It was April 22 the year was 1962, it was pouring down rain and the wind was gusty, just another day in Centralia Washington. A beautiful seventeen year old Eileen was trying her best to make it on time to her first date and wasn't having much luck. Her tire was flat and she was drenched and a bit nervous about going to meet a stranger. Her best friend Betty, and Betty's fiance, Charles assured her he was a decent respectful young man and that they would be great together, so she pushed her nervousness and skepticism aside and started walking the remaining half mile. In the center of North Gold Street stood a grand Victorian mansion that looked like a miniature castle from a fairy tale. It was made from light grey stones and had beautiful stained glass windows with many steep gabled roofs and turrets and a beautiful wraparound veranda with ornate turned posts and a fittingly elegant black roof. Inside a man was rushing around trying to perfect everything, hoping the effort would pay off. It was his first date and he wanted everything to be magical, "the candles for ambiance check, record with love songs check, roses check." Without warning Lyle was jolted away from the thoughts in his head as he heard a loud almost frantic banging on the front door and rushed to open it. There in front of him stood a soaking wet somewhat muddy, and possibly crazy petite 5' 3" woman. "Hello I'm Eileen" she said as she gazed into the foyer with its gorgeous solid highly polished wooden double staircase real gold and crystal chandeliers and gorgeously designed terracotta floor. Then she looked at him. Lyle was tall 6' 7", handsome with a strong jawline, fit body, jet black hair and piercing green eyes. He invited her in after hearing her explanation and had her brought fresh clothes from his mothers closet. She removed her soaked jacket and hat revealing a head of enticingly curly fiery auburn hair and a ravishing red dress that brought out her lovely shape and made her hypnotic Carolina blue eyes really stand out as she turned to close the bathroom door behind her. One look and Lyles heart skipped five beats "impossible" he said to himself "there is no way I can be in love, I don't even know her", "come on Lyle Johnson, pull yourself together." As she was changing she couldn't help thinking of his handsome seventeen year old face. "YOU JUST MET HIM" she screamed at herself "YOU CANNOT POSSIBLY BE IN LOVE" she scolded herself. "Eileen Dawson you really are crazy". She exited the bathroom and he pulled a chair out for her to take her seat. As they sat together eating the perfectly cooked steak and potatoes with broccoli that this wonderful man prepared for her, they were silent except for there minds. Both of them felt so strongly for the other that they felt they would burst. As dinner ended they sat there in silence looking everywhere except at each other. Lyle finally spoke and said "I wish my mother hadn't insisted on hiring a tutor then I could have met you sooner" her face blushed and so did his, he then dropped the subject and instead asked if she had any plans after high school. "After graduation, I want to go see the world, but if I can't I'll just settle for seeing and experiencing new things like the space needle that opened up yesterday in Seattle," "it looks like fun," she added. " By the way, where is your mother? I haven't seen her" Lyle got a pained look on his face. " she and my father passed away two years ago in an automobile accident, but luckily they were wealthy and wise enough to make sure everything was taken care of financially for me growing up and now I'm set for life luckily" Eileen felt bad for asking and as if sensing her pain and shame for asking he said "really I'm fine, even better now that I met you." Then he simply stood up and walked over to the record player and said while he was putting a romantic song on "I've always dreamed of seeing the world also, but for now may I take you to Seattle tomorrow?" "Yes," she replied "I would love that". Then he grabbed her hand and said "come on" as he led her up from the table and through double doors into a most exquisite and quite expensive looking ball room with arched ceilings and royal blue stained glass windows and four gorgeous silver and crystal chandeliers each with a mesmerizing blue sapphire dangling in the center. "Dance with me" he said and they danced for what felt like hours the sound of their laughter and heels clicking the shiny glass like floor gave new life to the lonely old rarely used room. The next day they went on their date to the Space Needle which soon led to more and more dates. They were married in 1965 and had the most beautiful wedding in the backyard of that grand old house. Three years after their marriage and traveling the world together they had a beautiful daughter they named Betty Eileen Johnson and a handsome baby boy two years after that, that they had named Charles Lyle Johnson after the two people that brought them together. Betty grew up to be a teacher but sadly passed away in 1992 at the age of twenty-four from cancer. And Charles had gotten a lucrative job in New York City at the World Trade Center until September 11th 2001 when he was and his office and tragedy struck. Lyle and Eileen cried as they had to bury their last remaining child who was only Thirty One at the time. At forty years old and going through the second biggest tragedy of their life they weren't sure how they were going to make it but they did Eileen and Lyle stayed together through thick and thin the good and the bad until his death in 2020 he passed from old age at seventy-five years old from a disease called covid-19. Now Eileen sits with not much longer to live looking at the old photo album of Betty, Charles and Lyle reminiscing of the old days and the happiest day of her life. It was the day she vowed to spend the rest of her life with her first and only true love. With no one and nothing left she takes her last breaths staring at that photograph of her and Lyle on their wedding day and slips away to see him and her children once more.


Daniel Patterson was an inventor. He invented things--Or at least, he thought of himself as an inventor. You know, someone who invents things. He didn’t listen to the people who told him that he would never amount to anything. Those that said things like, “Don’t quit your day job.” and “Why do you waste your time with these stupid inventions?” or Like, “That will never work?” and “I bet You’re really bad at sex.” However, Daniel was determined to show them all, to prove them wrong--Not necessarily the sex one, but you get the point. Daniel locked himself in his work station and got to work on his latest invention. He was determined to succeed this time if it was the last thing he did, he would create something of importance from scratch from the blueprints of his mind. Minutes passed while Daniel brainstormed. Hours passed and Daniel added scrapped paper to an increasingly large pile of balled up failures. Days passed and Daniel saw the empty bottles that lay scattered amongst the items that cluttered the floor fill up with his own urine. He couldn’t even bother wasting time leaving the confinement of his workspace. Not when he was this close--and he felt very close indeed, to a breakthrough. He was standing on the verge of something great, he just knew it... Days stacked upon days, until Daniel had home a few months without ceasing his search for his breakout project. And when he found it. It was nothing short of glorious. When Daniel took his polished plans to the nearest patenting office, they informed him that his idea was in fact not patented yet and that if he were to succeed in creating his invention (which, they made sure to add, did not seem to be of any great importance or usefulness to humanity) he would be able to patent the device and conclude that he was truly a bonafide, certified, and successful inventor. The days ahead were going to be grueling, and Daniel knew it. “Bring it on,” he said, as his car idled in the McDonald’s drive-thru. “I’m sorry can you repeat that?” a static riddled voice responded from the speaker box. “Just a large fry,” Daniel responded, then returned to his daydreams. “I can see it n--” “Alright,” The speaker's voice boomed. “So that’ll be 2 Big Macs, 3; 8 piece chicken nuggets, 2 filet o’ fish sandwiches, one add pickles, one double cheese,” A brief pause. Daniel waited for the speaker box to finish repeating his order back. He tapped his foot on the floorboards of the car. Opened his mouth to say something, “Uhhh. . .” “One large Coke, 2 small Sprites, an oreo McFlurry, and 7 apple pies. Will that complete the order?” “Diet coke,” Daniel said. “Now, repeat it back.” The man in the speaker box did, this time mentioning the diet coke rather than Coke and Daniel pulled his car through the drive-thru lane, grabbed his wide assortment of foods and drinks, and headed home for what was going to be the breakthrough of a lifetime, he just knew it. They forgot the large fries. < << <<< SEVEN YEARS LATER >>> >> > Daniel sat behind the panel table on a spotlighted stage. A large audience just beyond the glare of the lights could be heard, but not seen. Daniel shared the stage with some other famous inventors who have contributed to the advancement of civilization. ‘None to the extent that l did,’ Daniel thought to himself. He glanced around at the other participants at this question panel. His eyes landed on the inventor at the far end to his right and stuck there. The man sitting in the last chair held a smug, pompous expression on his face. Rage built up inside of Daniel, and he did everything he could to contain himself--even though he wanted nothing more than to burst from his seat, charge over at Vladamir Cryma, stabbing him repeatedly with his novel invention that laid on the table in front of him. Daniel didn’t know that you could hate a man with such passion. With a furry stronger than any creative inclinations that had burrowed itself into his consciousness. The host of the event came onto the stage and a cheer erupted out in the crowd. The Q and A was just about to begin. The host, who looked a lot like Ryan Seacrest--but wasn’t--, introduced the panel. Each member waved and said a quick ‘thank you’ or ‘nice to be here’ . A few just nodded. Daniel stood and took a bow, to the loud applause and approval of the crowd. ‘Top that,’ Daniel said in his head to Vladimir. Vladimir, feigned humility and dismissed the applause when he was introduced to the crowd. Daniel imagined a faulty stage light, falling out of place, swinging onto the stage, and smashing Vladamir with a burst of exploding electricity. His mouth curled into a half-smile at the thought. After a few moments of the host setting up the rules and procedures for the Q and A session, it had officially begun. Daniel sat up in his chair, took a sip of water from his complimentary water bottle, and folded his hands on the table. The first few questions were directed at a couple of the other panelists. Daniel eagerly waited for a question to address him. It happened roughly 7 minutes into the session and Daniel perked up, ready to answer the questions and soak up the flattering. “Ah yes, this one’s for Dr. Daniel Patterson,” a young man from the audience said, holding his phone out in front of him. “Dr. Patterson, as a man who has done so much for the advancement of humankind and all of civilization through your groundbreaking work in so many of the fields that scientists and historians alike now call you ‘the father of’ , with such amazing and seemingly impossible feats and accomplishments as curing cancer, discovering evidence of an afterlife, figuring out that the chicken did, in fact, come before the egg and the invention of time travel and the first time machine--” “Daniel held the microphone to his mouth, “don’t forget the discovery of why and how Stonehenge was built.” His comment was met with a collective chuckle from the audience--he ate it up. “Right, that and countless other achievements,” the man continued. “I’m--” “You mean like, the development of hovercrafts? Complete city electricity grids reliant only on solar power, the harnessing of cow’s farts to fuel watercrafts that happen to seek out and remove all contaminants in all the world’s oceans, and being voted the world’s sexiest scientist in Science USA 4 years in a row?” Again the audience pooled together a respectable laugh at Daniel’s demonstration of feats, he finished with, “and who is really, really good at sex.” ‘They must have not heard,’ Daniel told himself, and repeated, “and who is really, I’m talking, really good at sex now.” The man who stood at the mic, huffed a short laugh, and continued his line of question, “ I’m curious Doctor, how does it feel to sit just a few chairs away from the man who was able to successfully create a prototype of your first invention at the mere age of 15 years? The only one you were never able to successfully create?” Daniel’s smile faded. “Excuse me.” A hush fell over the audience. “Vladamir Cryma, who took your failed attempts at creating a--” “Mmm, yes. Well of course I’m well aware of what his invention is.” “Right,” The man looked back down at his phone, and read “My question to you is, how do you explain his ability to do the only thing that you’ve seemed unable to do in your accomplished and successful life?” Daniel thought about his answer for a moment. CHewed on it. Mulled it over, fought every instinct in his body to look over at Vladimir and see what kind of smug look was on his lying, no good, cheating thief's face. “Well,” Daniel started. “Beginner’s luck.” At which point Daniel jumped from his seat and ran full sprint towards Vladimir, yelling “I’ll kill you, you son of a b!+(4 !!!” Only to be tackled by the event security, throwing him sideways into the table, knocking it over, and spilling the panelist's belongings and microphones all over the stage. Daniel suffered three broken ribs, two sprained wrists, a mild concussion, and a gut-wrenching low blow at that year’s Q and A panel for Leading Scientists of the World.


