste and would feel much safer with the men of Peccothia at my back.’ Armin hoped he’d plied the sergeant with enough wine to wash away his inhibitions. ‘Of course! More the merrier. We often have the warrior’s guild sending their men and squires. Be ready at first light and I’ll get you on patrol.’ Jon’s face had turned a bright red and his speech was ever more slurred. Armin doubted he would be doing much in the way of patrols tomorrow. As he stood up, Jon swayed and grabbed the table to steady himself. Armin could see Kadeer stifling a laugh out of the corner of his eye. ‘We’ll see ourselves to the guest chambers, you need some rest sergeant. If you could direct us, please?’ ‘Of course, up one flight and it’s the only door there. Here, take this key to let yourselves in.’ He fumbled in his pockets for a moment, all fingers and thumbs. Eventually he retrieved a key and held it out to them, Asad took it from him and put it in his own pocket. ‘Good night sergeant, see you tomorrow for a day’s adventuring!’ Armin called cheerily before retreating out of the room in search of bed. The guest quarters were sparse, but comfortable enough. Straw mattresses lay upon wooden beds, a trunk at the end of each. A rectangular table big enough for six men occupied the other end of the room, along with washing bowls and one great copper bathtub. A fire had been lit in a hearth on one wall, keeping off the autumn chill that attacked the room, Armin laid on the bed closest to it, straw stabbing at his back. This could be worse he mused. Before long, his eyes became heavy and began to close. The next morning was bright, but cool. Armin, Asad and Kadeer met with Patrol Sergeant Tomos Bevyn near the gate, but there was no sign of Jon. Tomos was a tall, lean man, stern of face with a thunderous voice, but he shared the good humour of Jon. Armin noticed that Tomos occasionally fiddled with a string around his neck, adorned with what looked to be teeth. ‘Does Jon not join us this morning?’ Asked Armin. ‘He’s a watchman, so not assigned to a patrol. Plus I think he’s unwell, wouldn’t know anything about that would you?’ He smiled as he asked Armin, presumably this had happened before. ‘That’s an interesting necklace you have there.’ He said to Tomos, changing the subject. ‘Aye, made it myself. Most of the lads here have them too. You see these?’ He held two particularly large, curved teeth in his fingers. ‘From the rock worms, big nasty bastards. Wouldn’t take one on with less than ten men. Might see some today if you’re lucky.’ ‘I think Lady Luck would keep us as far away from them as she could!’ Armin had no intention of doing battle with a rock worm. ‘Sergeant, the men are saddled and ready’ A middle aged soldier had approached from behind Armin and spoke to the sergeant with a confidence that oozed experience. ‘Thank you corporal.’ He nodded at the newcomer who swiftly departed back to his own horse. ‘Gentlemen, if you’d like to ride with me?’ Armin fell into formation next to the sergeant, Asad and Kadeer followed on behind. The sergeant had a fine horse, at least fourteen hands tall and muscular; she was a beauty. Tomos seemed to have a real affinity with her, treating her with respect as an equal, he caught Armin looking sideways at her. ‘She’s a fine animal, what’s her name?’ Armin asked. ‘Breeze. King Harold bought a load of horses from the Alarston plains not long before he passed. A few made their way over to us out here, I was lucky enough to be on duty at the right time.’ He patted Breeze’s neck as he spoke, clearly seeing her as a friend. They walked along the border between Peccothia and the waste, setting a decent pace. The men of the towers clearly looked after their horses well, not one seemed to be flagging. To their right Armin could see the great cliffs jutting out from the scorched, dry earth. Not even a bird circled over that cursed place. They’d rode a couple of miles before a scout riding on their right flank caught their attention. ‘Tunneler ahead!’ He pointed with his sword to a small mound of earth about a hundred yards in front of them. ‘Men, dismount!’ Roared Tomos as he leapt from his own horse. He turned to Armin, Kadeer and Asad. Stay back with the horses, don’t come too close unless you’re ready to fight.’ Armin dismounted as smoothly as he could, adrenalin coursed through his veins, half excitement and half fear. He retrieved his whip and sling from his saddlebags. ‘We don’t mind a bit of rough and tumble, do we boys?’ Asad and Kadeer were already on foot, scimitars and bucklers in hand. They didn’t look the part compared to the well armoured Peccothian soldiers, but Armin knew their looks were deceiving. Both former coliseum champions in Jakai they were more than a match for anything the waste could throw at them. ‘Very good.’ Tomos commented before approaching his men, already in a square. ‘Shields!’ He roared. The soldiers each lifted their large, rectangular shields to cover the sides of their formation. The men in the middle lifted theirs and held them above their heads, making a shell around them. Armin had never seen such organisation from soldiers. ‘Water!’ Tomos now commanded. A slight movement in the middle of their shell was the only sign of activity, a couple of shields moved briefly to allow someone more room. Armin couldn’t work out what was going on, until a puddle of water began to emerge from the gathered soldiers. It spread out in all directions, faster and faster, before coming to an abrupt stop about twenty yards away from them. Armin looked from Asad, to Kadeer, none of them knew what to say or do. They each gripped their weapons, ready for whatever might come next. The earth began to rumble beneath them. Before Armin could open his mouth to ask the question, the earth erupted before the soldiers, showering them with mud. Stones, roots, and sickly plants bombarded their formation, bouncing from their shields onto the ground. Behind the shower of mud followed a worm as big as a carriage. It was a sickly pale brown, mud clung to its long thick body and a great yawning chasm of a mouth opened at the head. Rows upon rows of razor-sharp teeth glistened in the sunlight, curved inwards to trap its prey. It flopped to the ground in front of the men, slithering across the wet earth towards them. ‘Spears!’ Was the next call from Tomos, watching eagle eyed from the back of the formation. Spears slid through the gaps in the shields, thrusted firmly towards the worm. One pierced its skin above its mouth. The worm screamed an awful, high-pitched cry, making the bile rise in Armin’s stomach. ‘Archers!’ A handful of men withdrew from the rear of the soldiers, bows in hand and arrows nocked. ‘Loose!’ The arrows whistled above the men and planted themselves in the body of the screaming worm, it writhed in agony, showering yet more dirt over the soldiers. ‘Advance.’ The men advanced to the worm, spears now driving at the animal and piercing flesh several times. Blood so dark it was almost black spilled out of a hundred cuts or more, stark against the pale, dry ground. ‘Break!’ The formation broke, men with spears still jabbed the worm as it desperately fought to escape. More men circled it, armed with short steel swords in one hand, rectangular shields in the other. They unleashed a ferocious barrage of strikes upon the worm, not ceasing until it moved no more. Armin, Kadeer and Asad all approached the soldiers, many of them breathing heavily from the exertion. Inspecting the bloody mess that had been a rock worm a few minutes ago, Armin could sense an unseen evil about its body. The corporal that had spoken earlier prised apart it’s jaws with another man, revealing those fearsome teeth again. A third, armed with a short knife stuck his arm inside the mouth, seemingly cutting away at something. After a few short moments he held aloft a great tooth, dripping blood on his hand and down his arm. ‘My first!’ He called, to a few cheers from the other men. The corporal handed him a string he retrieved from his pocket. ‘You’re one of us now son.’ He clapped him on the back before retreating to the worm to take his own trophy. Each man took their turn as a dentist, removing more and more of the beast’s teeth for their own necklaces. Finally, Tomos retrieved teeth for his own string, he shouted ‘Number twenty.’ Before approaching Armin. ‘That’s what we do to keep you safe. A nasty business to be sure, but a necessary one.’ He explained as he slid the tooth on to his necklace. ‘Is that really the twentieth of them things that you’ve killed?’ Armin could scarcely believe a man would continue doing this for so long. ‘It is. The more, the better. Keeps them away from the outlying farms and villages. The gods forbid that any should reach Lorez or Afferton. Hundreds could be killed if they did.’ The smell of the dead worm began to sting Armin’s nostrils. The foul beast decomposed quickly in direct sunlight, even if it had passed high summer. The men all mounted up once again, ready to move on with their patrol. ‘Sergeant, where is the easiest place to pass into the waste?’ ‘About three miles south from here, there’s a gap in the rocks.’ Suddenly suspicious he frowned at Armin. ‘Why do you ask?’ ‘It’s where our adventure leads us next my good man. Lead on!’ Tomos looked at Armin, confusion rising in his face. He clearly though Armin was mad. Shaking his head, he stuck his heels into Breeze and proceeded on their southward journey. As he followed, Armin looked westward over the waste, dry, scorched earth gave way only to rocky outcrops and the occasional shell of a long dead tree. The former kingdom of Isiliar seemed to have killed the very earth it stood on.


