I shivered at the reflection on my dressing table mirror. I couldn't recognise the person I had become. Trying to hold on to the edges of the table as a quake tore through me forcing my glass of water to move to the rhythm. Trying to hold my lips shut as a loud shriek fought to be released. And what shook me so bad? Memories, too many of them. Some of them I couldn't believe I survived. And the girl looking back at me, she was terrified. The tan on her skin seemed to be slowly fading into the darkness around her. Her pupils shrank to merely a spec floating in the white of her latina eyes. I wished I could hold her and tell her everything would be okay, but I couldn't lie to her. I couldn't tell her to calm down when my own heart was racing. Couldn't sing her to sleep when the only song on lips was that of death and torture and the evil that is... Sex trafficking. Why am I even here? I should be dead with each piece of me buried in different depths of the seven seas. Where my family would never find me. Where clownfish would make my skull a chamber for their eggs. Where I would be at peace. Then came a loud bang at the door. I jumped to my feet and rummaged through the table-top for a weapon. Any weapon. I finally grab hold of a pair of scissors and as the banging persists I curl up into the tightest little ball. It's how I protected myself, even though it barely ever stopped them from hurting me. "Valeria, is everything okay? You're up in five," the voice at the other end tried to calm my nerves," I know you must be panicking, but don't worry. You're going to be okay." It worked. I realised that I was not in a brothel in Amsterdam nor some perverted billionaire's luxury yacht. I was backstage at the New York Amphitheatre. I was supposedly safe and about to give a speech to thousands of young women out there. Tell them the story of how I survived the dark world of sex trafficking. About to make them believe that I made it out whole. But was I ready to lie that I didn't leave a piece of me behind. Was I ready to pretend that the scars had left my soul? Ready to relive it all? "I'll be out there in a minute," I silently muttered as I slowly rose to sit at my table. I locked eyes with her again. She seemed a little calmer, but I could still see the terror painted all over her face. Then I looked down at her lips and there was blood flowing down at both corners. I don't know what came over me, but I felt a burning desire to help her. After all she was me and I was her. I took out my handkerchief and reached out to wipe the sparkling crimson blood off her pretty mellow face. If only I had known... I happened to cut right through the silver. I could feel my hand on her face and a warm tear ran down her blush red cheeks onto my knuckles. Then she grabbed my hand and pulled. She wanted to leave that place, and fast. I resisted as hard as I could but I failed. She pulled me right into the other side of the glass and next thing I knew, I was lying facedown on a cold cold floor. The air caressing me was freezing. The stench of cheap perfume was choking. There was loud drunk chatter outside and deafening jazz music desperately trying to mute the cries of the girl next door. I felt empty and scared. I recognised these two emotions so much, I didn't have to open my eyes to know... I was back at the place I hated the most. The hellhole I was lucky to escape. The place where it all started... I was back home. As my mind raced out of control, trying to snap out of whatever illusion I was trapped inside, I heard a familiar voice. And that's when I was sure that somehow time had reversed itself all the way back to my time in Amsterdam."Valeria, are you in there?" And it was followed by three distinct knocks. "Lorenzo, is that you?" I asked with narrow disbelieving eyes as I crawled to the door. "Yeah, I brought you food," he softly said in the tone I remembered all too well,"I saw the client just leave, so I thought I would check up on you." It was him. But how could it be? He took a bullet to the head right in front of me all those years back. The mafia not only took away my freedom and my innocence, they also took the one thing that kept me sane. But by some heavenly grace, my sanity had returned to me or had I lost it even more? "But... But... But... You're not..." I stammered to tell him he was dead as I unlocked the door slowly just to be sure it was him. "Not allowed to? I know," and he walked in with a tray of sweet smelling somethings," But you know I..." He laid his eyes on me and his face dropped. He put the tray away and knelt to caress my face," What did he do to you?" I looked down at myself and saw I was barely wearing a thing, which was weird because the minute before I was in a glamorous red velvet dress. And I had bruises all over, not to mention the blood flowing down my legs. And I remembered this moment from long ago. A wealthy politician had booked me for the night and tortured me. But after seeing the condition his beatings put me in, he had ran off before finishing his time with me. And as Lorenzo looked into my eyes, holding me and waiting for an answer, I forgot everything about the new life I had made. I forgot that I didn't belong here, that I belong in the present, not this haunted past. That I was pulled in here by the girl in the mirror, I forgot it all. And all I could say was," He hurt me, Lorenzo," as I cried into his muscular arms. He held me tightly in what felt less like a hug and more like him strangling the politician. But it was warm and I felt safe. After a few minutes of peaceful, yet awkward silence, he looked into my eyes again and spoke with his eyes red," They will never lay a finger on you again, we leave tonight." As I said, in that moment, I forgot everything that was to happen after that. In that moment, I forgot what I needed to remember. I was back to being that blank little teenager, full of hope and fear at the same time. All I could feel was how badly I wanted to leave, so I mistakenly uttered the same words I did so long ago," I can't take it anymore, baby, let's leave all this terror behind, but tonight? There's the grand anniversary tonight, how will we even leave?". "Don't worry, I've got everything planned and the three of us are leaving tonight." "Who's the third?" "My buddy, Rancho, he's sick of this place too." "Are you sure we can trust him? He is the matron's right hand man after all." "The matron treats him like crap and he wants to leave this dirty world as much as we do." He sounded sure of his friend's loyalty to him saw I just kept quiet and looked into his blue eyes. I saw the tender love and care in them and just as had happened long before, I planted a deep kiss on his lips. A kiss of hope. A kiss that could say more than my lips alone ever could. I love you, I trust you and I want you to carry me home. One thing led to the other and he lifted me off the floor, placed sweet tingly kisses down my neck and placed me on my bed. Now we were lying down nose to nose after intense making out. He felt my fingers trailing down his pants, but considering my state, he stopped me and asked," Are you sure? You're hurt. Do you really want to do this?" I nodded yes and the rest was history. For a few glorious heartbeats, I was part of him, and he of me. He would look into my eyes and gently hold me as we made love. He was always careful not to hurt me like clients usually did. I swear the way he did it was simply divine. His movement had a rhythm to it and I enjoyed every part of the symphony. It was like watching a great artist paint, but instead of Da Vinci, it was him and I was his Mona Lisa. He tilted his brush at just the right angle and used only the finest of paints. He occasionally reduced his speed just to make sure his brushwork was beyond standard. And as he approached the climax of his masterpiece, he would stroke his brush with gradually increasing vigor and in a blissful blink, he was done. He would moan only at the end, loud enough to tell me I was sweet, but quiet enough to keep us from getting caught. He kissed me, and I, not knowing that this was his last time entangled in my sheets and resting between my legs, whispered," When can we do this again?" And he whispered back," When we're free, my love, when we're free." And another one of his life giving kisses landed on my lips. His hands were back around my waist and I could feel him regaining arousal. I couldn't complain when I wanted the same thing over and over again. I hung my legs on his broad alluring shoulders and he kissed both legs all the way down... But in the middle of paradise, I heard a voice in the hallway. A voice that still brings all the nightmares back, it was the matron." Lorenzo, Lorenzo," he looked up at me with his face all wet," it's the matron, hide!" And he erupted from the bed into the closet. I quickly threw his clothes under the bed and sat there, nervously anticipating her entry. And without a knock she burst in like she owns the place