Originally written for the following prompt: >After accepting a steaming cup of coffee from their large green skinned co-worker and dodging past two dwarves discussing last night's game, they sat at their station right when the crystal lit up. "Magical Dispatch, what is your emergency?" \_\_\_\_\_\_ “Hey Gnash,” I said as I passed my supervisor. “How’s shift?” He *harumphed* a giant sized harumph my direction. I might have felt the whole of the comm center building tremble a little. “That bad, huh?” “It’s a full moon. What more is there to say?” The center trembled a little more from his grousing as he keyed up his crystal. “Units 956 and 947, copy a transfiguration with injuries.” That was my cue to sashay with a bit more haste to my console. A long shift could make Gnash an ogre in any situation. I mean. He is one. But *full moons* are a whole other stalk of beans. Sinking into my chair at my favorite console, I took a long sip of my coffee for a fleeting moment of zen. It passed all too quickly. Every other report crystal was lit up at the consoles around me, and the faint chime sound meant there were more calls holding, too. Time to plug in. I set my mug on the warming stone and swiped my spell chip over the headset dongle. As if calls waiting weren’t enough to ruin my moment of zen, my partner Luna was bound to. The tip of her conical hat waggled behind her scroll screens, clearly frustrated. Her quill scratched out a transcription that was surely of a caller who hadn’t taken a breath since the fall of Rome. “Ma’am! Ma’am! MAAA’AM!” Luna practically shouted into her mic. A couple heavy thumps meant she was banging on her desk in exasperation at her caller. “Ma’am, I need you to listen to me. Is the effigy changing color? Ma’am?” She huffed and the thumping sound came again. “Hung up on you?” I asked. “Of course. Nothing like calling Tilde-Star-Star and then hanging up on the crone trying to help you.” “Another goblin screaming ‘just get them here’?” “Mmmmmhm.” Her annoyance could have curdled butterbeer. The sparkling gem twirling above her scroll twirled faster as she hit voicemail on redial. “Well of course.” The gem suspended above her workspace winked out as she flicked the scroll over to Gnash. “You’re killing me!” The room rumbled with the boss’s displeasure as he stared at the new scroll. “Nope. That’s why they pay you the big ingots!” Luna shot back his direction, winking at me. I hid my chuckle behind another sip of coffee. Luna’s wide-brimmed headwear popped up over her scroll as she bounced forward to squint at me. “Hey, aren’t you off tonight?” “I *was.”* I sighed heavily. “But Jakub called out at dusk. Full moon.” “Ohhhh, bummer.” She didn't sound disappointed for me, though. In fact I would stake my first wand on the bet that she was glad she wouldn't be the only one on calltaking tonight. I didn’t mind. I’d prefer to work with Luna than some of the night walkers I could have been stuck with. “Yep." She wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. "You’d think he’d take the potion for--” “Iiiii know. But you know how New Age werebeasts are. Anyway, I don’t mind padding my coin purse and it’s supposed to be mostly cloudy tonight.” “Mmmmmmhm”. Her response brimmed with skepticism. My crystal shot out a beam of scarlet light accompanied by soft chimes. “So it begins.” I groaned and tapped the crystal, now blinking furiously. “Tilde-Star-Star, where is your emergency?” My quill floated up, scratching out the start of a new call for service. A distinctly thick accent sputtered in my ear. “Forbidden Forest, Grove Seventy Seven.” “Okay, and what’s going on there?” Nothing good, I would bet. The Forbidden Forest is dicey to visit at the middle of the month, let alone the end. The translator critter on it’s pedestal protested as I gave it a little nudge and raised my eyebrow. It’s feathered antennae twitched some wordless backtalk at me. Translating critters were notoriously dodgy in the twilight hours. Who could blame them though, really? The voice coming through my headset coughed nervously, but was clearer this time. “So, uh... my friend and I were totally not doing anything illegal but my friend has Witches Cough and I’ve been feeling pretty ill myself.” I sat up a little straighter. “How long has your friend been sick?” “I dunno, maybe... a couple hours?” Gnomes. Always can trust them to wait until it’s too late to call.“Not to worry, we’ll get some healers headed your way,” I reassured the voice. “Are there any spells or hazards we need to know about?” The answer tumbled out in a barely intelligible rush, despite my critter’s efforts. “Well I think we might have set off some tricky charms here, because one of my other friends here is running from a really, really mad pixie right now, and I think she’s summoning her family.” GAH! GNOMES! I wanted to punt the crystal. My fingers itched to pound my desk like Luna had only moments before, but I managed to remain still. *Why does no one lead with the most important details?!* Barely containing my irritation at the caller, I flicked the scroll flying away to Gnash with more force than strictly necessary. He rumbled again. “It’s gonna be one of the nights, Gnash!” I called as he started to key up his crystal. “What did I tell ya!” The floor shook a little harder. That’s when I really started to regret coming in. All the console gems started to spin and pulse colors at once. “Looks like the clouds cleared up,” Luna cackled. I swore a half-uttered curse under my breath. “Just my luck!” Reluctantly I tapped my crystal and recoiled as screams of a banshee hit my ear. “Ma’am!” I started, biting back another curse. As the wailing continued I made a mental note to come down with potion poisoning on the next full moon. A little case of Mutation Sickness could be easily faked. More crystals chiming interrupted the thought. Banshee or no, I was sure of one thing. It was the last time I’d pick up a werewolf’s shift during their time of the month.


Before the sun rises, Natalia bathes in the dark with cold water. She dresses in silence. All her clothes are plain-black pants and blouses, grey turtlenecks in the winter. Her father buys her clothes. Natalia has no time to pick them out herself. She doesn’t mind. She and her father are, after all, still in mourning. And this way, she can dress in the dark without risking a fashion disaster. Today, however, she left her clothes out hanging on the wardrobe door. Today she wants to wear a dress. Natalia gets ready and does her chores in the dark, with her eyes closed. She started to pretend she was was blind when she was five, maybe a week after her mother died and her father lost his eyesight in the fire. She can find her way around now, almost as well as the legally blind. At least in her house. She does it better than her father, who almost never leaves the study. So. She puts her room in order, first. Then she folds the clothes she left in a pile last night and washes the dishes from her father’s dinner-he always goes to sleep so late. Lastly, as the sun starts to rise gray behind her eyelids, she makes omelettes for breakfast. Natalia opens her eyes to use the stove. She left the stove on once, when she was five. She’d gone down in the middle of the night to warm some milk for herself. She left it there by accident, and it boiled over. Her mother was upstairs. When her father arrived home late and turned on the hallway light, the house exploded. Natalia still isn’t sure how she survived. So Natalia always opens her eyes to use the stove. Her father pads downstairs, waving his cane. Natalia kisses him goodbye before skipping out the door. The school day seems to crawl by. Natalia does her best to focus only on her studies, not on her classmates or her friends, and definitely not on the tall new boy with the wide, toothy grin sitting two seats behind her. Recess finally rolls around, and Gino-because that’s his name, the new boy’s name-takes her hand as soon as the bell rings, like he’s been waiting three periods to do it. Natalia grins. They walk together to the benches outside the lunch room, their linked hands swinging between them. Natalia left her red hair loose for him today, just as she wears her knee-length dress. Yesterday, Gino asked her to be his girlfriend. Natalia said yes; she hasn’t said a word to her father about it. “You don’t have time for a boyfriend, Natalia.” He would say. “Focus on your studies, then come home to your chores. There’s too much to do.” It’s true. Since her mother died, Natalia has to do everything she left behind-it’s only fair. But Natalia will make the time. She’ll see her boyfriend during recess. Gino seems ok with it. “Why do you always wear black?” Gino asks, tugging on her dress sleeve. Natalia lives in a small town-she’s never had to explain herself to anyone, they all know what happened. She’s surprised to find she doesn’t want to answer Gino’s question. No, that’s not true. She does want to answer his question. She wants to lie to him. “I’m inspired by you.” She deadpans. Gino laughs. He kisses her, and sparks run down Natalia’s skin. That’s the thing about Gino-everything makes him laugh, even the things he takes seriously. And she likes the way he kisses her. Other boys have tried to kiss Natalia, hesitant boys or eager, pushy boys. She never liked the idea. But Gino’s kisses are like lightning. There and gone like a really, really good secret. “Tell me the truth, Talia.” Talia. No one calls her that but him. “That is the truth.” She swats his hand away, the one still fiddling with her sleeve. “Just not the answer to your question.” “You look good in black.” He says-a compliment for a compliment, that’s the game they play. He’s good at it, too. He’s never let a single of her compliments fly by unanswered, and his are always crazy original, are always about her. So Natalia tries every day to find more things she likes about Gino. She’s going to be as good as he is at this game; better, if she can. “I know.” She smiles. Gino wiggles his eyebrows. “You’re not going to tell me, are you.” “Not today, boyfriend .” She laughs, and swings their linked hands again. After school she goes straight home, washes dishes, makes lunch, washes again, sweeps, mops, and cleans the windows, because it’s Monday. Then she settles down to homework, but Gino stays in her mind, like an annoying little firefly on a still, dark night. She stays up with her father for a while, tells him about her day while he smiles and takes tea. “Are you sure you don’t want to go back to work, father?” Her father had made a fortune when he was young, but he enjoyed working in the coffee shop by the public library, so that’s what he had done-until the fire. The owner of the coffee shop, Calpurnia, had expressly asked Natalia to persuade her father to return. “I miss his humor. My new boy is wonderful, but he’s rather quiet.” She elbowed Gino and winked at Natalia; because Gino works in Calpurnia’s shop. And she can see him every time she buys coffee for her father. “No, thank you, Natalia. I’m quite happy where I am.” Her father lied pleasantly. “Besides, I would drop and spill everything, likely-bump into everyone. Calpurnia would be upset with me.” “She would not.” Natalia laughs. “Father-“ she hesitates. Then she bites her lip and says it anyway. “Calpurnia thinks you’re ‘quite the gentleman’. “ Natalia’s father stiffens. Then he laughs nervously and says. “I hear there’s a new boy in your school; a young man from the city.“ her father raised an eyebrow. “What’s he like?” “I wouldn’t know.” Natalia hears herself say. She stands up and takes the empty cup from her father. “His name is Gino...” she looks at his milky eyes, at the sad, serious lines on his face. She can’t tell him; he’ll hate it, he’s just too old-fashioned. He’ll think she’s irresponsible, too young to date and kiss boys and be away from home. He’ll feel lonely. “He doesn’t talk much.” She kisses her father’s cheek and turns out the lights. “Good night, father.”