A high pitch rustling causes my eyes to open. It’s not daylight yet so my cousin’s living room is dark. The rustling continues as I look around for the source. I am expecting to see my cousin or his girlfriend walk beside the couch I’ve chosen as my bed. Are they getting up for a bathroom break? Maybe a midnight snack? Who knows? This is the first time I have stayed with them so their habits are unknown. My focus is directed at the sour feeling in my stomach reminding me of last night’s vodka, until the rustling ends with a brief jiggle. I feel a blast of cold air even though my body is covered with blankets. My eyes scan the room towards my cousin’s bedroom. All I see is the faint outlines of furniture. The house gets silent. I lean my head off the pillow to get a better view. The whine of the heating unit breaks the silence. I stretch my neck to see above the back of the couch. I notice the front door ajar. Then I hear steps. The steps are light but loud enough for me to hear over the heat blowing through the vents. A large figure walks past me. My fingers tighten around the blankets laying on top of me. I pull my head below so only my eyes and hair remain exposed. The figure walks through the living room and down the hall slowly opening doors as he progresses. Bathroom. Next. Closet. Next. Home office. The figure stays in front of the door but doesn’t open it. I know my cousin always locks his office door. I’m not sure what he does I just know he works from home. I hear the rustling again. My phone sits next to me on the side table. I know I can grab it but what would the consequences be? The screen light may alarm the intruder. Would I be able to hide it under my blankets or would the light escape? Am I too scared to even call 911? I can barely feel my arms. I hear a brief jiggle then the intruder disappears into the now open home office. I know my time is now. I moved my hands up closer to my phone. I grab my phone and text 911. They trace my location and immediately send police to my cousin’s home. The intruder walks out and approaches me. I jump from the blankets in a surprise attack and perform a choke hold on the intruder. Using a nearby cable I tie up the intruder’s hands and feet. The police arrive and everyone says I’m a hero. I move my hands up closer to my phone.The plan in my head was set. I just need to initialize it. Grab your phone. Grab your phone. GRAB YOUR PHONE. I can’t move. My disobedient body remains hidden under the blankets. I start to shake knowing my window is closing. My heart pumps. Instead of adrenaline it pumps doubt. The window is slammed shut as the intruder walks out carrying a case. The intruder pauses in the living room and stares at my cousin’s bedroom door before setting the case down. As the intruder quietly enters the bedroom my throat prepares for a scream. I rip through the silence with a loud scream. Suddenly my cousin pushes the intruder out of his room and wrestles him to the ground. Punch after punch makes contact with facial tissue until a crunch renders the intruder unconscious. A quick phone call and the police are on the way. My throat prepares for a scream. Nothing audible leaves my mouth. Not a scream, a yelp, or even a whisper. My voice has left. My throat closes up making it difficult to breath. I focus on my breathing to concentrate on something other than the screams. Even with the door closed they are barely muffled. I can hear objects, once used for something happy, being used as weapons. I only hope they are being used defensively. My breathing intensifies as the intruder returns to the living room. After picking up the case the intruder walks out the front door and a blast of cold air hits me. The sour feeling in my stomach returns but I doubt it has anything to do with a hangover. A small burst of gurgling noises come from my cousin’s bedroom before the house is as silent as it is dark. The whine of the heating unit breaks the silence.


You're on auto-pilot when someone pokes their head into the cubicle. "Hey," he says, sort of stepping in but not quite entering. "Hey. Hey." "Neigh," you mutter. "There's no hay here, little horsey. You clop along, now." "Hah. But, hey, uh . . . ." You tell him your name. "Oh, right. Hey, you know, uh, you know you're breathing, right?" "What?" Your fingers almost stop typing. "Yeah, you're breathing right now. And you can see your nose, too, uh, and you can feel where your tongue is in your mouth right now." "What?" He smiles, shakes his head as if you're a lost cause (and maybe you are, so what?), and leaves. Auto-pilot activate. Well, not quite; just what was he blabbering about then? You might have seen him before, might have even sat across from him once during a break or meeting, but you never caught his name, or if you did, you forgot it. Is that what that was about? Were his words some kind of oblique insult? So what, you tell him and yourself right there in your head, people forget things all the time. Still, his words, however juvenile, appear to have left something in you. Yes, you are in fact breathing, so much so that it's a wonder you don't have to do all that manually, consciously, by yourself, as you are being forced to do right now. And it is true, too, that you can see your nose ever so slightly, and who could forget that tongue of yours resting in your mouth, never in the same spot for too long like a worm? Quit it. It is time for work. Spreadsheets, numbers to crunch, rows and columns. The clock. Soon enough, you make it through the day. When you arrive home and stand there for a moment's silence, you take in a breath of air. Then another. Then another. Do your nostrils gape? Oh, shut up. But even numbing your skull with videos after videos, each purporting to be more hilarious than the last, does nothing. In fact, leaving yourself open like this, cross-legged on the mattress like a monk seeking enlightenment, seems to invite thoughts rather than prevent them. You heard somewhere that the stereotype tin-foil hats conspiracists are often depicted wearing actually attract radio-signals. Something to do with the metal. God, how long ago was that? What other things have you overlooked? How many things have you, without even thinking about it, filed away? Your birthday is coming. Okay, but what else? Nobody really remembers their birthday until it is time. Once you went to a playground, or something like a playground, and made friends with a kid you never saw again. You've lost your keys at least once before. And, as if it is the most appropriate step to take next, your mind says, "One day you will fall asleep without waking up." Well then. That isn't so bad, you try to counter. But, just how long has it been since you last thought of the one thing that WILL to happen to you, to everyone else? You can't even think of when you first learned of death. It feels like something you just knew, like how people just know that Darth Vader is Luke Skywalker's father and so on; even people who've never seen Star Wars. People just know. You don't learn how to breathe. If people just know, your brain decides to think up, then what is something big people don't know? It sounds like what one of those Chinese fortune cookies would say. Except wrong. You can't put your finger on it. A sound pulls you out of yourself for a moment. Beeping? Ah, it's your food. Much needed after such a dumb conversation with yourself. Its scent teases your nose. It feels warm in your mouth, and your tongue brushes against it. You can almost sigh. That night you dream something big is going to happen. In the morning, as your car glides through the same route, a bird flies across the sky in the windshield, perhaps to relay a message. Trees shake their leaves, the shadows of those leaves dancing quiet dances on sidewalks and buildings. The light changes. A jogger can be seen in the window to your right, before he, too, is lost with the blurring scenery. Eventually you park your car in the lot which is in the lee of your workplace, step out and step on something. The ground is bare, and so is your shoe. You have your wallet with you, you check, and inside are your cards and cash. Your keys are in one of your pockets, your phone in another. Nothing else, but there is something. Something you dreamt? Something you see. Right now, in the parking lot. The cars are empty, of course they are. On your way to the entrance, the air around you glints. Cars are drifting along streets with clutters of stars on their roofs. Your workplace has them as well, in rows after rows of shining windows. The few shop windows you can glance from here have them on display, beside their mannequins and other products. Those stars, if that's what they are, move along with you. It's glare, you dimly realize. It sounds familiar to you. Glare from the sunlight. Far down the street, where the cars (are they empty?) shimmering in the heat are devoured by a steep incline below, something is hovering. The back of a traffic light? You rush inside like a child turning off the lights. That's it, something has turned off or on, one of the two. Something big is going to happen. A few of the people stalking about or talking to one another might be looking at you, thinking you're a loony, so you slow down, but not too much, you want to be ready. There he is, what's-his-name. Your feet carry you there, as if you're strolling over to a friend, and you say, "Hey, there." He turns his whole body to you. "Oh? Do I know you?" You tell him your name. "Well, it's nice to meet you. What's up?" There's no other way to ask it. "Oh, nothing, really. Um, what have you've been thinking about?" He appears to seriously consider this, but then he says, "Lately? Not much. Work, you know, but!" Your heart rises. "I am gonna go with a couple buddies to see the big game this weekend." "Right," you manage. "Right. That sounds fun." You make sure to not be too obvious as you shuffle toward the cubicle, facing backwards. Nobody smiles that much, do they? He's not even talking like everyone else. You bump into someone and they hold you by the shoulder. You turn, ready to scream at the cubicle wall. Your face burning, you huddle inside. Hopefully no one saw that. A blurry dark figure approaches you and seats itself as you do the same before the black screen. As the screen powers on, the figure is engulfed by blue light and the computer login greets you. A note has been stuck to the edge of the screen. It reads: "SOMETHING BIG IS GOING TO HAPPEN!" Around it are little drawings of confetti, party poppers and a party hat, all done neatly in colorful markers. You toss this in the wastebasket. Think about. There's nothing to think about. Stare at the screen, the words and numbers and symbols, the pixels, the light. Don't you do it. Keep your head straight, eyes looking ahead. Like an exam at the eye doctor's, and maybe you need a doctor right now, but all you need to worry about right now is doing your work, getting through the day, and maybe looking up some help. Those are just coworkers passing by. Those eyes are yours. Yet that reflection in the screen is not. And this time you do scream, you scream your head off for all to hear and you run and shut a door behind you, any door, and you pace around in the small white-tiled room with lines of sinks and stalls and a big window. No windows. You lock yourself in a stall and there are voices crowding at the door. It opens. "Hello? Are you--" *"Leave me ALONE!"* The door shuts, murmurs to other murmurings. Footsteps, going away or here, you can't tell. And all the while, something *is* approaching. Something big is going to happen. You know this and there's nothing to listen for. Just don't think about it, that's it, think something else, think about your ragged breathing and your snotty nose and your dry tongue in your dry mouth, and sooner or later it'll leave. It'll disappear. You'll forget about it for good. It's in your head and you control your head damn it, you can think by yourself and not think, just stop it stop it stop it stop *it*! He put something in your head, didn't he? Mr. Mystery. Some psychological trick he read about, probably. There he is, right one cue. His footsteps clacking along the tiles, stopping before your stall. He'll open it and gloat about it all and it'll be some big prank the whole office threw together, ha ha, just scaring one of our loyal employees, a little hazing don't hurt . . . . Slowly, very slowly, almost without making a sound, it gets in under the stall door.