and in her defense, she did. "Hello, my pretty American," she spoke in her sickening Southern French accent," Have you been a good girl today?" I looked down and nodded. "Get dolled up because tonight, you're performing and all eyes will be on you!" And she left, banging the door as she walked out. Lorenzo broke out from the closet in only his briefs. He gave me a confused look and ordered,"You can't perform tonight!" "If I don't they'll kill me," I said under my breath as I pulled my rough thin blanket as if to hide myself. "Don't you get it, Val?" He said as he paced around the room," This ruins everything, baby. I only want the two of us to be free and start a family somewhere out there." Then he came onto the bed and crawled closer. He held my face in both his hands gently and said in a calming tone," Am doing this for us. You can't perform." And I looked away, I couldn't give him an answer. The matter at hand was beyond me. And I thought it over, an escape plan with half a chance of success or my life. I made the same mistake I made so many years ago and I chose... My life. It was time for my performance. As I walked to the pole I spotted him in the midst of the many of the repulsive perverts that frequented this hellhole. That was an undying quality of his, he was a diamond in the rough. I quickly broke eye contact with him as I could not bear to see the disappointment in his eyes. And like I was told to do, I danced my heart out like every other night before that. When you're forced to do something for two whole years, it kinda grows on you. A bullet was fired and I fell from the pole. I wasn't shot, but the sound startled me. Everyone was running every which way and I tried to spot Lorenzo again, but he seemed to have blended into the thick crowd of expensive suits and ties. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder and I looked back, it was him. "Take my hand, let's go," and we ran through the crowd. He took me to an emergency exit and we were out of the building. But all of the sudden, we stopped. I looked at him and asked," Why are we stopping?" "Rancho, he was supposed to bring a car," he said. "That won't be happening, Lorenzo," Rancho said as he came up from behind us. We slowly turned back and were met with guns pointed at our faces. Rancho was with her, the matron. She was pointing her gun at me with an evil old hag smirk on her wrinkly face," You thought you could run from me that easily? Well, as we say in France, think again. On your knees, you fools!" "Rancho, brother, put down your gun, please," Lorenzo pleaded as we slowly went down on our knees. But as he spoke to Rancho, he slowly slid a gun into the back of my lingerie. I figured, he was the one who fired the bullet as a distraction. I didn't resist and I adjusted my waist so it would not fall out. Stripper lingerie can be really disappointing at times. "Hands where I can see them," Rancho yelled at him as he went closer to my love. "And you, Valeria. I trusted you," the matron said as she put her gun away," You are our most seductive and celebrated dancer and that isn't enough for you? Once Rancho blows your lover's brains out, I'll have him torture you the same way your favourite client does." She was referring to the visitor from earlier on. The was a frequent at this brothel and he was merciless. But I didn't care about that, I couldn't let them take my Lorenzo's life. So in that second I made the another deadly mistake. One that bought me back my freedom, at a hefty price. I took out the gun from behind me and shot at Rancho. I had never held a gun before so the bullet only scratched his arm. But he was down for a second so I, at lightning speed, pushed the matron away, grabbed Lorenzo and ran. It was while we were running for our lives that I heard another gunshot. I looked back and saw him fall to the ground. Nevertheless, I kept running, tears running down my cheeks, but still running. Rancho and the matron tried to shot me, but I managed to escape. I got to a hidden alley and I stopped to rest. My breathing was out of control and my head was spinning. I was sobbing my eyes out and then in a fit of rage shot at the wall in front of me and I screamed," Lorenzo!!!" Then all I saw was black. I opened my eyes and found three figures looking down at me. My manager,Laura, my sister, Vanessa and my mom. I was in my dressing room again. "Valeria, are you okay?" Laura asked," what happened? your speech is in a minute." "How can you ask about her speech when you can see the condition she's in?" My mother scolded Laura," she's not doing it!" I was glad I was back and as mother scolded Laura, I drifted away in thought and realised I had a lot to be grateful for. I was still alive and about to tell my survival story to millions of young girls. I was about to tell them how to protect themselves from the same, about to give them hope and affirm to them that being a girl wasn't a crime. That the people who do these sorts of things to girls must and will pay. I was an inspiration and regardless of my past demons, I had the power to save so many other souls. And I felt my previous anxiety fade. I was ready. I sat up and said to my mom," Don't worry, mima. I'll be okay." And kissed her on the cheek and stood. As I walked on to the stage, the crowd went wild. I gave a brief smile at their supportive affection for me and I began," If you told me five years ago, that I would be standing here in front of all of you lovely people, I'd have slapped you crazy." And they all giggled. "Because I lost all hope, I lost myself. But now, God has given me back what the devils tried to steal, my life and my happiness." "Just a few minutes before now, I didn't know if this speech was actually going to happen, but I was reminded of how much I had to be thankful for." "That is why I stand before you tonight, to tell you a story. Not just any story," I said to intrigue them as I walked across the stage," the story of how I fell into the lion's den. Of how I suffered, then in the middle of that suffering got delivered and how I found a love that went as fast as it came." "A story that doesn't deserve any other beginning than... Once Upon A Nightmare."


Her eyes had the kind of wild you only dream about. The intense ferocious roar that you could see miles away. Her hair had the kind of fiery you only imagine. Like fire, the tendrils flowed around her shoulders and down her gently back. The only difference was the color- her curls had the lightest ombre of blue, and even from where I stood it was clear no dye could get the magnificent shades her hair held. Her skin, pale, almost translucent in the dying rays of sun struggling to break the clouds, glowed freely. The sweet tenderness of her pose, how elegant and free she was, meant something. She was a beautifully cold sight to witness. She was startling and sweet and innocent but there was something about her. The sand beneath her toes struggled to be seen, wrapping closer and closer to her ankle, a small wave etched into her skin. Light blue, almost too small to be seen- yet it could not escape my keen eye I suppose- and the white sea foam at the ends almost didnt show up on her skin. I sighed in true contentment as I watched her. The beautiful emerald and blue sky stretched far across the horizon. She started it out softly. Her voice barely rose above a decible. The roar of the tide drowned it out almost completely, but never fully. She giggled, before her calm voice rose gently above the crash of the sea fighting itself and in a flash it was still. I felt a calm I had not felt in such a while i forgot the feeling. Everything crashed back to reality as her voice sung so clearly and purely I did all I could not to fall deeper in love with the beautiful sounds and sights of the girl. The sea seemed to swirl and twist with her melody floating through the air. It drifted and floated towards the sea. The sea mist brushed around her like a cool blanket. She welcomed the embrace with open and outstretched arms, her grace moving freely beyond the human race. She turned to me with a smile pulling the corners of her lips up. I didnt know her, yet I felt safe. Maybe I did. She was familiar, a warm touch on my cold cheek. Her startling blue green eyes, ringed with grey, caught mine as she began to dissolve in the mist. I startled, though it was never a real surprise. "Its time for me to go home," filled my heart without a care, her words cocooning me in a sweet sense of love and comfort with a hint of reckless fire. Home. For she was the sea, and I was only there long enough to enjoy it dearly. And with a long crash as the curl of the wave arched its proud neck and carried the mist into the sea foam, she was gone but never to be forgotten. Day after day I would come to enjoy adventuring into the sea as her protection would always surround me, even in the deepest waters. Oh, I will never forget the girl. The girl in the waves. The girl of the sea. And the hum of her melody.