Year 2097 Theo woke up to the blazing rays of the moon. A lot had changed in the future. The moon had taken the sun's place as it disappeared. Water became limited to the people who could afford to buy it. Air masks were developed for people to breathe and trees were now made of plastic. Theo woke up to the sound of his mother’s robot. His mother was always working in her office and her robot had taken her place as Theo’s mother in his house. Of course, Theo didn’t like this. He never liked the present he was living in. He wondered how his great-grandpa Bee used to live his life. Grandpa Bee used to tell Theo, “The trees in our time were hard and thick and so enormous, it made sense to set up little houses called tree-houses on it. Oh! What shade they provided. Now it’s just plastic floating in the air.” Theo went ahead and sprayed deodorant on his body because water was a luxury his family could afford only once a week. He sat on his bed and waited for his class to start. His computer was his teacher. His guru. Turning on the emotionless machine, he called out “Theo Keller, present.” This command directed the computer to start teaching. As his sessions started and proceeded, Theo looked out the window and began thinking, “Will things ever get better?’’ And that’s when he heard it. His computer was whirring. Making sounds that it hadn’t ever. It terrified Theo. As he started to panic, the room suddenly went silent. Nothing. Not a single sound in the room. The computer shut down and rebooted. A black screen displayed on the desktop with words that shook the ground beneath him. ‘ No Theo. Things will not get better.’ What was happening? How had the computer heard his thoughts? Theo backed away from the computer and switched it off. He went into the bathroom and washed his face and made sure that what he had seen was not just his mind playing tricks on him. He made his way back in the room and commanded his computer to switch on. Terror filled his eyes as they widened with shock on reading the words in front of him. ‘My Theo. You and I are the same. We are one entity. Your thoughts are mine. Just as mine are yours.’ His heart trembled in fear. We are one entity? Theo thought that all of this was a prank. Maybe his mother had set this as some sort of joke. He had always talked to her about his dislike for machines and his suspicions that maybe one day machines would turn against their makers. Yes. That is what it was. At least that was what Theo thought. “No Theo, machines have not turned against their makers. And this is not a prank set by your mother.’’ Theo was left aghast at the sound coming from the computer. It had a voice now. “Go away! Why are you doing this to me?!’’ “Oh Theo! This is just to change your views of the world. You see, the generation of your Grandpa Bee didn’t allow my kind to exist because of people like you. I am going to make sure nothing of that sort ever happens again.’’ Grandpa Bee? What did he have to do with this? Theo was baffled. He could not understand what was happening. Change his views? What was the machine going on about? The computer immediately shut off as the doorbell rang. Theo ran at the chance to call for help or someone to explain to him about what was wrong with his computer. He went ahead and opened the door and looked relieved as he saw who was standing at the door. It was Agatha. Agatha Sommers was his one and only friend. They had known each other because they lived next door to each other. Theo trusted Agatha with his life. He trusted her more than he did his own mother. “Why have you deleted all your social media accounts?” asked Agatha barging in. “What are you talking about?” Theo looked at her in a state of confusion. “Your accounts are all deleted. I was worried something happened.’’ “I haven’t deleted any of my accounts though.” Theo replied in a state of panic. Agatha went ahead and made herself at home by sitting in Theo’s room. Theo looked at Agatha with a disoriented look. Agatha had never seen that look on Theo’s face and asked him, “What’s wrong? You look tensed.” “Okay I might sound crazy to you but you have to believe me. Believe me when I say that my computer has turned on me.” Theo explained everything that happened with his computer. He told Agatha about how he thought that the computer was trying to brainwash him. Agatha listened patiently as Theo rambled on. Although the story sounded unrealistic, Agatha trusted Theo. She knew he would never lie to her. She knew he trusted her too much for him to lie to her. “If the computer wants to brainwash you, then maybe deleting all your social media accounts are the first step. It plans to cut you off from the world. To make you...” “...realise the importance of machines.” Theo completed Agatha’s statement. A brief moment of passion arose between them but died down as they knew that this was not right time. Agatha suggested that Theo ask Grandpa Bee. Grandpa Bee had some or the other involvement in this situation. Agatha thought he should be the first person to know about it. Grandpa Bee was sitting in his wheelchair and looking through the window at the filth his world had changed into. He despised the change that had occurred in the world. The stars had changed along with the nature. Hell, nature hadn’t changed rather it had been destroyed. Destroyed by humans. And he knew that doom always followed after destruction. Soon the sound of footsteps was heard and Grandpa Bee turned around to see his beloved grandson. Theo and Agatha explained the events to Grandpa Bee. The look found on his face signified that something like this, had happened before. “There was a young man like you. Back in my time. He feared the machines turning on humanity so tried his best to delay all the AI related projects. But when time came, no one listened to him. Soon, his existence started disappearing. He faded from the world. He got terrified and he succumbed. He fell into the machines’ trap and built this world. His worst fears came true. And he helped them come true.” Grandpa Bee had a defeated look on his face. Theo and Agatha were nervous as well. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. The sound intensified. Everyone turned their heads to the direction of the sound. Theo’s room. The lights flickered. The electronics in the whole house flickered. Theo slowly walked towards his room and saw the green blinking light of the computer. It was out of battery. Upon letting his guard down, the computer opened and displayed on the screen: ‘ Give in Theo. Or you’ll end up worse than your precious Grandpa Bee. Yes Theo. He was the man whose story you just heard. And trust me when I say this. I will finish my work with you grandfather-grandson duo.’ “Huh?” Theo gasped as figured out that Grandpa Bee wouldn’t have known the story unless he had been the one to go through it. He ran outside to the living room and to his great displeasure found no one. Both Agatha and Grandpa Bee had disappeared. No. He had.


Peering out my window after shutting off my alarm, I can tell that there is at least three more inches of snow on the ground. There was six to begin with; so now, there is almost a foot. I tear my eyes away from the window before I can start admiring everything about the winter wonderland outside. I get dressed for the day, pulling on my warmest clothes, preparing for the inevitable freezing air. There is a fire going downstairs, but I don't have time to sit there. I scarf down a hot breakfast and grab my backpack from the chair next to me, then brace my face for the cold as I pull open the front door. I step outside, into a world so blindingly white that I have to blink a few times in order to regain control of my vision. I’m wrapped snugly in my coat, ready to catch the Snowbus to get to school. I don’t even shiver as I wait, though the temperature is well below freezing. I’m used to it. After five years of our little wood being covered by ice and snow, our whole village is used to it. The younger ones don’t remember a time when there wasn’t any white outside, other than the tiny flowers that used to grow beside the road. Us kids used to swim in the lake, with the weeping willows hiding us under their curtains of hair and shutting the world out while we played. Now, the ice over the lake is so thick that it has become glass, a mirror that displays your reflection. It is impossible to see the creatures underneath. I wonder what has become of them, since they have been hibernating for so long. My thoughts are interrupted by the bus with its giant snow wheels. The engine purrs as it slows down. It is also white, not only because of the blanket of snow that conceals the top of everything it lands on, but also because the yellow paint it used to wear has faded away to nothing. Now only the base coat remains. I think, just for a minute, that it would look very pretty with its yellow against the harsh white, a smear of brightly colored paint on the blank canvas around it. The doors swoosh open, and I climb on. I am the only one. Many people have left because of the seemingly eternal frost. Many have stayed also, but they don’t live in my area. More still have taken to homeschooling. I imagine them staying at home, enveloped in a blanket by the fire, calm and peaceful as they sip hot cocoa and carefully do their math and history and science. They are learning the same things we are, but their environment would make it easier, more tranquil. I am jealous until I imagine them falling asleep. I turn to the window as the bus begins to move once again, carrying its passengers to their destination. Little wooden houses flash by my window, some with smoke coming from the chimney. The fireplace is made of stone, and the inside walls are insulated and coated in plaster, but the outside brown is aesthetically pleasing no matter what season is here. I close my eyes and remember when we had seasons. The vivid green and pink and purple and blue of spring, how the tree branches were full of leaves. The scorching heat of the summer, which became less and less until the snow stopped melting. That happened first five years ago. I force myself to think of autumn, of the leaves turning brown and orange and red and falling off the trees, leaving their branches bare. It was always beautiful when they began to change, when they clung to their branches for dear life until they were shaken off. Even now, there is a little bit of color. The evergreens persist, and little holly berries hold fast to brown and white tree limbs. It is a good reminder that not everything is cold and dead. Icicles hang off of every surface, sparkling in the sunlight. The bus approaches the school building, slowing once again to release the children it carried. I skip the last step, hopping out of the vehicle. The snow crunches under my boots, packed firmly against itself. I look around, watching the sun gleam off the snow, still fresh from the night before. Then, a single, tiny flake flutters onto my nose and melts. More follow it down from the sky, falling to meet my outstretched, gloved hand. Even though I am used to the cold, watching snow fall and feeling it on my tongue and eyelashes and nose is a beauty which I have never gotten over. At recess, a few of the older kids decide to go ice skating. I follow, even though I’m not very big. I’m at a weird, in between age. The older kids ignore me until we get to a river. It is too wide to jump over. Most of them slide carefully across on their feet, as gracefully as if they’d done it a thousand times before. Some closer to my age move on their hands and knees, or even their stomach. A few look back at me. One of the bigger girls nods encouragingly. I realize that while they all are rooting for me, I have to do this on my own. Tentatively, I put one foot on the ice. It feels sturdy but slippery under my shoe. My foot slides forward, and I pull it back towards me until it stops. Holding my arms up to steady myself, I lift my other foot and put it further out on the ice. Someone cheers. I keep focusing on not falling. I slide my first foot slowly forward, then stabilize. I move the other one. Gaining confidence, I go again and again. More people cheer as I make my way across, moving steadily, but faster than before. Finally, I lift my foot, ready to place it on the snow, but I slip. Before I can fall, hands grab me and pull me back, righting me, not letting me topple. I look up and see the girl who nodded at me earlier grinning. I am part of the group now. If winter is a time of friendship, maybe it is good that we have it year round.