Twelve-year-old Caleb Prescott was afraid to go home. All he could think about was what his foster father was going to do to him when he got there. He stood motionless for a long time. Until the neon sign of the pizza joint across the street turned off, signifying the late hour. And Caleb knew it was now or never. Snapping out of his hypnotic trance, he looked down and was surprised to see the aluminum bar of his mountain bike between his knees; he’d been straddling it the entire time. His grip on the handlebars felt stiff and achy. And the wind moaning through the half-naked trees sounded like the ghost that haunted his dreams each night. “You got this,” he told himself. “Just sneak back down to the dungeon, and then you can cry yourself to sleep remembering the flowery smell of her long soft brown hair.” But the truth was that holding on to those memories using the most fleeting of senses- the sense of touch and smell that fades so fast- was getting harder with each passing day. Spending a night in a cemetery filled with evil spirits would be easier, he reasoned. Case in point, wasn’t he pretty much doing that now? All alone on a dark deserted street, teeth chattering in fear from a creepy sound seemingly getting closer? Like a pissed-off ghost coming for him any minute? Only this ghost, when he calmed down and listened more intensely, sounded different. More like crying. Like someone in trouble. Not so much a ghost, perhaps, but a real person. Separating the sound from that of the breeze, Caleb decided it was coming from the alleyway. In a flash, his feet found the pedals and he sped towards the noise, a small-for-his-age, but quick and nimble kid, now on a mission. Rounding the corner, he hit the brakes and skidded to an abrupt stop. There on the pavement, under a nearby streetlight, he saw something that broke his heart, at least what was left of it. A Maltese terrier, its fur caked with mud, was whimpering loudly, as it lay trapped in a metal dog crate. The anger exploded in Caleb’s head like shrapnel from a bomb. Who would do such a thing? Though he wanted to spring into action, to perform superhero maneuvers fast and all at once, it felt like the opposite was happening. Like everything was swinging in slow motion on a gigantic pendulum. That frustration of taking too long brought tears to pool in his green eyes, clouding his vision, slowing everything down even more. Finally, his fingers forced the pin in the lock to come loose. Swinging the door open, he crawled on his hands and knees towards the frightened canine cowering at the back. Caleb brought his face within inches of the little dog. He looked into her eyes and a tenderness seeped into his ragged heart, softening the edges. The pup licked the teardrops snaking down his face and let him pet her. “I’m going to name you Midnight even though underneath all that filth, you’re white. But I found you precisely at that time, so that’s your name. Right little one?” Midnight’s reply was a bark that grew into three consecutive ones, and when she pushed her little snout past Caleb’s shoulder, he realized she was barking at something behind him. A second too late, he heard someone yell “Gotcha!” and turned around in time to see a chubby kid, sucking on a lollipop, slam the cage door shut with a clatter. Caleb’s heart sank like a thousand-pound anchor to the bottom of the sea. The freckled boy with orange hair and a Cheshire cat smile, deliberately, almost mockingly, pushed the pin down to lock Caleb and Midnight inside. Looking to be about fourteen, he wore tattered sweatpants and a stained yellow parka. “Please, let us out,” Caleb begged. “My dog is hurt.” “Your dog? Really?” the fair-haired bully drawled, “I don’t think so shithead. That dog ain’t yours, you just wanna steal it.” His lips formed an o shape around the sucker and pulling it out of his mouth with a popping sound, he pointed the fluorescent green lollipop at Caleb. “I think you’re a turd who wants to be a hero by rescuing the ugly mutt, right? he snickered. “Except you’re no hero, you’re just a loser with a black eye. Your bike looks like garbage too, but I might just take it anyway.” Tamping down on his anxiety, Caleb tried to think hard and fast on the fly. “You’re right,” Caleb said. “I shouldn’t have lied to you. But if you don’t mind me asking, what’s your name?” and then quickly added, “So I can show you some respect.” The teenager was speechless. And though Caleb had never been one of those count your chickens before they’re hatched kind of guys, he felt hopeful. “Yeah jackass,” the boy exclaimed, “you should respect me, so you can call me Richie when you tell me what that bike’s worth.” “Thanks Richie,” Caleb said, “and you’re right, that bike’s on its last legs. If it isn’t the chain falling off, then the handlebars don’t turn, and the worst part? The brakes are shot.” Richie,” he sighed, “it’s not worth more than a penny. But I’ve got something that’s much better.” Richie pulled the bare stick of the sucker out of his mouth and Caleb could hear him crunching the last pieces of candy between his teeth. Throwing the stick on the ground, Richie scowled at the bike like it was a vile thing. Giving up on it, he turned back to his prisoner. “Whatcha got?” he demanded, adding “it better be good or I’m gonna drown this mutt in the river.” Caleb opened his mouth to speak but closed it again when Richie pulled a BB gun out of a duffle bag next to him and said, “go on, tell me, pinhead.” Caleb said, “you let us out of here and I’ll give you my last ten bucks.” He held his breath, then released it when Richie exclaimed “right on, show me the dough.” With trembling hands, Caleb pulled a ten-dollar bill from his sock. Richie’s open-mouthed laughter, revealing gaps from missing teeth amongst a few black ones, sent Caleb’s mind sailing back to when being reminded to brush his teeth, annoyed him. Especially when he was tired. Now, the gratitude for his mom’s nagging washed over him like a hot shower after getting caught in the freezing rain. “You better not think about running before handing me that cash.” Richie warned. He aimed the BB gun, not at Caleb, but directly at Midnight. He said “that runt tried to bite me when I captured it and I wanna shoot it for payback. And fun,” he smiled. “But you give me the ten bucks, and I won’t kill it, got it?” Caleb nodded vigorously, afraid to breathe until Richie opened the cage and stood aside to let them out. Free at last, and seconds after Richie grabbed the money with his meaty fingers, Caleb made a beeline towards his bike, calling Midnight to follow him. But Midnight, terrified of Richie, froze when he suddenly stepped towards her, pointing the gun, once again, at her little face. As Midnight edged away from him, Richie turned towards Caleb and hissed “psst, I was lying. I’m gonna put a bullet in its leg first and then stomp on its face till it’s dead.” Caleb’s mouth went powder-dry, his stomach lurching like he was on a free-falling plane about to crash. He felt Richie’s threat slam into him, one sadistic word at a time. With a roar, Caleb rushed at Richie, his right hand curled into a fist and, before Richie could react, he drove his knuckles into the spongy cartilage of his nose. The crunch of bone, followed by Richie’s earsplitting howl, ricocheted down the alley. Blood gushed from Richie’s face. Moments later, the agony splintered through Caleb’s hand like it was on fire. Caleb wasted no time running towards Midnight. But before he could reach the little terrier, Richie aimed the BB gun at the dog a third time, only this time, he fired as she took off with surprising swiftness. As Midnight rounded the corner at the end of the alley, she let out a tortured yelp, and Caleb felt sick when Richie cackled in glee for hitting his mark. Hopping on his bike, Caleb followed Midnight at warp speed. But by the time he rounded that same corner, Midnight was nowhere in sight. Car headlights, road signs, and blowing trash, all became a blur through the onslaught of Caleb’s tears. Every bit of the fear, anger, and grief he’d been holding so tightly within, tore loose, like a deluge of water from a broken dam. Not knowing where Midnight was, whether she was in pain or even alive, was a new kind of hell. And speaking of hell, on top of his worry for Midnight, there were the horrors that waited for him when he got back to his foster home. He still remembered when the social worker brought him there on a hot August morning, dumping him on the doorstep, and heading for the hills right after. The act Darlene, his new foster mom, put on, was worthy of an Oscar and good enough for the caseworker. Determined to make a swift get-away, she never even set foot inside the house. Never even bothered to see where Caleb would lay his head that night. As soon as the woman drove away, Darlene grabbed him by the hair and pushed him hard through the door as she yelled “get the hell in there, march yourself down to your room in the basement, and stay