I watched her purple trail leave the atmosphere. I ran to James and got on my comms while tending to his shattered leg. "Edith, what the hell are you doing?" "The only thing I can do, Val. It hurts too much. I'm too tired." "You're not talking about the energy, are you?" "My whole life... I've fought for people. I fought for my world. But I can't do it anymore." "Then retire. Don't do this. Edith, get back here!" "That won't work. You know that. This life always brings us back. Well... Not anymore. Not me." "Edith, people care about you. Your daughter is seven! What am I supposed to tell her?" "Tracie. Oh, God. I'm sorry. Tell her I'm sorry. Tell her I-" I watched as the Exodus exploded. "Edith? Edith!" I shouted. "No!" I saw several things falling from the sky. They all landed in front of me. I shielded myself and James with Black Ice. I went into the debris field and looked around. Right in the center, the sword of Lady Thunder stood, hilt deep in the Earth. Like Excalibur waiting for the next king. James sat up. "What happened?" He called. I went back to him. He repeated himself. "She... She took out Exodus. Edith did, I mean." "Oh, that's good. Did she kill the big dude, too?" "Yeah. He's a puddle." "Good. I bet she can't wait to see Tracie again." He said. I hesitated. He noticed. "Wait... Where is Edith?" "She's..." I choked up. "The Exodus beam, when she absorbed it... I guess it was too much. She felt ready to blow. So... She went to the Exodus. She's gone, James." I said. James let his head fall back to the ground. "Oh, God. Tracie..." "I don't think I'm gonna be able to look her in the eyes. She's seven. And her mom is dead." "Let's go. Tracie's at HQ. Let's go there." He said. I nodded and picked him up. I activated my teleporter on my belt and the portal shimmered to life in front of us. I stepped through and met Derek and Tracie at the table. Tracie was drawing with crayons, and Derek was looking at her with a lot of pain in his eyes. He looked at us. So did she. "Auntie Valerie!" She said happily. I loved when she called me auntie. She came to me and hugged me. The portal closed behind me. She looked around me. "Where's mommy?" She asked so innocently. I looked at Derek. He looked down at the table. He couldn't bring himself to tell her. Not that I blame him. Tracie was more hopeful and bright than her mother. I set James on the table and he sat up. I got on my knees and got at her level. "Hi, Tracie." "Hi, Auntie!" She said again with a smile. "Where is my mommy?" I hesitated. "Well... You know your mommy is a hero. She saves a lot of people." I said. "Yeah! She said she's super-mom." "Well, your mommy was tired. She took too many hits. She got hurt." Tracie was confused, and I was tearing up. "Tracie, you precious girl. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." I said, starting to cry. Tracie couldn't seem to figure it out. "Why are you sad?" She asked. She dropped her crayons and paper and hugged me. "Don't be sad." She said. I pushed her off me. "Baby... I failed your mom. She's gone. I let her down." "She's always at other planets," Tracie said. "That's not what I mean. I don't know... I don't know how to say it." James slid off the table and slid over to us. "James, you're hurt." "You're hurt worse. Let me." He said. "Hey, little firecracker." He said to Tracie. "Why is Valerie sad?" She asked. I hugged her again, holding onto her tightly. I wanted to protect her forever. "She just loves you a lot. So she's sad because she doesn't want to hurt you." "She's not hurting me." "I know. But... There's something about your mommy you have to know." He said. I looked into her eyes. She was nervous. "Where is she?" "She got hurt. She... She's gone. Forever. She can't come back." He said. She processed what she heard. "Why?" She asked, scared. "I... She died. She sacrificed herself." He said finally. Tracie understood. She started to cry. She wailed. I held her tightly, letting her cry into my shoulder. I rubbed her back. "I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so sorry." I said. I stayed there with Tracie for a long time. I picked her up and carried her to a chair. Derek took James to the infirmary. "Auntie?" Tracie asked through her crying. "Yes?" "I miss my mommy." She said. That line left me speechless. I felt like my lungs were frozen. I kept her close to me as she cried. "I miss her too," I said after a while. In an hour, Tracie tired herself out. I carried her to my room and set her up in my bed so I could keep an eye on her. Edith had no family records, so it was the moment I set Tracie in my bed that I decided I would adopt her. Her father had gotten close to Edith to try to take us apart from the inside out and nearly succeeded. He hadn't planned to get her pregnant, but apparently, Edith had wanted for a kid for a while. It was when the father put the child at risk when Edith realized he was a bad man. When he threatened Tracie... I was ready to freeze him right then and there, but Edith turned him to ash long before I could. I looked at her, so peaceful and comfortable. I swept her hair out of her face and put the covers over her. "You still have me. You will always have me." "I promise.


After a night of fitful rest, Madeline awoke with a start. *Something was wrong!* Freezing, she listened closely. Besides her own shallow breaths, she could just about make out the sound of someone else breathing. At least it *sounded* human. She couldn’t remember ever having *heard* a Poiloog breathe, other than the strange rasping sound they sometimes made as they died. A creaking floorboard confirmed her suspicion. She was halfway to standing by the time she heard a familiar voice. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to wake you!” Catching herself before she put too much weight on her bad leg, Madeline sagged back onto the sofa. “Lena?” she sighed with relief. “What are you doing here?” “We figured it’s best to head out as soon as possible -- should be able to put enough distance between us and the meeting place today.” She walked further into the room as she spoke, setting her pack down on the floor. “Then we won’t need to move on again for a while, and we can get you properly rested and healed.” Madeline glanced out the cracks in the curtains. Although there was some light breaking through, it was still the greyish-blue of predawn. “So you’re an early riser too, huh?” “When I have to be,” the woman chuckled. “But if it helps, I got a similarly rude awakening from Billie. They were very eager for me to check on your injury. May I?” “Go ahead.” Lena stooped to grab a few things from her pack while Madeline pulled her trousers down far enough to make the wound visible. The doctor worked as quickly and effectively as before, her touch firm but gentle. In a matter of minutes, the injury had been cleaned and redressed. When she’d finished packing away her things, Lena turned to ask, “Do you need anything? Food? Drink? Or are you good to go?” “Errr...” Madeline considered herself, trying to listen to her body’s complaints instead of suppressing them as she usually did. “I should probably eat something, but I think I’ve got plenty.” “Alright then. I’ll let Billie know. Then they’ll probably come and bother you so... Be warned.” A wry smile tugged at Lena’s lips. “And don’t dilly-dally.” “I wouldn’t dream of it!” Madeline chuckled. \ She was ready just in time for Billie’s face to appear at the door. “All good?” they asked. “Yep.” As she started limping over to them, they dashed forward, grabbing her bag and slipping their arm into its now familiar position under her shoulders. Soon, they were on their way. The day passed similarly to the one before. Lena kept her distance, sweeping the area they were travelling through in preparation for the slower-moving pair and keeping in contact via walkie-talkie. For the most part, that left Madeline and Billie alone. They passed the time in quiet conversation, wary of making too much noise lest they miss the hum of an approaching Poiloog ship. Though she felt as close to Billie as she ever had to anyone, Madeline realised it was the longest she’d ever spent in their company, for fear of drawing the Poiloog’s attention. They might have stayed up all night talking via radio, but never this long in person. And never while in such close proximity to each other. She could feel the ripple of her friend’s muscles under her arm and the warmth of their skin next to hers, smell the sweat built up over the day practically carrying her, and see practically every pore in their olive skin. It made Madeline conscious of what she must smell and look like. With her injury, everything felt like so much more effort than normal, and she was sure it showed. But she was equally sure that Billie would never judge her for that. That was if they even noticed. She couldn’t imagine her friend was paying her anywhere near as much attention as she was paying them, busy scanning the streets for signs of danger as they were. Over the course of the day, they paused a couple of times at Lena’s instruction. Whenever she heard a Poiloog ship, she’d let them know. Then, Billie would hide Madeline somewhere safe before retreating to a nearby building in the hope they would avoid detection. It was a system that seemed to be working, though Madeline couldn’t help but feel that they’d got lucky so far. And soon, that luck would have to run out. But, despite her misgivings, the journey passed without serious incident. By the time the sun was grazing the horizon, they’d reached the outskirts of a new city. Lena scouted out the houses again, selecting a few that she deemed the right balance of proximity and distance. While she kept watch, Billie helped Madeline into the middle of the three dwellings. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” they asked as they half-carried her to the sofa. “I feel like I should be here with you in case... Well, in case anything.” “Of course,” Madeline replied. “As much as I might enjoy your company, I do need a break every now and then!” Although it was said in jest, she instantly regretted the words. Why would she say something so completely untrue? “Besides,” she added hurriedly, “it’s safer this way. You know it is.” Billie sighed. “I just wish...” “I know. Me too.” A sad smile pulled at her lips. “But we’ve got the walkies. You can check in any time. And I promise I’ll let you know if I need you.” “Alright.” They nodded before looking around the dishevelled living room. “Do you need anything before I go?” “I’m all set,” Madeline replied, patting her bag lightly. “In that case, I’ll leave you to it.” Unbidden, something rose inside her that she couldn’t bite back. “Billie?” she called out after them. “Yes?” They turned back to her, eyes wide. “I just wanted to... to say thank you.” Madeline paused, taking a deep breath before plunging onward. She’d started now, so she may as well finish. “You changed me and my life for the better when I met you. I don’t think I’d have coped without you, to be honest. And now, all this.” She gestured at her leg. “You’re a literal lifesaver. So thank you.” Billie’s eyes widened further still, boring into hers. Madeline glanced away, embarrassed by the outburst. The creak of a floorboard warned her of their approach seconds before strong, warm arms folded around her. “I’d do so much more, Mads. You know that,” they whispered, breath tickling her neck. “Thank you for being in my life.” Slowly, when the shock had worn off, Madeline returned the embrace. The pair remained like that for what felt to her like a flash of eternity. When Billie eventually pulled back, their eyes were swimming. They muttered, “Sleep well, Mads.” Then, they hurried out the door. Alone, Madeline became acutely aware of her racing heart. And then there was how her skin tingled where Billie’s arms had been moments before. In a way, she felt as if she was still held in their warm hug. But as the corners of her mouth lifted further and further, reality came crashing back. Given the world they were living in, how could she possibly be indulging a silly little *crush*? And worse still, she needed Billie. Not just because of her injuries, but because of everything else. The support. The connections. The knowledge. She definitely shouldn’t do anything to jeopardise that. Besides, from what she’d seen, Billie seemed to have a way with people. She didn’t want to just be another in a long line of conquests. Pushing the foolish thoughts out of her head, she lay back with a *humph* and closed her eyes. But no matter how much she *decided* she wasn’t going to think about it, her mind had other ideas. It looked like she was in for another long, sleepless night.


This place was once home, or at least, Skie thought it was, alive under the roof of her rumbling years caught in the cobwebs of the cellar. The crystal chandelier was still as dazzling as starlight, glistening like a foreign galaxy above, reflecting the youthful, curious eyes of Skie’s once future nostalgia. It was here that she became who she was in the guest room of her ancestors' home. Plastered with pink floral paper and cheap, fluorescent candelabras, Skie pictured this empty room as it once was: filled with laughter, love, dolls, and books: everything she needed to be the studious mischief-maker she knew herself to be, the way her grandmother saw her. The same remaining gold-encrusted windows of a cotton king were a mere parlor trick for the masses: her wide eyes lit like a flickering flame in the memory. As for the diamond mirror, Skie could see the curtains behind her move like dancers in a dead ballroom from decades before, something she could not quite picture with her whole heart, yet tried. It was nothing short of painful fun, cast away in the cloth containing the remnants of the storm that shook the kingdom. And this specific towering torrent of all the terraces took the hit. “Please, don’t leave me, Nana, I just wanna be with ya, like you promised you would be,” an adolescent Skie cried, with tears cascading from her curled lashes to her clementine-charcoal cut. There was no more anguish she needed to hide- the war was a time for fear and sorrow. And death: but not just blood and bones, but broken hearts and bonds, severed with the baron distance between souls. It boiled her blood like a melting pot of gumbo from a crawdad feast, a tradition in the manor she loved almost as much as she loved her darling grandmother. “We will be together soon, child,” Lily Jane responded, holding her granddaughter’s clammed hands in her own. Pulling a jewelry box from her house dress fur, she clamped the young fingers around the velvet frame, kissing the head of her kin. “I will miss you, turtle,” Lily trembled, hugging her child in the nooks of her arms. “I‘ll always sing for you, Bluebird,” Skie smiled, as her grandmother pushed her away, behind the door of a horse-drawn carriage. Her grandmother’s fate forever remained a mystery to her. Skie rubbed the warm glass from her silent eyes at the sight of a familiar painting in tatters on the wall: the living history of a ruinous ransacking, and she never really knew why. Reaching her rough, slightly wrinkled hands into her denim pockets, she plucked her gifted chest from below a zig-zagged zipper and held it to the beating of her breast. Lifting the lid, her eyes widened like they did every time before: to the graceful angel playing her harp on a cloud. The music was a memory of the joyous life she once lived: a life that disappeared into thin air the way her family did: the way her Bluebird did. Nostalgia sank into her bones and seeped into the surrounding, familial smells of the plaster ceilings and decadent doorways, now darkened with the empty bliss of abandonment. This place was no longer home to anyone but the ghosts of the past generations, now grounded in sullen graves. Skie was alone in the ruins of her runnings, and in the routines of her clockwork cheer with the rising and setting of the sun. “Who am I to you, Bluebird? I don’t know if your turtle is still here,” Skie paced, hoping for a sign from the fathoms above in the cloudless blues of the serene sky. “I love you Lily Jane, and don't you forget it.” She rubbed her fingertips across the painting in tears, remembering the blueprint of her childhood. Not a symbol anywhere else of it remained: not even in Skie’s reflection. It almost seemed too distant to have happened. “You skank, have you lost your mind,” Lily Jane shouted over the railing to the ballroom floor, glaring at her daughter Clara King, a woman of rebellious, wild nature. A nature of reckless loving and whim: the very nature that landed her a child of wedlock, a pregnancy of premature measures. This was an unthinkable humiliation to Lily and her family, they did have a reputation to withhold. “But mother, I love George and he promised to pay his dues to his child, whatever the cost. It is not as bad as y’all be thinking. Just hear this once again and I will be free from your world, by Jesus, I will,” Clara contested, rubbing her hairline once over with the comb of her fingertips. She knew she had made a mistake, but she wasn’t going to admit it: especially not to her mundane and traditional mother. Lily Jane never wanted anything to do with change. In her eyes, women were homemakers in the making, just misled by fantasies and whimsical theories of evolution and industrial advancement: there was nothing that needed to change in her eyes. It wasn’t broken, so why bother fixing it? She hated hearing that women were more than that these days. “That man is a no-good cheating criminal from a family who is all the same, and I thought you would have known better than to tangle yourself up with the help. He’s an idiotic boy of ideas and theories that only enchant the maiden's wallet and get her a family before she even seals the deal! You have brought this on yourself, thinking that your juxtaposition was a delicious sight to the kingdom, well now it looks like you’ve seen it. Good for you, child. I hope you roast in the devil’s deathbed with that George from the north with a mouth bigger than a brain!” Lily’s face was a flaring red, burning under the candle-lit chandelier, refracting the rain from the elegant lattice sill. The sky was crying for her, as it would seem, with not a chirp of the sparrows to dote on. The haze of gray was no darker than the fog of her anguished eyes, sobbing in pure embarrassment: she wished she raised her child better, to be smarter, wiser, with just a hint of logic. She had failed as a parent, as a mother and a daughter alike. And she knew that in nine months, her own Clara would do the same. She had birthed another reckless trouble into this sophisticated world of willful greed, as sharp as a dagger in the pulsation of her thumping heart. “Well, I suppose I just tip the scale, don’t I mother?” “Maybe you do. We just don’t make the ends meet the way they should.” “I guess I’ll just be off then,” Clara whispered, pushing back the raindrops from her eyes as best she could, but her mother let the water fall. Was this it? The wallpaper seemed to shrink around the frayed edges, leaving nothing but the foundation of a concrete chapel leaning into the hurricane winds of the southern storms. Yet, this fortress was far from falling apart: in fact, it seemed to keep Skie together. This palace represented who she was and who was a part of her in another life: a glorious life, long misplaced. While lighting