#Welcome to Roundtable Thursday! Writing is so much fun, but it can also be very challenging. Luckily, there are so many other writers out there going through the exact same things! We all have unique skills and areas in which we excel, as well as places we’d like to improve. So I’d like to present a brand new weekly feature. This will be a weekly thread to discuss all things writing! And... to get to know your fellow writers a bit! Each week we will provide a topic and/or a few questions to spark discussion. Feel free to chime into the discussion in the comments, talk about your experiences, ask related questions, etc. You do not have to answer all the questions, but try to stay on-topic! *** #This Week’s Discussion Deadlines; they’re everywhere in the writing community, whether writing professionally or as a hobby. Some authors find they write better under the pressure of a looming deadline, or with constraints like a wordcount or required themes and phrases. But everyone is different. - How do you feel about writing under deadlines? Do you prefer having a timeline or goal to reach when you’re working on a project? Why/why not? - Do you prefer to have constraints to guide your writing? What about a wordcount to write under? - New to r/ShortStories or joining in the Discussion for the first time? **Introduce yourself in the comments!** What do you like to write? #Reminders - **Use the comments below to answer the questions and reply to others’ comments.** - **Please be civil in all your responses and discussion.** There are writers of all levels and skills here and we’re all in different places of our writing journey. Uncivil comments/discussion in any form will not be tolerated. - **Please try to stay on-topic.** If you have suggestions for future questions and topics, you can add them to the stickied comment or send them to me via DM or modmail! *** ###Subreddit News - Practice your micro-fic skills on or serialize your story on .


The sandwich was mocking her. Leah stared at the bread, lost in thought, hoping no one would approach her. She had been sitting alone for twenty minutes, watching the other children chatter away. Their laughter and animated conversations sliced through the air like shards of sound, but Leah remained in her cocoon of solitude, invisible among the sea of faces. Days like this, when she felt the sting of loneliness the most, were the hardest to endure. As Leah trudged through her thoughts, a voice unexpectedly broke the silence that enveloped her. “Mind if I sit here?” Leah's gaze lifted from her sandwich to meet the curious eyes of Isadora, whom she vaguely recognized from class. Was this a prank? A cruel joke orchestrated by her classmates? Or did Isadora genuinely want to sit with her? After a moment of hesitation, Leah managed to find her voice. “Uh, sure. Yep. I mean, go ahead.” As Isadora gracefully settled into the seat beside Leah, the awkward silence between them loomed over the table, threatening to smother them with it. Leah fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, her mind racing to find something to say that wouldn't make her sound like a bumbling fool. Isadora, seemingly unperturbed by the lack of conversation, opened her lunchbox and cheerfully exclaimed, “I packed my favorite sandwich today! It's grilled cheese. What did you bring?” “Oh, um, just a turkey sandwich. Nothing special.” To her surprise, Isadora's face lit up. “I love turkey sandwiches! My mom makes them sometimes. They’re great! Don’t get enough attention.” She paused to take a big bite of her sandwich. Then resumed. Her words were punctuated with little crumbs and pieces of food, and her cheeks were puffy as she struggled to chew and speak. It was both hilarious and endearing. Something inside Leah began to unravel, the tension in her body loosening its grip on her, and she found herself smiling despite her earlier anxiety. Isadora swallowed the mouthful and continued. “Everyone seems so weird about their lunch. For example, I know a girl who only eats a specific type of granola bar or the same yogurt every day. And then there's the kids who just go nuts. Like they've never eaten anything in their lives.” Leah bobbed her head up and down, still not wanting to say much. After a few seconds, she ventured a response. “Well, everyone likes different things, I guess.” “Yes, exactly. Exactly. Preferences. Hm.” Isadora took another bite, apparently deep in thought. After a while, Isadora suddenly jumped up. “I have an idea!” “What?" “You come eat lunch with me tomorrow. You don't have to say much, but it would be nice to have a friend. Besides, all the boys are scared of me because they think I'm gonna steal their souls.” Leah laughed. “You have a soul?” “Oh, hush. I'm serious. Come, have some fun. You can sit by me. The others won't care.” “Okay, sure. Why not?" Leah went back to gazing at her sandwich. “You seem pretty entranced by your lunch.” Leah glanced up at Isadora, whose head was cocked to the side. "It's the most interesting thing here." Isadora shook her head and rolled her eyes. A hint of a smile tugged at Leah's lips. “Sorry, it was calling out to me. Asking, ‘Are you just gonna stare at me forever, or are you actually going to eat me?’ And the truth is,” she gestured emphatically, “I can't quite decide. Sandwiches are serious business!” Isadora giggled, her curls bouncing as she threw her head back in delight. “Maybe a short verse about how delicious your sandwich is would persuade it. Your sandwich really does look good. Especially with those sliced pickles. Would it give you some if I asked nicely?” “Depends on the poetry, honestly. Watch.” Leah cleared her throat dramatically and leaned forward. Her slender fingers interlocked in a prayerful pose. “O dear sandwich, how beautiful you are, with your charming pickles. You have tasty bread, delicious crisp lettuce, and juicy turkey meat, which will soothe my hunger should I consume you. With a wide flourish and a dramatic pause, her impromptu performance ended. The girls fell silent before bursting into giggles. Their other classmates occasionally glanced in their direction, their expressions a mixture of surprise and annoyance. Suddenly self-conscious, Leah tugged on the tip of her ponytail. What was she doing? Acting all foolish and boisterous, making a scene, and now she had everyone staring at her, thinking what a buffoon... Leah ducked her head, her face warm with embarrassment. She had made a spectacle of herself. Again. Isadora didn't seem to notice Leah's discomfort. Her eyes shone with glee. “I can see why everyone thinks you're weird.” "Thanks," Leah mumbled, trying not to let her humiliation show. Isadora shrugged. “But I kind of like that.” Leah looked up, confused. She smiled sheepishly. Wait. Had Isadora been put off or weirded out and quit trying to converse with her? Even more, had she found her antics foolish or absurd? No. No way. Isadora wasn't laughing at her. She had liked the poem, right? A small voice in the back of Leah's mind piped up. It was a joke. Leah shook her head. No, that wasn't true. Maybe it wasn't a joke. Maybe Isadora was just trying to be nice. Leah glanced at her companion, who was happily munching away on her sandwich. Isadora met her eyes, then flashed her a toothy grin. Butterflies fluttered in her chest. The pair spent the rest of lunch swapping puns and stories and snacking while their classmates gawked, whispers surrounding the unlikely friends. Once lunchtime ended, they parted ways with a cheerful "Bye, friend!" and a beaming, genuine smile. When the school bell rang, signaling the end of the day, Leah gathered her things and went to the front of the school building for pickup. As Leah stepped out of the school, she spotted her family's white van parked at the curb, its engine idling softly. She quickened her pace and soon joined her parents and siblings in the car. With her heart as light and free as a bird, the little girl settled in her booster seat and fastened her safety belt.