there until my husband gets home. You understand me boy?” Caleb understood when Donald came down the stairs three minutes later. “You listen to me you motherless, unwanted, shit,” Donald spat. This room in the basement? That’s the only place you’re allowed. Food will be left outside your door two times a day, morning, and night. And you’re never allowed upstairs. There’s a toilet and shower here and that’s all you need. Got it?” Caleb was so scared it felt like horses’ hooves stampeding across his heart, and, unable to stop himself, the moisture began seeping into his underwear, spreading through the fabric of his jeans. His bladder had already been full to begin with, but Donald’s speech, that ugly word “motherless”, made Caleb buckle under the strain. He could no longer hold it in. And now he just wanted to disappear, to die right then and there. Better to see his mom again in heaven, than live like this here in hell. But it wasn’t over yet. When Donald saw that Caleb had peed himself, he hit him hard across the face, so hard that Caleb flew into the opposite wall. Donald barked, “you’re old enough to be toilet trained for God’s sake. Clean up and wash those filthy clothes in the sink. We don’t run a laundry service here.” Now, for the millionth time, Caleb cursed the car accident that killed his mom and turned him into a foster kid at the tender age of ten. Missing her was like chemical lye rubbed on a wound, and it was this pain that brought disturbing dreams of ghouls and monsters to most of his nights. But Midnight had changed something, soothed some of the hurt, like a cool salve applied to a burn. He had to find her. But then things suddenly got worse when Caleb spotted something terrible. There, on a telephone pole, was a poster of a little girl holding a dog. A Maltese terrier. It looked exactly like Midnight. The child’s name was Amber, and she lost her dog, Ivory. Only briefly did Caleb acknowledge the irony of the dog’s name. His pain was beyond raw and abrasive, it was sandpapering all the way down to the bone. Bad enough that Midnight was gone, but now she also belonged to someone else. Shakily he slid off his bike, leaning it against the metal pole, his legs unsteady causing the rest of his body to quiver. All he could do was stand there sobbing into his hands. In the cold autumn night, something slammed into his legs. A small, soft, something, that let out an excited bark and wagged its tail. Midnight practically jumped into his arms. He was so happy, he cried even harder. After she licked every tear from his frozen face, Caleb put her down on the sidewalk and knelt to examine her, looking for any signs of an injury. Other than a scrape on her ear, Midnight appeared to be okay. The BB gun bullet must have only scared her. But his relief was short-lived. What about the kid on the poster? Digging a quarter out of his pocket, he scooped Midnight up again and headed towards a payphone across the street. Maybe, he rationalized, he’d get an ‘out of service’ message and there’d be no chance of finding Amber’s family so Midnight would have to stay with him after all. Yeah, right, he thought. One ring, two rings, three rings, ... what would he do if the answering machine came on? On the fourth ring, the machine did come on, but it wasn’t what Caleb expected. The message told callers that Ivory had been found and was safe at home. And Caleb’s world suddenly felt different. With Midnight at his side, he walked his bike towards Donald and Darlene’s place. At least he had blankets in his room along with some hidden food for both of them. But when they got there, the house was black. Specifically, a charred black, and those were only the parts that were still standing. The rest had burned down to ashes. Smoke, thick and acrid, still hung in the air, and Caleb suddenly remembered the six hundred dollars his mom had sewn into the lining of his jacket. And the cheap motel down the road where the owner once overlooked his age and rented him a room. And where the vending machine had the best sandwiches, he’d ever tasted. “Everything is changing,” he whispered in Midnight’s ear. From now on, he would slay all the monsters for her. And maybe even for himself too.


There was an old owl that I used to see around my apartment. I always found him strange-owls did not belong in the city, I thought, and he’d be much happier making a home in some drafty barn with a hay loft and broken shutters and mice to eat. But he was here, and he often sat perched on a high branch near the trunk of a tree that grew outside my bedroom window. I had to almost press my face against the window glass to see him-but there he’d sit, just watching, waiting. Normal owl activities, I suppose. One sunny day in spring he left his post and flew up to my open window. He was startling up close-almost overwhelmingly painted and detailed, eyes that stared through me and seemed to glow. Far away he was mysterious, revered, stately-up close he was almost frightening to look at. We stared at each other for a moment-it felt as if we weren't supposed to be here, but I could not look away. His gaze felt almost human. It felt even more human when he spoke to me. “Hello,” he uttered. I dropped my jaw and my water bottle. It rolled toward the window where he sat. I did not move. “You dropped something,” he told me. Our stare did not break as I moved slowly, finally, towards him, to get my bottle and sit on my bed. I sat, slack jawed. “You can talk?” I asked him. “You’re an owl! How are you talking?” “I don’t know,” He replied. “How are you talking?” I almost laughed at such an absurd question, but paused. Then: “Well, I’m, well, a human. We’re supposed to talk.” “Yes,” he said, a tone that sounded almost irritated with the obvious nature of my statement. “But says who? Did someone grant you permission to speak one day, or did you just start?” I mean, he had a point, I guess. I said nothing. “Well, same thing happened to me,” he continued. “I just could. Can.” “Oh.” I finally broke our stare, and looked down at my hands. I almost felt bad for second guessing him, but then remembered the absurdity of my situation and rejected any guilt I felt for holding disbelief that I was having a conversation with an owl. I looked back up, half expecting him to be gone, for me to have made it all up. But there he perched, glowing eyes darting around my room, no longer cutting through me. He spoke again. “So, if we can both talk, what do you think is the difference between you and I?” I had to laugh. “What kind of question is that?” “What do you mean?” “You’re an *owl*, I’m a person. How are you asking what the difference between us is?” He looked back at me. “Thank you for stating the obvious. But I can talk like you, and I can think like you. I can’t drive a car or cook a pot of pasta, but you can’t hunt mice, or fly.” True, owl. “And we look, well, very different,” he continued. “But what is *really* the difference between us? If we have the same brain, what other than our outside makes us different?” “Can all owls talk like you can?” I replied. “Because if they can’t, and it’s just you, then that makes you a very special owl. I’m just a normal person.” He was quiet for a moment. “You have a point.” I expected him to continue, but he did not. I broke the silence before he could fly off. “So they can’t?” I asked again. “You’re the only one that can talk?” “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know any other owls.” A feeling of cold washed into me, and I suddenly wanted to go open the window and give my owl friend a hug. I don’t think he’d have liked it much, but his simple, matter-of-fact declaration of loneliness and alienation instilled a deep ache in me. He must have seen my smile drop, because my internal anguish over the thought of my new friend being all alone in the world was interrupted by his continuing. “But I never have, so I don’t know the difference,” he said. Stoically. “Aren’t you lonely?” I blurted. I felt ashamed for asking him something that seemed so painful to answer or admit. I wanted to take it back but I could not, of course. He seemed unmoved by the question. Nonetheless, I found myself holding my breath, praying he would not fly away before answering me. “I think that I don’t feel lonely because I don’t know any other way,” he finally began. “I just exist in my world and observe and wonder about why I’m here. And if that’s lonely, I guess I just thought that was what life was. And I don’t mind it, not at all. I don’t even wonder too hard, really. Because I think that it’s this way for a reason. I don’t have anything to miss-which I’ve heard isn’t so nice-because I didn’t ever have anything to begin with. So I just have things to wonder about. Nothing taken, nothing to mourn. Just a life to exist in. Which to me, isn’t a bad life. Not at all.” He looked back at me. His eyes seemed to glow a little brighter, now. And then he flew away. I stood up and rushed to the window, but he was already out of sight.