the hanging chandelier, she noticed how the flames glistened like a bottle of sparkling champagne. “This brings it all back, doesn’t it Bluebird,” Skie muttered into the ceiling, envisioning her reincarnated life with love in it. Lifting the lid of her jewelry box, Skie hummed along with the familiar melody like a lullaby, singing softly to the beating of her laced lungs. Her home was entrenched inside the soft beat. Rubbing her fingers along the chilled lip of her treasure box, the dancing angel flipped to the force of her palm on the right rotation, turning an encryption to the outside air from underneath. Flabbergasted and surprised, Skie couldn’t help but explore the hidden element of her grandmother’s only living legacy: what she wanted her dear child to one day discover. A sudden tap at the door knocked Lily Jane straight out of her cushioned loveseat, “James, would you check the foyer for our midnight visitor?” A man in a black suit pulled open the gold, creaky knob at his employer’s request, only to reveal none other than a basket, crying in the blistering cold of the winter wind. “Bring it to me, James,” Lily called from the heat of the hearth before her feet. Upon uncovering the wicker-handled lid, Lily couldn’t help but collapse to the floor in agonizing pain: and staring back at her were the second generation eyes of her runaway Clara. Running to the courtyard gardens of the manor, Skie needed to catch her abandoned breath in the clouds and honeysuckle of the towering vinyl archway. The cold, metallic gleam of the golden frame sent a chill through her spine: it was a riddle. THE KEY ENTRENCHED IN HOLLYS PAVED, A QUESTION UNKNOWN AND EVIL ENSLAVED Skie must have read the scripture over a dozen times from start to finish, like a record on repeated skip. Why would this have been left to her by her grandmother, and what did it have to do with Foxglove Manor? Pacing throughout the courtyard grounds, Skie made her way to a cemetery of faded rock, destined to be lost with the hands of ticking time. Planning each step with great caution, she made her way through the rows of deceased daughters and sons, placing a single-flowered dandelion at the foot of each name. James, Johnathon, Clara, Holly. “Tell her to be quiet, my lord, please. The sound is more dreadful than a dying mountain goat in a spring avalanche.” “I’m sorry Madame, but the child is rather ill with hunger,” responded a nursemaid, old enough to have been Clara’s governess many moons ago. Lily sashayed over to the nursery from her study across the hall, a Victorian mundane coop to asymmetrical butterfly’s wings, swinging from the hallowed sphere of the antechamber. Lily tried hard not to look squarely at the array of Arabian shapes and shades. “Give her to me,” she scolded, taking the child into the crook of her elbow. The nurse bowed as she climbed out of the room and into the thickness of the molasses hall, making it even more difficult for Lily to scold her to a point of potent pleasure. But this time, she sang to the child a song of hope, plague, and fertility. She sang her a song of repentance. Foxglove Manor was for two types of people: the respected and the cowardly, like a cycle of dependence and service. The long line of slave owners and cotton royals made their true mark of each level, with a gold staircase and crown molding to seal the deal of disgusting wealth. These were the respecteds, going so far as to kill to keep a secret, with only the silent servants as unseeing eyes. Skie felt as though the eyes of the stone were focused on her, zoomed out from the years in the barren sandstorm winds. This was it. Crouching to the engraved letters, Holly Daniels McKinney seemed to be a forgotten name of history in a place unknown to the outside world, except for Skie. She recognized the name as more than a century old. Could it be that easy? Rubbing her fingers along the weathered tomb, Skie noticed a number upside down in the year of the woman’s death. Pushing away the wild foliage, she turned the number right side up to the fact she knew to be true. “Curious,” she exclaimed, just as the ground began to shake under her feet. Falling on all fours, she closed her eyes and sheltered her head with her hands as she fell through the ground like a raindrop from the clouds. The collapse of the cavernous cemetery seemed to be something from a historical novel, an Egyptian treasure secured at the bottom, but what Skie found was far from it. It had been a wonderful vacation to the Middlelands, as she liked to call it, in a world drenched in crater lakes and evergreen glades of green fir flames. “Are you packed, darling,” Lily Jane asked through a thin tent flap no more extravagant than the dirt grass and peat moss itself. But all Skie wanted for her birthday was a camping trip with her Nana, and of course, Lily had to come through, especially because of the life her daughter gave her grandchild. The orphan wanted relations the way she never had with her flesh and blood: Lily had to make up for the terrible daughter she raised. “Ready, Bluebird” the child responded, all dolled up in pigtails and charm bracelets, like Barbie straight from her plastic wardrobe: Lily absolutely adored her. “I have a surprise for you, darling,” she whispered into her granddaughter’s bejeweled ear as she handed her a package wrapped in the same green velvet fabric she made lopsided gowns out of in the ballroom. Skie’s sole excuse was “it spoke to her”. “You haven’t had much of a family besides me, Skie. This gift holds the key to your very existence and breath in this wood. You are one with Foxglove Manor.” Every night under the butterfly lampshade lit with a dim kerosene flicker, Skie relished in the genealogy of the book’s thick, parchment paper like a scroll from the library of Alexandria. She cherished the book, keeping it hidden and safe in the pillowcase under her very head each night. Nothing would come between her and her family, and she meant it literally. She eventually came to memorize the names on each page: Dolly, Mason, Ivan, Holly, the list went on like the Bible. She finally felt as though she was one with Foxglove Manor. When Skie opened her hazelnut eyes, she could barely hold her tongue as she yelled in shock through the layers of solid dust. “What kind of sick joke is this?” Just as she was about to forget her French filter, a glimmering portrait caught her eye. “Wow.” “Hold still darling, or Monsieur Nelson won’t get your profile right.” “Hey Mr. Nelson, I like your dress and top hat!” “This, Mademoiselle Skie, is a beret, not a ‘top hat’,” the artist scoffed, rubbing his horsehair brush across the yellowing canvas, “And child, not a dress, but an apron for the shell paints.” “My sincere apologies, Monsieur, she has never been painted before,” Lily Jane stated, adding the slightest tinge of embarrassment to the sympathetic mix of her silky voice. It would seem to Skie as though she was never angry, or even, that she didn’t know how to be. After the several-hour ordeal, Lily and Skie took a walk in the garden, sharing secrets and stories like they always did. And there it was, hanging just above her sewn-up hair like a stag head on the wall, showing proudly the hunt at the manor decades ago. A swell of tears came to Skie’s eyes as she stared at her grandmother’s face for the first time since their parting. Not even words had been shared that day, and Skie regretted not even saying a simple ‘thank you’ to the only family she had truly ever known or had for that matter. Weaving her way through the maze of sod and rubble, Skie touched the face of her elegant Bluebird dressed in a fur cloak over a ruby red ball gown only seen on the occasional eve of her favorite festivities. Skie pictured her own soft hands in her grandmother’s pearl-gloved hands, like the Virgin with a sinner under white fallen snow: pure magic. After making her way past the painting, she noticed a golden wardrobe closet strung on fading sketches with flowers on a bundle of sullen ivy. The wrinkle in time had been resurrected with the masses. “Now darling, as this gown was Great Aunt Holly’s willed to be, it shall be passed down to you,” Lily Jane pet, braiding the hair of her second chance child. “I don’t like wearing animals, Nana,” Skie interrupted as the tears flooded her whimsical brown eyes. She liked to pretend that her grandmother was wearing a living bear still intact, not a dead one reduced to a bellowing fur pellet. “Alright then, maybe not the cloak, but you will have this ruby dress.” “Nana, whenever I think of you, I think of that dress. Is it magic?” “It has the power to keep people connected through love. Just as I loved my darling Aunt Holly, you will forever love me the very same way.” Skie couldn’t help but gush at the thought that she and her Nana would be together forever, one way or another. It was a power that seemed to vanish over the hazy years. There was something special about the closet, Skie could almost feel it the minute she settled her gaze on the wonderous glint of the wardrobe. Pressing her fingers to the hollow drawers of the chest, she noticed a knob was missing on one of the levels. Tracing the outline of the puzzle piece, she noticed its immediate similarity with the music box her grandmother had given her at a time of comfort and golden memories. It was nothing but nostalgia now. Skie untucked the gift from her pocket and placed it in the exposed wood, mimicking a jigsaw at its finest. She turned the makeshift stub to the side, cracking the lid of the rectangular secret. Excitedly, she forced her hands into the unknown and pulled out a ruby red cloth protected in bearskin fur. She was finally one with Foxglove Manor. She had reunited with her Bluebird.