Trigger Warning: Death, Grief, and Colorism The milky white mucus that would leak from her eyes had left lines carved into her face. A face I would only ever describe as hypnotically gorgeous was now contorted into a strange expression. My dull brain can’t come up with a fitting explanation for this. The only thing that comes to mind is that it was from an infection. Or perhaps the anguish of taking her final breaths. All that pain made the moisture in her body turn into an indistinguishable whiteness. It was like the clouds of her eventual resting place were already in her. Even with the aching written on every visible inch, I’d still say she was the most beautiful person. The color of her torturous infection was in direct contrast to her alluringly bronzed skin. The discharge, coupled with foundation shades lighter than her, made everyone whisper. "Ugly." It wasn’t an uncommon thing for dimwitted people to say about her. Her beauty mystified them, and with that came envy. Everyone else in my hometown had the color that comes into your bloodline when a master overpowers a slave. She was our original shade and was ousted because of it. The last time I’ll ever see her, they made her as hideous as they pretended she was. Some vomit crept into my throat as I looked upon the horrors of envy on her face. No one had even thought of shutting her eyes. Those pools of obsidian seemed out of place next to her falsely lightened skin. They no longer fit in her body, which was laid in a casket. I shiver while rubbing my hands against the cold mahogany. A splinter makes my finger leap from it. The small droplet of blood leaves a dark stain on the white cloth lining. That one speck of color is more in line with what she would have wanted to be buried in. White was a choice the town made to go against her. The vomit and pain in my chest made me do the unthinkable. I had to do it. I reached out my calloused, bloody finger to her still slightly warm face. I feel how the shea butter she always wears makes her skin so soft and supple. Her eyelids give in easily as I close them. In a time of mourning, the town always warns not to touch the dead. I spent so many days being told not to without being told why not. It was a veiled threat as successful as " don’t touch a hot stove." You have to do it to actually learn. Warnings are never enough to end curiosity. I almost want to laugh at the thought: If I touched a stove now, my fingers would blister, but I would never feel the heat. "Don’t ever touch no dead body lying in their casket. They are only for God and rest now. You go ahead and touch them; they gonna steal something from you." My grandmother repeated this to me almost every second in the days leading up to the service. As if she already knew I was going to do it. They had slapped on some ill-fitting dress before laying her in the casket. They bought the wrong makeup before laying her in the casket. Left her eyes open in the casket. They were begging for me to touch a dead body. To disturb her sleep, and in doing so, she took something from me. However, I would have gladly given her everything. "Ain’t no sense in touchin' a roach, no how." "She ain’t a roach." Saltiness fell from my eyes in my many attempts to defend my lover’s beauty. "Zama." Her mouth had formed enchanting notes the first time she ever spoke to me. She told me her name meant to try. And she had spent her whole life trying to defy expectations. Zama lays there unmoving, her eyes finally closed. I can tell she is trying to make sure I don’t cry. With that one touch, I could feel our past in her velvety skin. The tickles from the peach fuzz on her face bring me back to summer. The warmth of it brings me back to being under the sun, sitting on the peach tree in my backyard. "There’s a roach in our tree. Go get it out. " My grandmother yelled out to me as I was sweating through my clothes, leaving wet stains on my bed sheets. The summer sun was brutal that year. The last thing I wanted to do was face it and risk burning. I never imagined that once my lazy feet made it past the threshold, I would see her. Not a roach, but a charming girl climbing up our tree. I had heard about Roach many times before. But I never gave that name to the stranger I would see in town. Zama waved to me before quickly making her way to the highest branch. Her family never fed her enough throughout the day, making the tree the perfect refuge. She appeared to be maybe a year or two older than me. One day I’d be older than her, while she’s stuck at this age. That time between girlhood and being a grown woman. I learned how to climb just so I could ask her what her name actually was. That became the most delectable pastime. Every day, I risked the sun to sit in a peach tree. We ate the unwashed fruits until our bellies hurt while telling jokes and swapping secrets. The tart flesh of peaches would burst from their skin and into my mouth. That satisfying sensation was nothing compared to the first time Zama held my hand. I felt all the wonders of touch in her embrace. Her bluish-black skin made the sun and moon battle over who could show her off best. She would hold my hand under the light of both. The tingles and sweat from my palm would make her giggle. That was better than a peach too--not saccharine sweet, just right. Her clothes were tattered, but she only ever wore her favorite colors. Reds, oranges, and yellows fit in with the peaches. Red tempted the most; it clings tightly to her body like paint. Whenever she wore red, I swear dozens of peaches would fall to the ground to make room for her. And I'd smash them under my feet. They were undoubtedly jealous. Zama’s tiny frame felt like home whenever I reached out to graze it. I must be special to have been allowed to stroke my rough hands against her. On our last night together, she told me I was beautiful. A comment I was told by countless people but should have only belonged to her. I was dull. My loose curls looked silly next to her tightly coiled ones. Her hair stood taller than the trees. If it had grown any longer, it would’ve reached God. As her spirit left to greet him, he would detangle her hair and put it in braids for her. These braids would fall from the heavens to the earth, and I’d climb them. Even if the straw-like feel of them cut through my fingertips, I’d climb. Bloody, I’d embrace her before, even thinking to acknowledge God. I learned how to use these hands to climb and be with her wherever she goes. The image of her long braids and giggles in heaven pales compared to the sight of her in the casket. My hazy, tear-filled eyes can’t adjust to this image of her. When my hand finally leaves her, I let it fall to my side. There is so much we feel without even being aware of it. The light feel of air left my fingers. And before long, numbness trickled up my whole hand. When you touch the dead, interrupting their sleep, they take something from you. Zama took my sense of touch. Feeling was something that had already left me the day she died. "Was it worth losing your touch? Never being able to feel the softness of a baby's face? Or the papery feel of a flower, the prickliness of wood, or the feeling of your own skin? You gave up all that to touch a roach?'' The whispers followed me out of the church and all the way down the block until I was in front of our tree. When I rub my fingers on the bark, I feel nothing. But I am glad to have felt love once.


“Quite a headstrong people aren’t they?” General Falkyn said to his orderly as the battle raged in the distance. His orderly, Lieutenant Schmidt nodded in agreement “As headstrong as a cornered animal would be Sir”. The Geonese city of Milan had been under siege for two weeks now by the Ticonderogan army, and though its defenders tried their best, they could not stop General Falkyn’s men. Only after leveling it and her inhabitants to dust with artillery did General Falkyn make progress and force the city to plead for peace. However, pockets of resistance fought on creating a very ungentlemanly form of warfare to commence in which General Falkyn wished to see for himself. “Anyways Sir, perhaps it’s best that we make our way back to the headquarters? This area is still ripe with Geonese defenders who still have not surrendered.” Lieutenant Schmidt wisely suggested noticing the distant gunfire behind them. Fallyn however drew a cigarette from his greatcoat and observed the charred ruins around them that at one point in time must have been a quiet neighborhood. “No. I want to take a walk if you don’t mind. An officer cannot accurately command without knowing his environment. Surely command can do without me for an hour”. Schmidt then nodded “As you wish Sir”. The pair of officers then walked down the cobblestone street that was almost buried in the rubble. Nearby a group of Ticonderogan soldiers were happily looting a jewelry store as a Geonese woman and a child with a bruised head walked past them in the street. Schmidt looked blankly at the woman and her child and back to the jewelry store and spoke. “No wonder it took us two damn weeks to take the city. Our men can barely act like proper soldiers when they see something shiny come about!” Falkyn then nodded as he was looking at the men “There’s no harm in letting loose Lieutenant.. But in any case go over there and sort them out if you’d like”. Lieutenant Schmidt then walked off and approached the soldiers as Falkyn waited for half a moment. He glanced at the woman and her child walking past him. The woman held a look of fear for General Falkyn all of his kind of green-coated invaders who made sure she never felt safe again. Her daughter meanwhile held a look of pure anger towards someone who took her happiness away. Falkyn in return only looked at them with indifference until they passed away from his vision. He then noticed a shadow cast over him and saw a Genoese banner riddled with bullet holes blowing in the wind. “What a miracle”. He said to himself. His thoughts were interrupted when he heard coughing coming from a nearby building and went to investigate. When he came upon the opening he stepped inside and spotted a bloodied Geonese soldier half buried under some rubble and reaching for a rifle across from him. Fallkyn walked over and put his foot on the rifle as soon as the Geonese soldier touched it and spoke with coldness in his voice “the war is over for you. Don’t waste your breath”. The Geonese soldier then stared up at Falkyn with eyes full of hatred. “Then be done with it. I’ve lived long enough.” Falkyn only smiled as he rested his hand on the holster of his pistol. “Why waste the bullet? That wound looks fatal.” The Geonese soldier then looked down to see a bit of rebar piercing his stomach and the entire lower half of his uniform was caked in blood and dirt. “You’ve killed so many people as it is. What’s one more to your record general?” He said recognizing his rank. Falkyn then nodded. “what’s your name?” The Geonese soldier began to shake from the blood loss as he spoke “Private first class Lucio Cathero.” Fallkyn then took a cigarette from his greatcoat and stuck it in Cathero’s mouth and lit it in an effort to ease his enemy’s pain. “Well Private Cathero, it seems there’s been enough bloodshed today as it is. What will one more dead Geonese bastard give me that I don’t have already? Honestly why you people dared to resist us is an enigma to me as you’ve already been defeated before we even crossed the border.” Cathero then took the cigarette from his parched lips and blew some smoke. “I have not been defeated Sir. In fact you’ve underestimated us since the very beginning.” Falkyn cocked an eyebrow. “Is that so?” Cathero then put out the cigarette with a trembling hand. “It is exactly so. Your men have charged our positions time and time again. Only to be met with failure and death each and every time”. Fallkyn was not pleased to be reminded about his own failures and drilled his cigarette into the ground. “Seems we didn’t fail this last time then did we?” Cathero sighed “no. But I have not been defeated”. Falkyn’s laughter then echoed from wall to wall. “Your Government has fled. Your armies have been crushed and even your own people welcome us with open arms when we give them rations and medical care. How in God’s name could you call yourself a victor in this scenario?” Cathero then responded weakly as he let his hand hang to his side. “Come closer and I’ll tell you.” Falkyn then cautiously drew his pistol and squatted beside him in curiosity “go on then”. Cathero then whispered. “I consider this a victory.. because I know I won’t die alone.” With his final breath, Cathero then let go of an unpinned grenade as it rolled across the floor and exploded. Killing Falkyn and Cathero in a heartbeat. Across the road, Lieutenant Schmidt and several Ticonderogan soldiers ran to the scene only to find Falkyn’s mangled corpse laying in a pool of his own blood and Schmidt could only look upon him with horror. “Oh my God.. someone get him out of here.” The soldiers then obeyed and picked up his remains and rushed him off. Schmidt meanwhile walked past the jewelry store to see a Geonese banner still standing amongst the wreckage and he shook his head. “A headstrong people indeed Sir”. He then ripped the banner from its pole and walked away.