There are a lot of things I can’t remember. Things that anyone should be able to mutter out in a split second from a simple trigger in their brain would take me hours of recollection and piece together. Parts of my childhood that others remember clearly are still vague to me even after so many years. Bits and pieces of memory come to me when I think real hard, but that’s all they are -- memories. When I first arrived in this world, I was with a family that loved me from day one. I was happy. Happy with the parents I had, even happier with my siblings. I remember being the youngest of five; I was always loved, unconditionally. My older siblings were over protective of me but the parents could care less. After having four children before me, they had grown accustomed to having a toddler in the house. Things that were important for the first four weren’t so much by the time I’d arrived. I remember the protective covers on the electric sockets were no longer needed, knowing that the previous kids had survived and none were brave enough to stick their fingers in. I remember the cabinet where the cleaning supplies were kept, was no longer in need of a padlock for the safety of a kid who could care less about the cabinet drawers. Most of all, I remember by the time I turned ten, I was the happiest kid in the world. I remember one summer evening after a baseball game we came across an abandoned bicycle left in the corner of the field. The chain had come off the roller sprocket and dangled from its place. I remember a few of us tried putting them back together so that we could take it out for a joy ride. “You hold the chain against the rolling plate” said Matthew looking at me, “I will rotate the plate by moving the paddle forward until the chain is locked in.” I remember getting my tiny fingers caught in-between the chain and the sprockets, and remember the scream. I remember playing with my friends at a nearby construction site the same year when school was out. We must have been ten or twelve then. The neighborhood was a part of a “rebuild” initiative that the locals have voted for. The abandoned buildings were ordered to be knocked down to build duplexes for the low income families. The site was packed with building materials from sheet rocks to plywood, from bricks to metal rods. I remember playing hide and seek with Matt and the neighborhood kids where I was the seeker. After counting down the numbers when I began to look for my friends, I remember feeling hopeless and abandoned. When I made an attempt to run and find a kid who I spotted hiding behind a stack of woods, I remember bumping into the corner of a stack and splitting my head wide open. I have very few memories of me when I was a teenager. I remember getting together with my friends for a Halloween bash on a Friday evening that everyone talked about for years to come. I remember at that party Michael dared me to jump into the swimming pool that was covered off with plastics for the winter. I remember ignoring all of my instinct and common sense that I had and diving right into the pool. I remember the plastics wrapping my body around in the bottom of the pool and keeping me down for the longest time until Matt jumped in to rescue me. I remember my first kiss that was revolting and repugnant all at the same time. It was with my biology teacher Mrs. Johnson that lasted only a few seconds. She was an old hack and a widow of several years who longed for affection and human contact after many years of loneliness. I didn’t resist or report; I didn't see a reason to do either. I remember her talking about her dead husband as if he was still with her after passing away so many years ago. The way she would speak about him only revealed how badly she was hurting inside and how deep her love was for him. I don’t remember much about my college life, but I remember the dorm room and the roommates at the Hedrick Hall of UCLA. I could still taste the red bull and ramen noodles after so many years of not touching a single junk food since I’d left college to be an adult. I remember so little of so many things that made me wonder if I was real. I remember getting married to a sweetest angel from Pasadena and leaving the busy state behind to be somewhere quiet. I remember her wanting to move away from the crowd and be with me to spend the rest of her life in peace. I remember her like it was yesterday. Her death came in as suddenly as she came into my life. We met at a very late chapter in our lives but we were happy. It was not long after my 50th birthday when I started noticing the changes in her behavior. I remember that she was not laughing at my jokes as much as she used to. It took an extra step of explaining the joke before she would get the punch line. I remember that she would not take a second look at anything she had done before she was satisfied with her work. Baking was very natural to her up until recently. She wouldn't need to guess if she had the right ingredients for the pecan pie she was making, or wouldn’t think twice before pouring the oil straight from the container into the flour bowl without a measuring cup. But at the end, I remember her being agitated more and more, doing things once and being done with it instead of taking an extra step to review what she had done. Behavior such as this was very uncommon, even for her. I remember the last days, her memories pierced deep into my heart like the sweet sound of a symphony that could only play when I was awake. I remember moving to New England in early fall a few years back and being mesmerized seeing the true nature for the first time. Watching the leaves turning to multi-color in days or the green grass beneath the feet turning brown right before your eyes was not something I had experienced in the past. I remember the fruits on Crab-apple trees covering the branches like Christmas ornaments. I remember the loud colors of a maple tree that could only brighten up a dark soul if not too careful. I remember being someone in need of a soul.


The snow covered everything in our tiny town. My friend and I sat huddled together in the homemade tree house. The oak planks were the only thing that held us from falling. Our big winter coats rubbed on each other. We had the tin box lying in the middle of us. No one wanted to touch it. No one wanted to see it. It had too many memories attached to it. ... “Come on Jimmy! Don't be a baby! Lets go!” My lungs shoved out. I was trying to keep my head above the murky water. “Jimmy?!...LETS GO!” Billy shouted beside me. His voice was much louder than me. “If you don't jump soon I will come up there and push your pale bottom off!” I threatened, and with that a 5’7 pail blob went sailing into the eerie depths. The brown water ate him whole with a splash while me and Billy wailed with excitement. “YES!” “WOOP!” We sang. This was a moment we would never forget; Jimmy's first jump from the high pier. Me and Billy waited for Jimmy’s red patch of red to come emerging from the water any minute. “Now where they heck did Jimmy go?” Bobby’s hazel eyes scanned the water. I could tell fear lurked in the back of his mind. ... “You boys sure you won't be scared of the 12’ beast that lurk the murky depths?” my father said in his dark mysterious voice. The boys and I quickly exchanged looks. Our eyes were wide with fear and excitement buzzing through us. “We aren't scared!” “Ya. Crocs don't scare us!” “Ha. Alligators and crocodiles shall cower in my presence. Little do they know I’ll be eating them!” Jimmy proclaimed as he rubbed his stomach. We all burst into laughter, and with that we finished loading our gear and whatever else we thought we needed, and were off. ... “Your turn,” Billy said as he passed me the tin box. My hands began to shake as I took it. My new found realization seemed to pierce my heart as I grabbed the cookie tin. When I did, the cold metal stung my fingertips. It went crashing on the wooden planks. As soon as it did, tears filled my eyes. I just couldn't hold them back anymore. I used to be able to shove them down like when I watched a sad movie, or scrubbed my toe; but lately they have been filling bottles. Especially today. The tears were warm on my cherry cheeks. My lips were cracked and hurt when I moved my mouth. I finally looked up and even with my blurred vision I could see my friends hunched over crying. We were supposed to be the cool kids, but since everything happened we’ve been really pathetic. ... “AGHH!” Something came spinning from the water behind me and latched on my body. I was spinning and twisting trying to release it, but it held on. At first I feared a croc or snake was trying to eat me, when I realized my lack of pain. The only thing I was fighting was fear. I looked at Billy whom I found dying of laughter. I stopped to the sound of laughter also on my back. “Jimmy?! That better not be you!” I shouted with anger rising from my toes. I almost could see the water starting to boil. Then with that I heard a splash of water behind me and with a quick turn I found Jimmy with his mouth open wide bursting out laughter. “Yo...u...you screamed...like a little girl!” and the boys laughed even more. I felt my cheeks turn red as my dad came running to the pier. “You boys okay? I heard a scream?” He tilted his head ever so slightly. I glared at the boys in hopes they wouldn't share my embarrassment with others. “Well...” Billy started, and when he did I couldn't stand it. My body went flying toward him. ... “Hey man. It's okay,” Billy leaned over and hugged me. I felt vulnerable and useless lying my head on his shoulder as I wept. I could hear him breathing. He was crying and hurting like the rest of us. I just looked at the box and wanted to take back the past. ... “Man these are the best years of my life. By far the best day ever!” Billy said. “Ya. When we get home everything will feel so dull and boring.” Jimmy agreed. “Man; I wish we could live here forever. Just stay in this moment.” “Ya.” The boys said in sync. “Gross man!” I realized “aren't we supposed to be “cool” and “ruff” boys? The touchy type? No.” The boys smirked at me and I shoved them off the pier. ... “I just want to hug him again.” I took a deep breath. “I never hugged him.” Billy let go of me and looked in my eyes. “The best things in life are taken from us too soon.” ... “Night!” I called. “Night!” Billy sang. “GOOD NIGHT MY MERY MEN!” Jimmy yelled as he zipped up his tent. “He is a strange one.” I whispered under my breath and zipped my tent. ... Billy moved and sat beside me. I inhaled and built up the courage to take the box off the ground. I held it in a death grip. I wouldn't let this leave me too. ... “TYLER!” A screeching voice came from above me and woke me up. “Billy...leave me alone! A man gotta sleep too.” I squinted my eyes to see him. His face was red and he was breathing heavily. His eyes were bloodshot and his face wet from tears. His oily brown hair was whipped in a mess on his head. “Billy.” I sat up quickly. Fear made me stop breathing for a minute. Billy wasn't the crying type. None of us were. ... I popped open the tin lid. Billy put in a dead butterfly Jimmy found. He was going to give it to his crush. She gave an origami heart to add to the box. Billy also added a leaf from this oak tree. It was a tradition to add one every year. Billy put in his report card, and so did I. We slipped in Jimmy's. They gave it to us even though it wasn't finished. I added a flower from Jimmy's funeral, and with it his memorial card. A picture of all three of us. And finally an alligator tooth from Jimmy's room. ... “Where do you want to go for your birthday?” “I want to go to Florida!” “Florida?” “I want to catch alligators.” “Very interesting.” “I love them. They are misunderstood. And how cool would it be to see their eggs hatch at night. Like turtles.” “Do they hatch like turtles? At night?” “Honestly I don't think they do, but hey. Let me dream.” “Fine.” “One night when we are there; the best night. I want to go outside and watch the moon. See the wildlife.” “Then you do that.” “I will.” ... I closed the lid on the box. The lid clicked into place and we climbed down the ladder. We walked to the spot. Billy had the shovel and he dug. We gave the box one more look and then we put it in the cold frozen ground. We buried the tin box grave and we left. Leaving apart a part of our childhood and Jimmy behind. Until next year.