You love being the center of attention. You love being adored by the rest. You’re kind and sweet and caring and your personality is what makes people want to be around you. You’re also smart, you know your stuff, people want to work with you, people enjoy hearing your ideas and seeing you get so excited over future projects. They love your smile. They love your face. They love your body. You love that. You know your smile is a radiance of good energy, people like your company, they like your aura. Your face seems to be molded by goddesses of beauty, carved with delicate features and lovely touches that bring a sense of pleasure admiring you. Your body is to be a temple which only those worthies get to see, but to you, few are worthy enough, you play hard to get, they love that. You know they do. You are walking perfection, no one can hate you because if they do you have a whole army willing to kill at your command to make sure that all that negativity is not a foot around you and your glorifying presence. You love all these feelings people have for you, yet you hate every single one of them. You are very good at putting up masks and layers to create a persona. You don’t hate being a beauty standard, you hate that people remark it over and over to you. You hate the obnoxious comments of how perfect you are. You are annoyed by the people who can’t take a hint. It’s a good thing I look after you though. It’s a good thing I got to know you first. I wouldn’t want you to hate me. Trust me, darling, you are going to love me. Because I know how to listen. I know all about patience, I’m waiting for the right moment for us to meet, for you to realize I’m the man you been waiting for all these years. You won’t have to tell me about yourself if you don’t feel ready, curiosity won’t kill me, I already know you. All of you. I know you struggle with your body image so much because even though the rest wish they could hold you and feel you, I know you squeeze a non-existent fat around your stomach, your toned legs, your arms. Everywhere. I wish I was there to assure your beauty. I wish I could whisper in your ear the things you need to hear. I know you have daddy issues, he would come and leave your life as he pleased, only to fuck your mom when he couldn’t find himself a whore, and then by dawn, he was gone. Which left you to have a little brother you adore with all your life. You are good with children. You will be a great mother to our children. Don’t worry I won’t judge you when you tell me about your abortion of last year that almost cause you to kill yourself as the father wouldn’t even be around for the procedure. You still think about him, but you won’t for long, when you meet me, I’ll be the only man you think about. Does your mother know about the student-teacher relationship? I do. I hope you tell me about it, I’m a simple man, I want there to be a trust between us, for us to share our darkest secrets to one another, I won’t forbid you to have guy friends but if you don’t feel comfortable with my friends they are out of my contacts by the next hour. I want you to feel good. I want you to feel like you can do anything you want and feel confident enough to tell me. I despise liars, I despise secrets. Don’t make me despise you. I know we haven’t met but I love you. I know you will love me just as much. I will treat you right, I will cook for you, take you out on the best dates, go wherever you want to go, anything. You will feel as if you are some princess around me. You and I are just meant for each other. I like to think I’m the complete package, at least to what you need. I know at first you won’t think that way, knowing you (is it clear I know you very well) you’re going to put up many challenges, darling I’m up for them, in fact, if you gave in so easily I will be... disappointed. I want your wedding speech about me to talk about how I fought for you, about how much of a good man I am. I want you to say that I’m patient, caring, understanding, intelligent, hard-working, amazing, everything you wanted in a man. I want to be the kind of man who makes you want to share the spotlight you get, to show me off just as much as I’ll show you off. I will be the one to make you love yourself, I know you cry yourself to sleep, almost every night you have a session, you are embarrassed to shower because you see all of you, without any layers of clothing nor a single drop of makeup to cover your eye bags. You dig your nails on parts of your skin you know you will be able to cover easily. I’ve seen them though. I sometimes just want to hold out to your hands and give you a hug. It breaks my heart to see you hurting yourself, why are you doing this to yourself? With me, that will stop. All your scars and insecurities and issues and problems and hatred and tears and sadness, everything will disappear with me. I’m your salvation. We will meet very soon, I told you what I’m willing to do for you, and slowly I will gain your love. I will be prepared for anything and everything. I am always watching over you through the screen.