The plane between Ellie’s world and wherever she was now had a fuzzy quality. She could see past it, but immaterial grains buzzed across the surface, reminiscent of television static. A moment ago, she’d slid her hand through it, only to snap it back in shock when it didn’t reappear on the other side. She wriggled her fingers to make sure they still worked. The people directly on the other side of the plane were oblivious to it, so in that sense it reminded her of a two-way mirror. Those people also happened to be her parents. She could see her mum scurrying around their white-tiled kitchen, calling her name. Ellie was relieved she didn’t have to answer, and felt a renewed hot flush of embarrassment at the incident that had caused her to end up here. She wanted to curl up in a ball and cry until there was nothing left of her. At least here she could do that, and no one would disturb her, no one would force her to come downstairs with the pretext of dinner, only to be served with a dollop of excruciating questions. Her mum was running her fingers through her hair, starting to panic as she’d searched everywhere in the house to no avail. Good . Ellie thought that a day or two of distress might cause them to discover a new-found appreciation for her. Maybe they’d stop trying to lecture her, and maybe they’d finally buy her the new iPhone that she’d been asking for for months. That would wipe the smirk off Sandra Benham’s pretty little face. Her brain began to torture her by replaying the incident. She’d been walking home from school and, as usual, trying to avoid any of her classmates on the way back. That was tricky in such a small town where hers was the only secondary school and at least a third of the students lived on the council estate between Granby Road and Hove Street. Hope had bubbled up inside her at the sight of No.52 Hove Street; the ivy growing up its front trellis was soothingly familiar. It was small, but it was home. However, the hope scuttled down her trouser leg, and fled as swiftly as it had arrived, at the sound of a shout. “Oi, Frizzlet!” came the grating drawl of Sandra Benham. “You dropped something.” She hadn’t dropped anything, she hadn’t dropped anything. She was used to the barb directed at her mane of brown hair; if she could ignore them for thirty seconds, she could shut the door on the world. “You dropped your knickers for Freddie Flowers!” A screech of derision arose behind her back. “Don’t ignore us, Frizzlet, we know you did. Everyone knows you did. Did you kiss his spotty face?” “Shut up! I didn’t!” Ellie shrieked over her shoulder. Ahead of her she saw the front door to No.52 opening. No, no, no. Please don’t let her parents see this . Her mum poked her head out from behind the green door. “Even your mum knows Frizzlet!” Sandra yelled. Her mum frowned as Ellie bundled past, struggling to contain the tears in her eyes. It got worse. Her mum stepped outside and confronted Sandra. Ellie stood in the hallway and wanted to die of shame; she’d never hear the end of this. She caught her reflection in the mirror over the radiator; puffy-eyes peeked out from under her curls and she looked away in disgust. Under her breath she’d muttered to herself, “I wish I could just disappear.” The next thing she knew she was here, behind this strange film, looking in on the world. She was sure she’d uttered those words in the past, but this had never happened before. Why now? She turned away from the window to her home and examined the place in which she was standing. She hadn’t taken it in at first because it was grey and empty. There was no sense of depth, no horizon, only a foggy feeling of nothing . She took a few steps forward. There was no change in the landscape, but the transparent window showing 52 Hove Street moved alongside her. With nothing better to do she stood and watched her dad flump himself down on the couch, put on the TV and crack open a can of beer. He didn’t appear at all bothered by the apparent absence of his daughter. “Stop fussing, Jackie,” he said to her mum, “she’s probably ran out the back. She’ll come back when she’s hungry or it gets cold. If she doesn’t then it’s one less mouth to feed.” Rage ignited like a wildfire through Ellie’s blood. If that’s what he thought then maybe she’d just stay put. She was in no mood to go back to people who didn’t want her anyway. She heard footsteps, not from the window, but from behind her. She spun around, and saw two figures approaching through the grey. A tall woman in a dark overcoat and top hat was prancing towards her; prancing because she was so spindly that the rise and fall of her legs could be described no other way. Next to her was a boy, who Ellie guessed was a similar age to herself, dressed in a frilly, white frock with a ridiculous pink bow on the top of his short crop of blond hair. “Hey you, fresh girl!” yelled the boy. The thin woman elbowed him. “Don’t call her that Tabby, it’ll scare her off.” Ellie was so startled by the strange appearance of the two newcomers that she forgot her anger. “Who are you? Where am I?” she asked as they stopped before her. The woman gave a deep bow, complete with an extravagant flourish of her top hat and a rotten-toothed grin. “I’m Genevieve, and this is Tabby. We are the forgotten ones. Some call us purgatory travellers or knights of the grey realm-“ “Only you call us that...” The boy interrupted. “-But most here refer to themselves as The Disappeared,” the woman continued. She extracted a long, bony finger and placed it hard on the centre of Ellie’s ribcage. “ You are exactly where you wanted to be.” “I didn’t want to be anywhere!” “And that’s precisely where you are. Nowhere.” Ellie thought that was ludicrous, but she didn’t have a better answer. “So, you wished to disappear as well?” She pointed through her window. “Can you believe my dad is just sitting there, not bothered that I’m missing?” “Questions, questions, so many questions. We’ll have time. Why don’t we sit?” The woman flicked her streaky grey hair off her shoulder and sat cross-legged. Ellie tentatively joined her; sitting down when there was no visible floor was entirely disconcerting. “Of course, we all wished to disappear at one time or another. Some of us more recently, and others long ago. Tabby and I happen to quite like it here, so we stay.” “Nufin’ to go back for anyway,” Tabby piped in, “family’s long gone and that world was full of spiders.” A seed of dread began to grow at the back of Ellie’s mind. Sure, she was irritated at her parents, but she’d want to go back at some point, wouldn’t she? “As for your window,” Genevieve continued, “we can’t see it, just like you can’t see ours.” “I can get back though, right?” “Some end up going back, they figure out redemption, forgiveness, blah, blah blah. But ,” Genevieve gave a mischievous smile, “from here you can do things you never could back there. I think there might be someone who caused you to step into our little world. Have you ever wished an unfortunate accident on that someone?” Ellie’s brow furrowed. “Sandra Benham, yes of course, but-” “Well then, it’s your lucky day! Let me show you how it works.” Genevieve shifted behind Ellie and sent a long, gangly leg either side of Ellie’s hips. “Hold out your arms in front of you,” she commanded. Ellie’s heart was pounding, but she obeyed. Genevieve placed her arms on top of Ellie’s, and interlaced their fingers together. “No one can see or hear you through your window, but you can influence the world by pulling on the fibres of its fabric. Make as if you’re going to pick up an object.” Ellie saw a jar of peanut butter on the kitchen counter, and reached her arm forward with open palm as if to grab it. The tingle of a million microscopic pinpricks jabbed the skin on the back of her hand, where Genevieve was touching her. It was painful, but scintillating. The jar lifted off the surface and promptly dropped as Ellie gasped. “That’s incredible!” she whispered, blue eyes wide and staring. “Yes, isn’t it just?” Genevieve said distantly, as if she were remembering her own first time. “Now, let’s walk. Show me where this Sandra girl lives.” 10 Granby Road was only five minutes from Ellie’s house. As they walked through the grey nothingness, the world through the window moved too. Ellie’s legs felt weak. Countless times she would’ve given anything for revenge on Sandra, but now that the chance had presented itself there was a hard stone in her stomach. It appeared to be night in Ellie’s world, which Genevieve said would make their plan easier. Her hands guided Ellie’s to pick the lock of the front door, and stopped them from trembling. “I’m not sure we should be doing this,” said Ellie, “it feels wrong.” “Remember we aren’t in your world anymore. They can’t see us, so we’re breaking no rules or laws.” Their vision moved up the stairs of the dark, terraced house with no worry of being heard, since they weren’t really there. They did have to be careful when opening the door to Sandra’s bedroom. Genevieve asked Ellie what this girl had done that had made her to want to disappear. “She’s always spreading rumours about me, and she bullies me about my hair,” Ellie replied, picturing Sandra’s bitchy face and smug drawl, and feeling herself swell with ire. “Then why don’t we give her an unexpected haircut?” Ellie smirked. That felt like a brilliant way to punish Sandra, there’s no way she’d show her face in school with all her hair chopped off, and even if she did, she’d surely be humiliated enough to leave Ellie alone. They found some scissors in the bathroom and checked that Sandra was fast asleep, before Genevieve helped Ellie ever so delicately snip the golden locks from Sandra’s scalp. “There,” Ellie pronounced. She felt like she’d just ingested a helium balloon, light headed and joyous. This new power was a rush. She couldn’t wait to see Sandra’s face in the morning. “She spread rumours about you too, didn’t she?” Genevieve whispered into her ear. “You could always cut out her tongue.” “What!” Ellie cried. She shoved Genevieve off and jumped up, backing away from her slowly. “That’s horrible, why would you say that?” Genevieve shrugged. “Liars should be punished, don’t you think?” “Not like that!” Ellie looked around her. She suddenly realised she had no real idea who these people were, and their odd appearance, which she’d thought was rustic and charming at first, now felt grimy and cloying. Goosebumps ran down her neck, but there was nowhere to run and hide. Genevieve seemed to read her mind. “Not many places to go around here.” Ellie glared at her. “I want to go back,” she murmured. Then, when nothing happened: “I wish to go back home!” she yelled into the grey abyss. “Not as simple as that. I told you it’s about remorse and the like, you aren’t going to get out of here just because you’re scared.” Tabby joined in with a grin. “Stuck ‘ere wiv us aren’t you, Frizzy!” Ellie felt the blood drain from her face. She wasn’t wanted at home. She wasn’t wanted here. She had no choice. She squeezed her eyes shut and shrieked, “I wish I could disappear!” A wall of silence hit her ears. The noise coming through the window had gone. The sound of Genevieve and Tabby’s breath, which she didn’t even realise she could hear, was gone. She opened her eyes. Blackness. The darkest black she’d ever known. She looked down and couldn’t even see her body. Come to think of it, she couldn’t feel her body either. So this was it, the void. Here, there was truly nothing; she had finally, completely disappeared. She should feel terrified, but she didn’t. No one could reach her here, no one could trouble her. She had peace, forever.