That girl who was laying quietly, and covered in darkness was Ichiko Yamada, she was laying very peacefully, unaware about her current condition. After staying unstirred for a while, she opened her eyes and look around to find where was she. She try her best to view the situation, but the vast amount of darkness create things harder to understand. She was unable to see anything but she try to figure out the circumstance. She didn't have any memories left about how she appeared that place. The last thing she remembered was, a sweet kiss on her lips by her husband, when she was heading to his workplace. She couldn't recognise anything after that, she blacked out completely. But then, she felt light behind herself, she's frighten to move but a male voice occurs from behind it was, "Are you alright Yamada-san . You are moving so, I think maybe you are alright. Let's move miss . We had to cover a long path." When she turns around she saw a silver hair colored guy, standing behind her, watching her with his deep and emotionless red eyes. He's wearing a white waistcoat, and a long black long jacket. The warmth she felt before was coming out from a vintage lantern which he was holding. Ichiko was confused about her situation and don't know what to do, 'Cause according to the schedule she has to be on her working desk but she was sleeping in that weird dark place and when she somehow handle that uncanny trauma, a male character popped out in that place and ordering her to follow him and head somewhere. How and why she did that, there is no sense to follow a stranger. She wasn't afraid but she don't want to go after him. So then, she take a deep breath and denies his offer. He can't look good after hearing that answer. He said, "Think about it Yamada- san, it's your lose if you can't follow me." And Ichiko , after hearing that rude reply, reacted aggressively and said, " I don't know who you are and where you come from and I even don't know what's that place how could I go after a stranger?" That guy nodded his head a bit and reply to that angry lady, "You don't know me? And you don't know why you are there? And you are right, how could a lady trust a stranger that she just meet and started following him" He take a deep breath and sigh. He view her for a while, and maybe he was thinking about the next step he had to do, He took out his hand towards her and tells, " I tells you everything, but for that you had to follow me. I insist Yamada-san please come after me. " Ichiko is still suspicious about that man but when she saw his cold eyes, she somehow agreed about that proposal. She stood up and ready to follow him. That person light up the path with that vintage lantern and both were continuously walking on it. She want to ask many questions to him but she is confused how to start, and then that guy asked her, " back then you were exploding with lots of questions but you weren't asking any of it that time, why? Are you perhaps confused what to ask first." It looked like that guy read her mind she blushed a bit about that and tell her that, " it's not that, I am confused over a silly thing, actually I don't know how to start the conversation with a stranger that you just meet." He turns his head towards her and tells her, "as I thought, you were a lively girl and yet stubborn kid, like your parents." And both were started walking again. While walking, she denying those facts and stared telling him those tags weren't true but she stopped, when she noticed he tells, "like your parents." She immediately asked, "how you know my parents." That simple question from her, stops his feet for a while, he sigh and continue guiding there way. Both were quietly walking behind each other and the atmosphere around them is getting stressed. She wanted an answer to him but, she couldn't make it and she keep her moth shut. The pin drop silence breaks with a reply by that man, " Let's starts with something simple. My name is Azrael . And the answer of your pervious question is a bit complicated and........ I am terrified, maybe the answers weren't suitable of your expectations." And after that, he spit out the truth, " Yamada-san you..... Hit by a truck and.... now your body is in deep unconsciousness. After hearing that answer, Ichiko chuckled and tells him, "you aren't good with jokes, Azrael . And specially with those cold eyes it looks so lame." And she couldn't stops giggling. The whole place has only hearing her wild laughter. She laughing like crazy or maybe she is waiting for Azrael to join but he's stuck with his emotionless face like he's telling her ' Believe me, it's true'. After those laughs faded, she realised he isn't fooling around. The sentence he spit out is pure truth. It's a shock for her. She come close to him and ask that question again but that time she's serious and shaking. 'Cause she know what he is going to answer. She want to ask more questions to him But before that he tells, " you don't need to get that upset Yamada-san , your body stills breathing but your soul loses it's way and if we cross that path maybe we reach the place where your body is and after that you may continue your life. And I, the spirit guardian led you that place for sure." She was relived after hearing that, she still had a chance to behold her family again. She sigh of relief. She looked again that silver hair guy and give him a smile. That smile tells him, 'let's continue our journey.' --------------------- It's been a while now since they started there journey. But she hear some weird moans of a girl. She asks that guy about them and he reply, "the path we are travelling is connected with other people's memory, you could call it a void of memories and sometimes we also, view or listen there memories, maybe Yamada-san you just hear is someone's old sexual experience. Now she felt embarrassed about those screams. She was mumbling, 'please stop, please stop.' and after a bit those moans were converts into talks, Ichiko is curious that what that young couple talking about and she asks to Azrael , "did you know what they are talking about." He is continually walking. And he ask a question in his reply, "Are you perhaps a gossiper? You looked interested." She refuse that fact by, 'I am just curious and nothing and nothing at all.' He tells her, don't stressed like that he's just teasing her and if she want to hear the conversation he allow that. She come close to that place where those voices come from and there is a small window, she peeks in it and she saw a classroom. A young teen couple were talking about a girl. "Jeez, your girlfriend is so dumb. She believed in that silly excuse for staying at school. She is an idiot. " You are right baby, she is a moron. She even believed that my first time was with her. She is such an idiot." "Yes, she is a stupid bitch." She can't see properly his face 'cause those were very old memories, but she felt sorry for his girlfriend. She took his head out of that window and her expressions tells, how bad she's feeling for that poor girlfriend. Azrael who is just behind her watched everything but can't be able to tell anything except, " we had to continue." They were started walking again and he said, "you are the lady with golden heart and 'cause of that you think about other's a lot. It's bad for you. But, it's not your fault. You were just mirroring your mother." And after that short conversation both were continued covering there paths quietly. Both were again started walking. And as much as they cover the path the quantity of those voices were increasing. That time that silent void turns into a local fish market. "It's like everyone is talking." Ichiko notice a thing, she can't just peek into anyone's memory and the reason Azrael explain is, "those memories only viewed by those people who were connected to the owner of those recollections." And she thinking about that fuck boy, that is he connected to her or not. She felt dejected but then she heard a familiar voice, it comes out of a window, she peeks in and it's her aunt's memories. It's the funeral of Ichiko's parents. Ichiko is sitting on a bench when her aunt pick her. She smiles that at least she witnessed a good memory. But her smile curved back into a straight line when she heard the complete conversation between her uncle and aunt. " Machiko , you don't like Kanako-san at all. So, why did you took her daughter home?" "'Cause I want her to earn money." "You, want her to earn money? Are you out of your mind? You want a child to work to get you that shit money?" " No! Not yet, I treat her like my own daughter and soon when she grown up and started working she send money for her old and unhealthy aunt and I also teach her all housework so, she could help her ill aunt when she want. Don't you think dear, it's a good plan. And top of that, I heard Kanako-san telling her husband about there insurance. The amount is enough to pay my dear Io-chan's college fee. Now you know honey why I let that orphan girl stay in my home." "You can't, it's wrong that money belongs to that child." "I said, enough. Conversation is over now, you dare to open that mouth in front of anyone, clear my honey." After hearing that talk, her facial expressions changed. Her legs felt numb and she fell down. She started crying and sobbing, Azrael who was standing behind her back as always, watching it with those expressionless eyes. She was crying and sobbing but she stops all of a sudden. She heard again a familiar voice. It was a moan. She stands up and started stepping up to reach that window but Azrael stops her with words, "please, stop right there Yamada-san you can't handle that." But she wasn't listening, she know what kind of memory she was going to view but she want to look who was that girl, who stole her husband. She come near that window and her face has no emoticons. Just pale and sorrowful face and nothing at all. She peeked and it was, Io-chan. Her husband merging his body with her cousin sister. She took out her head and stand silently. First, she smiles and then she started laughing and chuckling louder and louder the place which is echoing with strange voices is now resonating only by those laughs. But slowly those chuckles were converted into tears and sobs of sorrow. She sit down on the floor, took her legs in and started crying. After couple of time she looked up and she find Azrael looking her. She cover her eyes again with her arm and ask, " Azrael , where I went wrong? Is am I not lovable? Or am I can't planed anything? Or is it....." And he replied with his emotionless face, " Did you want to hear truth or just want me to comfort you?" She sense the deep meaning behind that simple question and think about it. The conclusion she finds out is, 'she want to know, the truth.' She wipe her tears and stand up near Azrael . After looking her eyes, he know what she wanted to hear. And he tell "You were wrong about many things, you went with your aunt to live with her, but you know that your parents didn't like her. She treated you and your cousin unequally, but you never questioned about it. You loved playing violin and you had talent too but you leave it 'cause of the fee. You marry your first boyfriend, but you already catch him flirting with other ladies. And then the biggest mistake you made is, you changed your job 'cause you wanted to spend more time with your husband. Yamada-san , you planed everything from the started, everything. You planed and organized everything to prevent yourself hurting. You know that, your aunt treating you unfairly but you continued living with her 'cause you wanted things to be normal. You marry your boyfriend although you know he may cheat you someday but, you can't cut ties with him 'cause you afraid to get your heart broken again. Yamada-san, you may plan everything but things run as it could. It may not be possible, that things run as they prepared. You love someone and sometimes they break your heart. It's hard to handle it but that's how life and love works. It's a part of life you can't deny that. You are a pure hearted person and you love everyone that was your mistake, and trust me those weren't flattering word, that's the truth." Her few tears were flowing down, some were stuck in middle and some still waiting to flow. But with those tears she looks happy. And all tears were flow down at once and she hugged the person who is standing in front of her. While holding him she still sobbing but that time words were different, she is thanking Azrael for leading the path. And after a bit she leaves his warmth, she felt a bit embarrassed and she also apologies for hugging him. But the path is completed and behind that door her new life is waiting for her. Azrael took Ichiko's soul to her destiny and the time was to go back to there life again. ×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××× Lee's Thoughts, "Stick with a backstabber 'cause of love. But deep inside we know that, you did it because you don't want to hurt yourself anymore. But seriously it's foolishness not love Ichiko. " Ichiko , made big mistakes in her life and after she know the truth she regretted her decisions. We had to learn from Ichiko's mistakes. And choose people wisely.