She had been a regular at Tony’s Salon for 5 years. As a woman of some means this meant maintenance cut every 6-8 months, and the occasional stop in for a color or chop-off. However, there was something markedly different during her last visit. Her scalp itched. When she asked Tony if he was using a new product, he assured her it was business as usual. Perhaps she was developing an allergy, or maybe there was pollen in the air. Whatever the cause, this itch was new. By the time she was home, the itch on her scalp became warm and unrelenting. When she examined herself, the mirror showed no redness, no bumps. She did notice, though, the itch had moved to behind her ears and to the nape of her neck. By days end the itch had migrated to her shoulders and was so unrelenting she took a sleep aide to rest. After a morning of trying desperately to keep her hands of her tingling skin, she went back to Tony’s to try and remedy the itch. Tony ushered her into his chair, and there was a sudden, hot shiver across her body. Sitting became an unbearable task as she felt her entire body quietly rattle with the itch. When Tony’s answers were no relief, she wouldn’t allow him to put any products on her as she feared it would only exacerbate the burning itch. Her entire body trembled in the chair, and Tony suggested she may just be sick and should rest. She resolved to take the rest of the day to sleep in hopes of dulling the itch and what felt like a sweltering skin fever. Once again she took sleeping medication, and in getting ready for bed, the itch had become all-encompassing to her extremities. She couldn’t bear to put on pajamas as her skin throbbed under a sickening heat. How was she not sweating? How were there no blisters, no cracks? When she ran a brush through her hair before putting it up for sleep her scalp stung as though all the heat of her brain matter was pushing outward. She sent the brush across the room, ran a cold shower. Sat down, wept, and fell asleep. By morning she managed to move her body to her bed, where she eschewed all covers and clothing. Her bones vibrated inside of her skin as the itch grew. Within her skull there was a vibration that would not cease, no matter what remedy she applied. No medicine, no salve, no amount of scratching. The only thing she knew was that this began in her scalp. She recalled the searing pain of trying to brush her hair, and when she inadvertently ran her hand through her hair at the thought, the stinging began again. In the following two days she could not sleep. Her body could not touch any surface without the creeping itch growing into a full-body sear. Her shoulders slumped under the weight of her sleeplessness. Her speech slurred and her hands seem to move slower than her manic brain’s stream of consciousness would allow her. When she tried to silence her thought and stop her shaking body, the only thing that remained was the itch. Her lack of sleep and the overwhelming desire to pull every inch of her scalp and skin off overrode her conscious behaviour-she expended the lingering energy she had calling a cab to take her back to Tony’s. When she approached him her hand was trembling- but she couldn’t tell if it was the itch, the insomnia, or the mania she took on as the former two grew. “Please take it all off. I need it gone. It’s the only way.” Tony, shocked, obliged. It took only but 4 minutes to run the clipper through her hair to take it down to the scalp. As Tony left to get the broom, she let her head slump into her hands, and she wept. The itch remained. Her sobbing became uncontrollable until she heard it- the hard slap of Tony’s soft body hitting the ground. He had slipped on her fallen hair- and as his head hit the ground let out a hard, wet, thud. Her body itched as it paralyzed in shock. She sat, staring down as his twitching body became slow and lifeless, her skin throbbing. Until, the blood began to pool under him and his fluttering last movements had stopped- so did the itch.


Ones I had posted a photo on Instagram and after 2 hours I got the message from unknown person which is in my followers list and also facebook friend but I never know about him. The one message from that person who is unknown for me,changed my life fully. He is my junior in college time. We are from same department and in college we came across with each other but never talked. Coincidentally we are from same hometown. So when I post that photo I mentioned the location so he had came across that and send message to me. The message was very simple that hii you are from that hometown?and I replied yes how you know that hometown? ...and the chatting was continued till last night.After that we were talking on Instagram daily. It's just upto hi hello what are you doing like this, later on this continued and we became the good friends. The bond which made in us is very good. Later on we exchange our contact number with each other and start chatting on whatsapp. We regularly share our pics,thoughts and ideas with each other. In that period we knew each other very well and the trust were bulid in us. Slowly we are in the relationship which is more than the friendship. We like each other and most of the time our thoughts are similar. The feeling is awesome and it devoted towards the love. Because I felt that this is the person I am looking for. Many times he came to hometown for his work but we didn't meet. Because we had that much rules and regulations in our home. So we decided to meet other place which was far away from our hometown. In that period we felt that how was our relationship going on. Basically the other couples had meet there partner daily or weekly,enjoy the moments with their partners, taking selfies with each other share on social media. We were far away from that. After one year we had decided to go for the date. But in that one year period we only talk on whatsapp and calls. So that was very awkward moment for us and we had the small amount of fear in our mind. How we meet with each other we had that habit of talking on mobile only. How we face that moment is the main problem of us. And finally that day was came when we meet. That was the Sunday when we were going to meet with each other, finally see and feels the feelings. He send me the address where we had to go, and finally I go. We meet at the coffee shop where he was waiting for me. Just seeing me he smiled and said please seat. That was the first day when we are infront of each other. His smile and eyes shows that he was very happy. The same feelings I had also. First time we were together ❤. The moment was very happy and shying also. Around us many people were there. The waiters came and asked for an order. He ordered two coffees because coffee is our favorite drink. After some time when we finished our coffee he proposed me Infront of all on his knee and gifted me the watch. I really shocked at that moment because I never thought that he proposed me like that way and I cried at that moment and said yes to him. I really liked that moment which was memorable for me. He also cried because we are in the relationship from last one year and that was the first date. He hug me and kissed my forehead. That was the moment which is lovable for me. I felt like I got the all which I want in my life. He gives me the watch and my favorite chocolate which I like most. The people around us were clapping and said congratulations to us. After that we go to the theater for movie. He booked the tickets 2 days before, and he decided to feel me special through this date. The movie was started we were together and hi hold my hand,kissed and said that I love you from my bottom of heart I will never break this bond. Later on we kissed each other and that was the feeling I liked most. After that we goes to mall and he gifted me the dress which was pretty. We talked around 2 -3 hours continus. And finally the time had came when we had to go. He hold my hand and said next time I arrange good things which you love the most, and my answer was like I don't want precious things or gifts, I want you only🥰. That time he hug me and said goodbye by tc to me. Our love is different from others. Other couples are in relationship but they have a small amount of trust on each other. That was the thing which is not good and many times broke the relationship. Many relationships are based on love,sex and other factors. But the most important is soul,love and the trust. Soul is the important parameter of our relationship. Trust is the main things in relationships, without trust relationship can't be true. The true life partner is who? The person who is always support you in any situation. Always with you in your difficult times. Love your soul from bottom of heart,never let you go. I am very happy and feel proud because the partner which is in my life is a good person and love my soul. I am luckiest person in world because of my partner. We both have trust on each other and that trust is unconditional, and we never break that trust. We can't make the misunderstandings in us. Because we are that much mature and having the trust on each other. This is my story of first date with my partner.