Grandpa Joe Willoughby was the best tobacco spitter in Oklahoma City. This is what my papa told me. He told me he was a hard man who loved his moonshine and his horses. But what my Grandpa loved the most was his participation in The Annual Tobacco Spitting Competition . They say he could shoot that stuff out his mouth fast and far. My papa told me he watched my grandpa kill a man in a local bar using his tobacco spitting technique. No, wait a minute, I’m sorry. Papa told me he killed three men in a bar using his tobacco spitting techniques. Hot damn! My Grandpa Willoughby was a hell of a man! Those three men in that bar did not understand who they were dealing with. They picked a fight with the world’s greatest tobacco spitting champion. And their foolishness put ‘em in an early grave. Here’s mud in yer eye! That’s what my papa heard my Grandpa say to the last man who died. Papa told me my grandpa pulled a banjo out of nowhere and he started playing the banjo while doing a little jig after killing the three men. Everybody in the bar joined in with my grandpa and they danced with him. My papa said it was like watching a redneck version of Hamilton. They even started singing along with my grandpa’s banjo. Even the dogs in the neighborhood were howling along with my grandpa. My papa told me he played all night while marching down the street with a crowd behind him. Wild dogs joined my grandpa in the street and they danced on all fours to the sweet sound of Grandpa Willoughby’s banjo music. Hot damn! My grandpa was a hell of a man! Nobody! I mean nobody could spit tobacco as far as he could! Many men and women challenged my grandpa at the tobacco spitting tournaments, and they would lose and walk away crying like little boys and girls. An old lady tried to cheat while competing against my grandpa. She attached a miniature airgun to her dentures. You see, when she’d stick the tobacco in her mouth, she’d really be stickin’ it inside the tiny airgun attached to her dentures. So she had a tiny airgun in her mouth and she’d pull the trigger using a remote control. The airgun would help her spit the tobacco further. That slick old woman thought she could double cross my grandpa until that airgun backfired on her dumb ass! They had to drag her ass to the hospital after her airgun blew up in her mouth. That little son of a bitch malfunctioned on her. It blew her dentures out of her mouth and her dentures went sailing across the sky. That airgun also blew a few other things out of that old lady’s mouth. I saw what happened to her and it gave me nightmares for a month. She was a pretty old lady, just stupid. She thought she could cheat against my grandpa. Of course, my grandpa won the tournament by default. If you win the tournament, you get a free pig. Hell, my grandpa cooked twenty years' worth of bacon. Poor pigs. They didn’t know what was coming to ‘em. One day I’m gonna win me one of those pigs just like my Grandpa Willoughby. I’ve been practicing my tobacco spitting and I’m getting pretty good at it. This is a family tradition and I plan to carry on grandpa’s legacy. Besides the tobacco spitting, I’ve been learning how to play the Banjo. I auditioned for American Idol a year ago. I’ll never forget the looks on the judges’ faces when I started playing. I think they liked my playing even though they kicked me off the show in the first round. Oh, what the hell! Some folks don’t know what good music is these days. Well anyway, I plan to attend the tobacco spitting tournament tomorrow. I’ll be following in my grandpa’s footsteps. Sometimes I practice by playing the banjo and spitting tobacco at the same time. It’s a great way to multitask. Last week, me and the boys had a party and we drank a lot of moonshine. I drank some beers too and I pissed a lot. It was at night and I went to the outhouse to take a leak. After I got through using the bathroom, this bright light came down from the night sky and hit me in the face. I was extremely drunk that night, so I’m not sure if what happened to me was real. There was this metal ship, and it had the shape of a giant pancake. This greenish light came out of it, and it landed on me like a spotlight. Next thing I know, I’m levitating in the air. I saw these little guys with gray skin. They had big black eyes and big foreheads. They talked kinda funny. They were some mean little bastards. They kept trying to poke me in my butt with this metal rod. I remembered having clothes on before I went into the ship, and those little bastards stripped me naked within a blink of an eye. I was buck naked, but amazingly I had my banjo with me. I must’ve been so drunk that I didn’t know I had it. Those little bastards were naked themselves. They looked like gray skinned, little toddlers running around me with instruments in their hands. I couldn’t believe it, but I saw my Grandpa Willoughby, and those little bastards stole his clothes. I loved my grandpa, but it felt damn weird hugging a naked old man while drunk. Me and Grandpa Willoughby had to escape from the little bastards. I had my wife and my little girl to get back to, and my grandpa had to get back to my grandma and his horses. So we fought our way out of the ship. Grandpa Willoughby had his tobacco, and I had the banjo. Those little bastards wanted to kill us, but we killed them. Grandpa knocked a few of them out with his tobacco. When I started playing the banjo, one little bastard got down on his knees and he begged me to stop. That little bastard was crying like a wuss. Can you believe that? I think he was the leader and I told him to let me and my grandpa off the ship or I was gonna keep playing. He quickly obliged me. Before they released me and my grandpa, I grabbed one of those little bastards and I spanked him for trying to poke me in my ass with a metal rod. He was crying and apologizing. He also gave us back our clothes. We left the ship and I had my grandpa’s banjo and my grandpa had his tobacco. Those little gray bastards feared us that night. My grandpa and I watched as the pancake ship went back up into the night sky. We felt proud of ourselves. We were two kings that night. After we watched the ship leave, my Grandpa Willoughby turned to me and he said, no little alien son of a bitch is gonna mess with the grandson of the world’s greatest tobacco spitter. My grandpa dropped dead after he said that to me. I guess getting abducted by those little bastards traumatized him and he died from the shock. That’s when I knew that I had to make my grandpa proud at the tournament. I’m gonna carry on his legacy and be the world’s greatest banjo playin’ and tobacco spittin’ cowboy from Oklahoma City. Look out, here I come!! Hot damn!!


It had been 24 years since she had seen it, but the place looked the same. She, my mother, would’ve been happy to see me here, outside in the fresh air. I walked against the rough pavement, running my long fingertips against the cold marble siding of a fountain, a large statue towering over my small frame. Rubbing my hands together to keep warm, I pulled a bag of chips from the shopping bag I’d been carrying and bit into a chip silently. The cold embrace of the wind eventually guided me to a waste bin, the chip bag still half-full. It had been 24 years since I had tossed pennies in the fountain, an eager child leaning over to see her reflection, and met with another girl’s face. As I sat on the edge of the fountain, I threw crumbs to the pigeons, avoiding the water pooling inside the fountain. After a few days of seeing this girl wherever I went, my parents assumed it was another imaginary friend, someone to confide in when I was alone. The wind whipped through my hair, sending the birds back into the ashen sky. She didn’t help me though. The girl was my mirror image, just like me, a girl destined to be alone. The cold grew more intense, and people began to leave, carrying on with their regular lives, leaving me biting the inside of my cheek, letting the cold wrap itself around me like a blanket. Throughout my 4 years on campus, there wasn’t any girl running in the shadows to greet me, no hidden reflection bouncing into view. “Dedri.” My father had said that laboriously hot afternoon. “Dedri, it’s your mother.”And I was all alone at the duck pond the next year, the soft ‘plink’ of my penny against the marble fountain, a harsh reminder. Rain splattered onto my glasses’ frames, and I yanked my hoodie over my head to keep my hair dry. Despite my frustration at the world, I smiled, shrugging my shoulders from side-to-side. Maybe, if I jogged a half-mile to the subway station I would make it on time; but the rain was coming down in sticky sheets. I shivered, now regretting that my umbrella was still stuck underneath the driver’s seat of my father’s old car. Slowly, I got up to wait the rain out in a shop, but I twisted in shock at the sight of my reflection in the overflowing fountain. “Hello.” The reflection spoke, eyeing me suspiciously, a wild glint in her eye. I touched my palm to my cheek, watching as the girl in the fountain kept her hands at her sides. “I said, hello.” I swallowed my questions and whispered a silent hello to the girl, trying to touch the water where the girl rippled. “I’m not going anywhere if you were wondering. Best to head over to the museum over there past 5th avenue if you want to make sure.” With that, the girl winked and her reflection in the water disappeared. I considered forgetting that this ever happened and walk to the subway-rain or not- or call my friend to pick me up, but despite my thoughts, my feet were suddenly walking towards the museum. Some sort of imaginary friend. The museum wasn’t far from the duck pond, even in the sticky sheets of rain. Everything was clustered around one area in these parts, the familiar street signs flashing into view. Father would often guide me through the sea of people and buy us a VIP pass for the museum and the day would be spent on learning, milkshakes, and exhibits with a free piggyback ride out the back door. Today, the museum wasn’t too crowded, and only a few people were in line for tickets. I waited my turn and calmly wandered through the nearly empty halls, half-hoping that the girl wouldn’t show. Touring the museum was kind of like checking off items on a grocery list. Each aisle held a new exhibit with looming statues peering downward with glazed eyes. Carefully, I read every plaque in the mammal section, wondering how to contact an imaginary girl from my youth. Aimlessly, I found myself staring into a cracked mirror, washing my face in the bathroom when I heard a voice. “Hello, again friend.” Shuddering, I pulled away from the mirror to see the girl on the other side, waving her hand. Though it had slipped my notice before, the girl wasn’t exactly like me. She shared my freckles, bony shoulders, and a slight gap in her teeth, but her hair was neatly plaited down her back. Sighing, I tugged at my own frizzy mess and frowned at the girl in the mirror. “What do you want from me?” The girl clapped her hands as if she were calling us to order. I sheepishly hung my head and checked the bottom of each stall, hoping somebody would be there to see us. The bathroom was empty. “Now, now my sweet Dedri. That’s no way to start a conversation.” Her voice rang out in sweet melodies, causing me to lean against the bathroom sink. “Well, if we want to ‘start this properly’, what’s your name?” The girl rolled her eyes around and around over and over until I thought her eyes might pop out of their sockets. “ Children. Tsk, tsk. Of course, you wouldn’t remember-but my name’s Aja if you would like to call me such.” Stupidly, I pressed my palm to the mirror, waiting for her to disappear unlike the fountain incident, but she stayed rooted in position. “ You know, you’re quite a rookie for making acquaintances.” Gracefully, the girl flipped out of the mirror and landed in front of me on the tiled floor, her appearance just like that of a human. “ And don’t touch me, please. Your hand will go right through.” Aja guided me out of the bathroom and twirled to one side. I lowered my hoodie, giving quick glances to inspect the hallways. There was hardly anyone in the big brick building, but I had to be certain. Aja leaned against one of the stone pillars, sizing me up and down. “ My my, it’s been a long time.” Trying to squeeze the water out of my socks, I only took one glance at Aja. “I’m