A fog veiled cold morning greets the sleep-deprived man of the Second Restovian Revolutionary division with bullets. The projectiles fly past the trenches into an old corroded armed vehicle. "They hit Kalina again the bastards!" exclaimed one of the soldiers. The joke was getting old and insufficient against the grim monotony misery and futility of trench warfare, especially in a position such as this. I wished for a bullet to find a home in a skull for a change even if it was my own. First of November It was time for some mud aficionados to scout the enemy positions and hopefully our comand to decide to attack. I craved for an attack order and even a fatal one should be prefered to this craven shivering hell. As I was passing by the generals bunkers. I ower herd a conversation mentioning shock troops from the northern parts of the Cassadian mountains. The conversation context seemed to be one of reinforcements. This could mean a possibility of advancement and repositioning. A peculiar peace of conversation made me question my senses. "The Blackbirds shuld advance..." Perhaps I was going insane from the utter sense of disappointment in our past actions, therefore, imagining some form of hope ridden scenario for the sake of my sanity, I owerheard the name of the legendary shock troopers from the North, the infamous Blackbirds. Hope seems to me now a weapon as important as a bayonet with only one difference. It is pointed to myself. I waited for comrade Bitov to exit the bunked and confirm or disapprove this dream-like fantasy of mine. He seemed surprised and annoyed by my intrusiveness making me once again confirm my sentiment of disillusionment with the party propaganda of "Army of equals" His words betrayed a trace of fatality which led me to believe that an attack was in the plan. Our command was truly unprofessional and craven. I was always disdained by their unwillingness to action and their two-faced nature when it came to politics. Opportunistic and hypocritical to the core. A man such as this corrodes the revolutionary spirit before it even began to taste victory. The next morning the command issued orders and a summary of the battle plan. The orders came from Levov himself. Our forces were to storm the enemy positions with no retreat or mercy. A heroic sacrifice was to be made against the front line trenches fortified with machine guns. This would provide a distraction that "The Blackbirds" would exploit disabling the artillery from behind enemy lines in a special operation that itself seems to me suicidal at best. Blackbirds second division should attack the flanks and provide a breakthrough and a chance to victory. The remaining surviving man of our division should join the ranks of The Blackbirds upon finishing our mission. The odds of survival being minimal this seemed a fools gold type of promise. The commanders were visibly shaken by these orders, they tried their best to appear heroic and fanatical, stoic even yet you could see it in their eyes. They feared death. There should be no such sentiment in the Revolutionary war. I felt alienated from my comrades, so fear struck. Am I the only one that made peace with death itself? "Embrace me sweet and merciful death. Let our peace be as eternal and meaningful as our struggle was." I proclaimed such vows as if it was a prayer. Preyers are for the statists, self-sacrifice is the purest form of it to a real revolutionary. I refuse to stand in recess due to fear of impending doom and proclaimed my devotion and zeal. "Towards comrades to death!" "To freedom! " Death is the final form of freedom anyway.


The turbulence outside the plane was like nothing I’d ever experienced. At some points the plane was almost at a ninety degree angle. We could hear the thunder and see the lightning, flashing in bright and deadly streaks across the sky. The seatbelt sign had flashed on what seemed like ages ago, but even before that people were holding onto their seats for dear life. The pilot had been making announcements through the intercom but even those had stopped after a while. The air hostesses were strapped down in their seats, so we couldn’t even ask them what was happening or when we were going to land. The plane’s wifi had long since cut out. As the wind howled and the thunder boomed and the lightning flashed, I found myself feeling sleepy. I had been up for hours and now even a storm like this couldn’t keep me awake. I drifted off and when I woke up, what must have been hours later as the sky was now even darker, the thunder was still roaring all around us. I looked for my bag, and saw that it had fallen off the rack and was now sitting at my feet. I reached down for it and pulled out my phone to check the time. My phone read that it was 8 at night, but that wasn't possible. I had fallen asleep at 8, and it felt like I had slept for hours. I tried to rationalise. Maybe I had just closed my eyes and I felt so tired I thought I fell asleep? That must be it, it was the only rational explanation. I decided to play one of the games on my phone to pass the time, but I couldn’t concentrate with the thunder still booming. I checked the little clock at the top of my phone screen. 8:00pm What? I had been trying to play that game for at least 20 minutes. I know some people have a terrible sense of time but I am not one of those people. I definitely had not been playing that game for less than a minute. I turned to look around me at the people in the other seats. They were all in the same positions as I remembered. I turned back to my phone. 8:00pm I stared and stared at that little clock, waiting, begging, praying for that little number to tick up. It didn’t. Suddenly, one of the stewardesses came marching up the aisle towards me. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to put that phone away.” I was so stunned by her unusual request that I simply did as she asked, like I was on autopilot. I decided I would ask her about what was happening, just for a bit of peace of mind. “Do you know how long we have until we land?” She smiled at me, indulgently, like an adult would to a child. “We will be landing shortly. Please just relax and enjoy the flight.” The stewardess strutted off back to her seat. The seatbelt sign had clicked off and the turbulence had died down for now, so I took the opportunity to use the bathroom. I checked my phone again. 8:00pm What was happening?! Was I going mad? I strolled back to my seat and peeked out the window. The sky was still an angry grey and it was raining heavily but there were none of those abrasive thunder claps and blinding flashes of lightning anymore. Just a regular rainy night. A woman a little ways down the aisle from me got up to use the bathroom. As she walked by my seat, she dropped a little slip of paper in my lap, and just kept walking. I unfolded it and read the short message. *I’m awake too* Awake? I scrambled for a pen and wrote back - *Awake from what? What’s happening?* The woman left the bathroom and shuffled past my seat. As she went by, I pushed the piece of paper back into her hand. She didn't go back to her previous seat though, she sat down in the empty one right in front of mine. I could see her through the gap in the chairs, she was scribbling an answer. She pushed it through the chairs to me and as I unfolded it, I opened my mouth to ask her a question. She shushed me by putting a finger to her lips and motioned for me to open the paper. *What time is it?* I looked up at her, panic clear in my eyes, and her face looked like she already knew the answer. I checked my phone again - 8:00pm I showed the woman my phone screen. She barely glanced at it. All she did was mouth ‘I know’ and pulled out her phone to show me. 8:00pm Okay. Okay. Not okay. The clock on my phone stopping? Sure, it's unlikely, but plausible. Two phones, stopped at the exact same time, and everyone else in the exact same positions they were in at the time except for the stewardesses telling us we can’t have our phones out? Creepy. But why us? Why are this woman and myself the only people left awake in this unholy nightmare? Was it the storm? But it couldn’t have been, the storm had been going all day, just now we were in it. What was going on? Abruptly, the woman got up and went back to her original seat. I took a sip of water from my bottle. I just couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Why me? Why her? It felt like I was in a horror movie. I decided that one way or another, I was getting answers. I moved towards the front of the plane, and none of the hostesses even tried to stop me. They just sat in their seats, still as statues. I pushed through the curtain and into the cockpit. I tried asking the co-pilot what was going on, but he just stared straight ahead, not even acknowledging that I was there. I strode over to him and almost fainted. Right across his chest was a huge blood stain, leaking from a gash that went right across his torso. Same with the pilot. The plane had been set to autopilot, probably so we didn’t crash.. I staggered out of the cockpit passing the hostesses, still sitting in the same positions. Although facing them now, I could see why. In the center of their chests where blood stains. On every single one, though not as gruesome as the pilots. I screamed, this time running from the bodies and back to my seat. On every single person I passed, I could now see a blood stain on their chest. Passing by them before, from behind I couldn’t see, but now I got the full and gory view. I was on a plane of corpses. I passed the seat of the woman who had dropped the paper in my lap, but instead of a bloodstained hole, I saw an awful grin. My stomach dropped. Her grin changed to a smile that was almost kind. She reached down to her bag, slowly unzipped it, and pulled out a kitchen knife. I started to whimper. I was about to die.


Stella and The Cherry Tree How am I ever going to get out of here? Worse, am I ever? I have just been given a new Dad. Another new Dad. And a new name. Another new name. And my real dad and my real name are now a secret. A shadow, a ghost. I’m only ten and I’ve already been three people. Stella Mack, Stella Brogan and now Stella Dice. I gotta get out of here. New daddy has a temper, a bad temper and he yells a lot. When yelling doesn’t work, he slaps a lot. And when slapping doesn’t work, well...you know... a little kicking and stomping comes into play. New daddy is rich, and handsome, but he’s mean, just plain mean. Not to Mom. He’s never mean to mom. Momma’s pretty. Fashion model pretty. Like in the magazines. She has a smile that lights up a room. Maybe even the world. Mine anyway. But she is his prize now. I’m just along for the ride. He didn’t want me, but I came with the deal and that makes him mad. Why does she keep doing this? I hate him. How am I ever going to get out of here? Everything in my new world is beautiful. On the outside. My bedroom, so perfect. It’s everything a young girl could want. A ballet room, only I’m anything but a ballerina. An Easy Bake Kitchen. Seriously? A new iPhone, a color tv, a desk, all my books in a tall, Italian Provincial bookcase and my very own bathroom. My balcony looks out over the great expanse of country club green that is our back yard. My room is pretty much a dream room. But it’s not my dream and my life, my life is a nightmare. One of those beautiful on the outside, ugly on the inside, well-kept secrets in town. I hate it and I hate calling him Daddy. All I want is OUT. I don’t know why it takes me so long to figure it out. When it happens, it happens in a flash. I’m huddled in front of my tv set in the middle of the night. Old movies are one of my escapes. Books and old movies. But I am tired of the silent escape they provide. Really tired of it. The walls are closing in on me and so is the anger and the violence and that awful smell of stale booze in the morning. “Stella, Stella, Stella...” the guy on the television cries out. He is so desperate. He is screaming up to Stella’s balcony as if she is the only person that matters. I start crying, but I am crying out for my freedom. I’m crying out because I don’t seem to matter at all. And then it hits me. I look out onto my balcony at the tree. The giant cherry tree that towers over it. Why hadn’t I noticed her, why hadn’t I seen her, why hadn’t I acted before now? I grab my flashlight and run out into the night. I shine the light down through the branches, along the trunk to the ground. This is it. The Holy Grail of Escapes. But what if...is the first thing to cross my mind. Fear. What if, I get caught? So what? How much worse could it be than the prison I’m already in? It couldn’t be. I look up at the dark sky above me. It is a new moon night. Just a slice of light in the sky. I find comfort in the night sky. If anyone’s up there, I whisper, help me. Please, please help me do this. I rip off my pajamas, and stuff my flashlight in the back pocket of my Levis. I always have my Levis on under my pjs. I call them my just-in-case pants. Just in case I have to make a break for it. And tonight, tonight is the night I am shifting gears. Down the tree I go. Onto my bike I fly. Out the gate, down the road, into the town and I am FREE. The wind in my face feels like heaven. I ride all night. Breathing in the cool, crisp air of freedom. I cover every block in this new town. Every square inch of it really. I suck it in. Get to know it. The movie theater, the mall, the little AM/PM just down the way. My new school, the Little League Baseball field. The park with all the hiking trails, the skating rink, the pool and the library! The bus station. It’s all here. It’s my town now. No matter what they call me or where I came from or how I’d gotten here, I, me, Stella. I am here now. I barely notice morning light coming on as I head home. I’m filled with the excitement of my newfound freedom. Now my adventures can be real. No one will know where I went or what I did in the night. It didn’t occur to me that everything was closed at night. It didn’t seem to matter. All that mattered was the escape hatch and the possibilities. As I parked my bike and started shimmying up the tree, I saw the light in mom’s room go on. My heart stops. My worst nightmare was about to come true. I look up at the balcony expecting him to be peering down at me. Locked and loaded. But he isn’t. I sit still in the branches. Very still. Finally, the light goes out. Whew. Maybe just an early morning whiz. I start shimmying up again. Again, the light goes on. I hear my mother call out to him. “You okay in there, hon?” “Yeah, I’m okay just a little touch of the flu. Go back to sleep.” Flu?! I almost blurt out. Hah. More like the nasty, putrid puking that comes with too much gin. How does she stand it? Why does she? My happy high from my new found freedom starts to fade. I don’t want to lose it. I refuse to lose it. I start shimmying up the tree again until I reach the top and climb over the ledge. I made it. I grab my pajamas, pull them on over my Levis, and crawl back into my bed. I feel different. Taller. Bigger. Full of myself. I rolled the dice, and I found a way out. That makes me grin. A snotty, mean little I won kind of grin. I rolled the dice and won. A reckoning is coming now, and I can feel it.


[Before the story, I need to say that I’m in no way a professional writer in fact I’m only 14. I had this idea for a story for a while now and I’m just getting around to writing it. Hope to get some feedback and maybe I’ll make some more stories in the future!] 6/6/2025, 9:02 pm: “Today we sent the first ever humans to Mars in hopes of creating a base of operations there. They are projected to land in T minus 4 hours. Things have gone smooth so far. I’ll keep you updated.” 17/6/2025, 7:57 pm: “It’s been about 11 days since the launch, sorry about not responding to you’re calls. Today something bad happened. We lost all contact to the Mars team. And to make matters worse, the conflicts between China and Russia seem to be getting worse so we may not be able to send any other people up there. Hopefully we get something back from them.” 6/6/2125, 6:15 am: “Daddy said we have to go to some space place today. Something about a project Grandpa worked on for his entire life. I don’t know what to expect! I’ll write back here after we’re done.” 6/6/2125, 8:38 pm: “We’re done at the space thing and apparently it was the 100th anniversary of the 1st people to go to another planet! They said they still haven’t sent anything up there to this day. I wonder why?” 19/5/2150, 6:00 am: “Today I have a job interview. I’m applying at the NASA Center for Inter-terrestrial Human Life. I’m kinda nervous but I think I got this. You know what... I think this is the same place I went with my dad when I was only 8. Wow the time flies.” 22/5/2150, 5:45 pm: “I just got a letter in the mail and I got the job! I bet grandpa would be so proud.” 24/5/2150, 9:32 pm: “Today was my first day at work. Everyone knew me! My grandpa was a legend here. He dedicated his whole life to this. Sadly, however, after his work they stopped with Mars. Still don’t know why. When I asked, all they said was... “no contact....” I’m very confused.” 31/11/2153, 4:53 am: “I was just awoken to a loud rumbling. What could it be? I looked outside and saw nothing. It’s probably just a tremor or something but I live too far from the fault line. I have a bad feeling about this.” Same day, 5:10 am: “I felt another rumbling. Same thing. Looked outside, saw nothing. Wait.... I think I just saw a light outside.” 5:13 am: “There is another rumble and more light. What the hell could it be? I’ve got to go out there and see for myself.” 5:22 am: “WHAT THE HELL IS THAT? LOOKS LIKE A MASSIVE SPACE SHIP IN THE SKY!!” 5:25 am: “It keeps saying “contact us! contact us!” over and over again! What could it want?!” 5:31 am: “It just shot what seems to be a missile. I think this is it. If you are reading this, run.” The End.


The Volvo is a reliable car, but, like fine wine, gets bitter with age. Its engine whirls reluctantly to a start, its lights responding in a dazzling array of bright red and blinding white. From a distance, the scene was nothing more than the old routine of a seasoned road veteran, but to its driver, its lights were the ticket to freedom. This ticket was the gateway to a fleeting sense of hopelessness and simultaneously the yellow brick road to freedom. The catch, however, was that it always led to the same place. A Volvo lets you feel lost, but nonetheless comforts you with its familiar roar and occasional stumble. Feeling lost with this car is another way of saying you’re totally free to go wherever you want. So I think of this freedom as if it were the crisp night air pouring into the front seat from the sunroof, tasting sweet as a byproduct of bees hard at work pollinating the spring flowers. With all windows down as I swerve between potholes, the nearby wildlife are presented with the lyrical genius of Wheatus as he and I harmonize from the bottoms of our hearts about the struggles of teenagers and their dirtbag counterparts. In celestial mockery of my Volvo and its headlight hubris, the night sky awakens. Their collective luminescence overwhelms the faltering turn signal on my heap of 2004 Japanese metal. As the road widens and the turns subside, my headlights become almost one, blending into each other and forgetting their differences. I am no longer the driver, but a passenger on a falling star. There is no better sense of our existence than this feeling of senselessness. A grinding thud interrupts this moonlight sonata. “Damn you,” I whispered, mostly to myself, but also to the pothole. It should regret its actions and remain deeply penitent for adjourning my mighty dance with the heavens. Nonetheless, I pop the trunk and begrudgingly begin the process of replacing my blown tire with a spare. It’s always the front left wheel, and it’s always a user error. For that reason, I have slowly grown to accept the gentle indifference of the world. There are no inherently bad things, just different intentions and consequences tied to each action. Thus, it is to capture the universe in essence to say everything needs everything else in order to be anything at all. The only true “bad” thing would be to take it too seriously. After all, it’s just a pothole. The Volvo sputtered back to life, its lights reflected in the eternal pool of the sky. Two roads diverged in this wood, and I took the one with less potholes. It is not necessary to reach any destination beyond my Volvo’s capacity. The purpose of a drive is to drive - to take the wheel and your hand as one and smell the oil. It is not to reach a destination, but to enjoy the sights along the way. One must imagine Sisyphus happy. As I gaze in astonishment at the world above me and the warm air surrounding me, I find myself overwhelmed by the pressure of these small celestial candles. As I turn off my car’s front beams, the sky follows suit, the Volvo lights fading as they lose their battle to the sun. The sky fills its pool with splashes of color, its painting becoming an infinite ocean, with the Volvo lights reflecting the universe looking back at itself.