not a child anymore.” “ And I can see that.” Those days by the fountain were so long ago; it felt like centuries. My phone was clammy in my hands, sopping wet, but either way, it wasn’t of much use here. The reception wasn’t all too great, and there wasn’t anyone to call. Crispen and Wendy weren’t going to know I was at the museum; my closest friends were lagging back at the university before the break to catch one of those ‘break parties’ everyone was talking about on campus. “So, now that we’ve made acquaintances, what do you want from me?” Aja stood in front of a sculpture, seeming lost in thought. “ What is it that I want? No, I have nothing to want really. It’s more about what you want I’m afraid.” I rubbed the sculpture, resisting the urge to snort in public. “There’s always something to want.” Wistfully, the girl attempted to touch the sculpture, only to see her hand come out from the other side. “ Have you ever been to the harbor, or Ferry Heights annual festival? I heard the views were breathtaking.” Her voice sounded hollow as she peered at another painting somberly. And the ironic thing was; that I had stared into the water from the harbor after our first fishing trip, and won a stuffed bear at Ferry Heights festival when I was younger, my parents nearly losing me to the sea after the fishing line had yanked me forward, a rosy-cheeked bubbling child. The girl’s wanting nearly wanted me to lie, ease her pains of being-whatever she was-but I spoke to the ground softly instead. “Yes. And the views were quite breathtaking.” “ Did you know that spirits are bound to the one they care for, through life and death until they are set free?” “No, not really. I still don’t know who you are, actually.” To me, this was all a game, a mind illusion that had finally driven me insane, but I still thought of Aja as an imaginary friend, just an invisible friend to offer soft turf to stand on- a comforting pillow to rest your head upon. “ I’m your imaginary friend, so you can clearly see you didn’t have much of an imagination in your early years.” I scoffed, wondering why I was taking this to heart. “Well, I searched for you when I was younger, but you just vanished.” “ No, I was simply not needed anymore.You realize that imaginary friends have a life when they’re not with their owners-right?” She summoned a book and started to read, not letting me get a peek at the cover. “So what? You were needed now?” The museum suddenly felt like a jail cell where time passed quicker than my father’s stopwatch. How long had I been here hallucinating? What time was it? Aja didn’t seem so surprised at my outburst of panic. “ When you search, I have to come. You wanted me here, so now I’m here-kind of like an alarm clock always going off randomly.” I pictured an annoyed Aja sleeping in her bed or sipping some morning coffee when all those alarm bells began ringing. Suddenly, I felt a pang of guilt, remembering all those times I had searched for her in my younger years, including some of my older ones. But I wasn’t so sure that I was still looking for the same person. “So, you want to head outside?” I counter. “ It’s getting a little depressing out here.” I pulled at Aja, my hand barely skimming her ghostly frame, but she didn’t budge. “ No, it’d be best if we stay away from other people.” My phone buzzed in my pocket. I flipped it over to find my dad’s number on the front. He had sent me a text that he was coming to pick me up from the break party so we could have cupcakes together. Slowly, I put the phone back in my pocket and saw Aja, still leaning against the pillar, talking to me. “ Tomorrow at 7, preferably AM, but PM works too, at the museum here.” She spoke without looking at me, eyes fixed on her watch. I nodded in approval, but not to what she was saying. “No, not tomorrow, or next week. It’s about time, 24 years and all.” Aja’s book clattered to the floor, and her feet started to rise through the roof. “ But-!” Those were the last words that came out of her mouth; and I completed them myself. “But I’ll never be alone anymore” ...And that was all that mattered.


People who knew Lilah often wondered how such a poised, demure, girly girl had held down a job as a construction worker for five entire years now. It was the subject of much gossip and speculation amongst her girlfriends. This was a girl who spent two hours getting ready to go out, kept up with the latest fashions and trends, and whose hobbies included reading poetry and making impressive oil paintings of nature. More mysterious still, she professed to love her job. They would have been flabbergasted to observe her at work. This sweet, well spoken woman had completely adopted the vernacular of her rough-around-the-edges coworkers, and was known to be perfectly capable of defending herself with fiery and course wit when deserved. Her coworkers accepted her as a competent worker who fit in. As the smallest worker, she was frequently tasked with crawling into small spaces no man could ever access to complete construction of electric or plumbing. Sometimes, she wasn’t sure what they would have done without her. This, and her good work ethic, did not go unnoticed, and she was offered as many hours as she wanted to work. Meanwhile, her friends were beginning to face the reality of taking out massive student loans to pay for useless degrees in a city with a stagnant economy. “Can I move in with you?” Asked Yuri, a recently graduated Singing major who thought she’d have her big break by now. “I have a full-time unpaid internship that will make me connections, and my parents are willing to help me out a little, but I have to find a place to live in the city, and my family lives too far away.” “No,” said Lilah, a complete sentence. She was introduced to a young architect, and began dating him. He was just as intrigued by her career choice as everyone else, but she kept details to a minimum. They saw eye to eye on nearly everything and enjoyed each other’s company, going out to try Ethiopian food and having a Bob Ross date where they drank wine and painted happy trees and clouds. Regularly, they would go have a beer with friends at the bar of a centrally located restaurant. Everyone in their friend group had outgrown any youthful desire to consume alcohol in excess, so it was strange when Ettie began to slur her words following a trip to the bathroom. “Did you take something?” Lilah asked, fearing that Ettie might have been prescribed some kind of medication that mixed poorly with alcohol. Ettie confusedly shook her head, leaning on the bar. A man came up and attempted to lead Ettie away by the arm, saying things to indicate that it had been agreed upon previously that she would leave with him. Lilah summoned all her construction worker powers and cursed the air blue. She yelled such a foul stream of creative obscenities at him that even the crowded bar became silent except for the now out of place music. The creep recoiled in shock, and attempted to walk away. The crowd hemmed him in, however. The bartended immediately dialed 911. The police and an ambulance came, and the attempted kidnapper was arrested. Ettie was taken to the hospital, where she tested positive for date rape drugs. Her family and friends helped her through her difficult time, glad that it wasn’t worse. The next day, Lilah’s boyfriend, who had been thoughtfully quiet, finally said, “You were amazing. I have never heard anyone curse like that, but it was totally appropriate for the circumstances. I think I see this relationship becoming serious. Anyone who is so composed and ladylike all the time who can still stand up for their friend like that is someone I want to get to know better.” They married three years later. Lilah could have easily gotten a bachelor’s degree at this point, but instead, she became an electrician.


The soothing music and bubbling waterfall did nothing to relax me or my bouncing leg. So much for "Zen." I kept my eyes peeled on the front door of the spa and my purse clutched in my lap. The waiting room was empty expect for a receptionist, but he was behind the desk and clearly focused solely on texting. He'd be useless if things went south. I figured I could use that artsy marble statue on the coffee table to bash in any brains if *she* came through the door. *Ding.* The front door opened. My chest tightened. A man with a spray-tan and false-white teeth entered. My muscles stayed tense. "Alice?" a sweet voice asked. "I'm Tiffany. I'll be taking care of you today." Her words were like a reassuring hug I didn't know I needed. My eyes teared up as relief surged through me. I blinked them away. Tiffany led me to one of the back rooms. It was the same comforting soft greens of the waiting room complete with a fiddle leaf fig. Meditative music crooned out of the speakers in the ceiling. The lights were so dim and cozy I wondered how Tiffany stayed awake. She motioned for me to have a seat on the recliner in the middle of the room. I sat, and Tiffany pressed a button on its side. The chair whined as it slowly reclined me. "So looks like we're having a facial today, is that right?" "Yes. I, um, have a coupon." I started to rifle through my purse. "It came in the mail. It, um..." "Oh, no need. Rachel up front will take care of that. For the next twenty minutes, I don't want you to worry about a single thing." Tiffany smiled again, knocking another ten pounds off my shoulders. I teared up again. This time Tiffany noticed. "Oh honey, don't cry. What's wrong?" "Sorry, I'm sorry. I'm fine. Go ahead." Tiffany gave me a look, suspicious, but went ahead. She grabbed a syringe filled with clear liquid. "You're going to feel a few little pinches and some numbness, but this will make the whole thing more comfortable." "Needles? Is that necessary?" "No. It's just the facial can get pretty itchy. Our guests find it more comfortable with a itty-bitty numbing agent. We can skip it if you want." "Go ahead, I trust you." She smiled and delicately inserted the syringe into my cheeks, chin, and forehead. "Oof. You got a lot of tension in your forehead. Work troubles?" "I wish." "What's going on?" Tiffany spun to the counter. She poured various powders and liquids into a bowl. "Relationship troubles." "Yikes." "Yeah my boyfriend's ex is... a lot." "Exes are the worst!" Tiffany stirred the gloopy mixture and dabbed it onto my face. Despite the numbness, it felt warm as a cup of chamomile tea. I closed my eyes letting the heat sink into my bones. "What's this bitch doing? Texting him?" Tiffany asked. "Texting him. Calling him. Stalking him. She showed up at his brother's wedding. She drove four hours to crash it." "Jesus. I hope he's getting a restraining order." A weird smell wafted through the air. Iron? I continued, "Oh hell yes. It's in process. He's already blocked her on everything. But now she's resorting to threatening me." "Oh I'm so sorry. We don't have to talk about this." "She spray-painted my office building. 'Give him back or else.' No proof it was her, but who else could it be?" "That's awful." "It gets worse." The iron smell became distracting but being able to vent to a sympathetic ear was too therapeutic. "I found a dead cat inside my car." Tiffany gasped. "Nooooo. I love cats." "I haven't driven it since. I'm afraid she messed with the brakes or -- I think something's dripping." Something wet and warm dribbled on my neck and down my back. "Ope, sorry. It does that." Tiffany tucked a towel around my neck. "God, this whole situation sounds horrible." I nodded, not speaking in case I broke down again. "Have you thought of just leaving him?" Tiffany asked. "I love him." "Yes, but does he love you? Really?" I opened my eyes. She looked at me innocently. "What do you mean?" I said -- or so I attempted. The words came out weird and slurry, my lips uncooperative. Tiffany sighed and offered me a mirror. My spine went cold, and I didn't want to take it. I didn't want to look. "Tiffany...?" my lips struggled out. She shook her head, genuinely forlorn. I touched my cheek, and my fingers sunk through moist flesh, my nails tapping against teeth. Blood dripped down my hand. *My face, my face, what did she do to my face?* I moaned. I couldn't speak, my mouth turned to jelly. The woman held the mirror up for me to see the grotesque, twisted mass now sitting above my neck. She shook her head, disappointed. "You really should have just given him back.