People always look at me funny when I walk into Flora’s Flower Shop. Today is no different. They also gave me the stink eye when I placed a headstone for a man when there wasn’t even a body. My husband disappeared over three years ago, though. Even if I did order the headstone a year after his disappearance, it was more for closure. I also wanted a place that I could lay flowers down for him. Not in memorial, but in hope. I think that if people can, then they will judge you for just about anything and everything you do. Unfortunately, I am judged quite a lot. Before my husband, Peter, disappeared, he used to buy me a dozen red roses the first of every month. So, in honor of him and hopeful he’ll return, every month I buy a dozen red roses and place them at his headstone. I know there’s no body or ashes there, so talking to a headstone without anything there would be, different. So, instead I pray. I pray Peter is safe and alive. I pray he will return home one day. I also pray for strength to get me through each day I am without him. I don’t know what happened to Peter. He was a healthy twenty-seven-year-old man with a bright future ahead. I like to tell myself that he just got scared and ran away. It’s better than the alternative of thinking he’s dead. I know that’s what everyone thinks, but I can’t. I won’t. Not only for my sanity, but also giving our daughter hope that her father will one day return home, flowers in hand. As I stand here in front of my husband’s headstone, I wonder where he could possibly be. I wonder if he misses us as much as we miss him. I see so much of him in our daughter, April. His beautiful blue eyes, cute button nose and even his smile. I’m scared that one day she’ll ask where her daddy is, and I won’t know how to answer that. I place the dozen red roses I purchased earlier today, at my husband’s headstone, say a quick prayer, and walk away. I’ll visit again next month. On our wedding anniversary, I decided to leave April with my parents and visit Washington, DC. The cherry blossom trees are beautiful there around this time. Only a four-hour drive, yet I haven’t made this trip since Peter disappeared. We used to visit every year and take pictures under the cherry blossom trees. However, on this trip, I never expected to find my lost love. At first, I couldn’t believe my eyes. I even shook my head a bit, thinking I must be dreaming. It was real! I walked closer and reached out to touch his arm. As he turned around to face me, I saw another woman holding his other hand. I believe he was just as shocked as I was. I wanted to say something, but the other woman spoke first. She called him ‘James’, which just so happens to be his middle name. I tried to convince her that his name was ‘Peter’, and he is my husband, but she insisted that he was her husband. Hearing those words caused my heart to instantly drop to my stomach. I couldn’t think of anything to convince her or to snap him out of it. They started to walk away. That is when I told him I named our daughter April. April James. The man who now calls himself James turned around and smiled. Our wedding was under the cherry blossom trees in April and Peter’s middle name is James. The woman looked confused. Honestly, that made two of us. After countless hours of coffee and conversation, Peter had what he called a difficult decision to make. Either the love he left three years ago or the woman he left her for. Peter sat there looking back and forth at two women who loved him unconditionally. Suddenly, a thought entered my mind. As much as I wanted April to have her father back, I wanted him to come back on his own. I also wanted it to be easy, not this back-and-forth difficult decision. If he truly loved me, loved us, it would be the easiest choice ever. So, instead of waiting for him, I answered the question that would decide our future forever myself. Leaving that diner alone and not looking back was easier than I had thought. I had always imagined finding Peter, returning home with him and we would live happily ever after. But this is real life, not a fairy tale. Which is something I had to repeat to myself a few times on the drive back home. I never told a soul that I saw Peter that day. Not my parents, who asked constantly what happened when I went to Washington, D.C., because I came back acting different. Different good, according to them. Not the police, who still think Peter ran away. They’re not wrong, but I’m not going to be the one to tell them that. And not my job, who wonders why I decided to quit after Peter disappeared but begged for my job back three years later after a trip to D.C. Nope. Not a single soul. Maybe one day I’ll tell April, if she asks. But, then again, maybe it’s best she just doesn’t know. Sometimes, I wish I didn’t. I no longer buy flowers for Peter’s headstone. People are starting to judge me because I’m now not buying red roses. Funny how things have flipped. After learning the truth though, I realize Peter doesn’t deserve my love. Even if it was in the form of flowers on a headstone every month. So instead of expecting him to walk through the front door with a bouquet of a dozen red roses in hand, I water the plants in my front yard and watch April play with her toys beside me. I smile and for the first time in three years, flowers are not on my mind.


FRIDAY!! It was finally Friday, the end of the week, the start of the weekend, and most importantly the day I was having a party. Everything is going to be perfect, it will be the best party of the whole school year! I had a swimming pool, lots of food, games, and music! All I had to do was get through this one last day of school, the 8 hour long school day. Sounds easy? Well, it's not. I could not focus at all today, but it was worth sitting through all those boring classes because it was finally party time. I wanted my party to last extra long so I asked my mom to decorate, set up the food, and set up the music for me. All of my friends and I went straight to my house after school. We were all excited and knew how perfect it was going to be...until we arrived at my house. The front of my house was covered in eggs and there were forks all in the front lawn. We were astonished, who would have done this? We decided it was just a joke and left it to go in the back, where the party was. My mom stopped us when we were walking through the house and told us to not go into the backyard because she heard something out there. We thought she was joking so we went out anyways. The only thing I have to say about that is how much of a mistake he had just made. The pool's toys were on the roof and the pool was only half full with water. If you think that's crazy just wait there's more. The water that was left in the pool was a disgusting green and it was slimy. The speaker was no longer here and nobody knew where it was at. The worst part of all is that the food was almost completely gone. Empty pizza boxes thrown everywhere, bags of chips all over the ground, every bottle of drink was spilled. There were leftovers left all over the ground and mashed up. I was so embarrassed and could not have thought of anything worse that could have happened. My party was ruined. I started crying and ran up to my room. My friends followed me up and they comforted me. We all really wanted to know who did this. We decided to set out for a mission to discover who this awful party crasher is. We got all the materials we needed and set out. We each grabbed a flashlight and a notepad to write down clues. Oh and If I haven't mentioned it my house is right by the woods, so that's where we looked first. We saw nothing for a while, but then we found a napkin that looked exactly like the ones I had. We picked it up and found some chips that I also had at my party! We got so excited, but it was also nerve wracking at the same time. There was a trail of a bunch of items from my party. We continued to follow this trail for hours. We were finding more and more clues getting closer to solving a mystery. Until the trail ended and led us to absolutely nowhere. We hit the end of the road, nowhere else to go. We decided to take a break and sit down for a while because our feet hurt from all the walking. While we were sitting it turned dark and got kind of scary. We then heard footsteps. They started off quiet and slowly got louder and bigger. it sounded like they were coming towards us! They were happening faster and faster and faster. Then music started playing and the footsteps got louder. The longer we waited the clearer the music got and the louder the crunches of footsteps got. We were terrified. You will never believe what we saw. A BEAR! The footsteps came from the bear and it was holding MY radio, eating the food from MY party, and the bear was dripping wet. The bear WAS the party crasher!!! He must have smelt the hot pizza and came out of the woods to find it. When he got to my house he fell into the pool and splashed out all the water. When he tried to climb out he freaked out and threw all the pool toys into the air and then they landed on the roof. Then by the time he got to the food he ate it all and was mad from falling in the pool that he threw the extras everywhere. I guess he liked our music and took the speaker too. That explains everything that happened in the backyard. But a bear can not put forks in the lawn and throw eggs all over the front of my house. If he did not do that, then who did? Fun Facts about me and this story: I do not know what else to write but I thought the story was funny. I came up with it on my own. I wrote this kind of fast but I enjoyed it. I do not usually enjoy writing; it is super boring to me and I tend to struggle but this came to me quite easy. I hope you enjoyed my story. It is fictional of course. I based it off of things I enjoy. I always enjoyed a mystery to solve. They just seem super fun to me. I also like being a little bit scared. I also love comedies so I figured if I am going to write, it has to be about something I am interested in. I am right below my word minimum which is 1000 words and I honestly think that is kind of a lot for the type of story I wrote. It is supposed to be short, sweet, and to the point. I do not like when things are over explained and you can tell it is just so people can reach more words because it looks good for them. I am at minimum word count now though so have a great day and I hope you enjoyed my story.


A funnel of chopped salt water spilled uncompromisingly down his throat as the realization of what he had just done grasped hold over his body. The cold which enveloped him paled in comparison to the pain of his legs, ribs, hands and feet - deep and pulsing from the outside in, and back through again. When he was young, he had been afraid to jump off of the diving board and now had plunged half a football field into the stark bay below. There he had met a fate which shocked him more alive and wanting for life than he had felt for the past decade. Arms thrashing with the primal motor twitching broken legs like a broken egg beater, he clung to nothing more than the promise of something better replacing the need to feel feel something else within him. He glanced up from his agony and there it was. Not but a quarter of a mile away a sailboat tacked and started toward him. He began to hear shouts from the boat grow in volume - hope had a sound. Yet, despair had a sight as a dull grey fin appeared flowing seamlessly larger and larger in the same trajectory toward him. The shark - for that he was sure of now, moved sinuously; a greyhound in the water compared to the lumbering mastiff of a boat which gasped for speed. He looked up and the welcoming international orange of the golden gate beckoned him back to safety and life. For even emptiness was better than this. For within emptiness there were options; he just hadn’t seen them; he just hadn’t felt them until this very moment. John swam like a motherfucker - he didn’t have a chance in hell but he didn’t care. For cares were for people with time of which John had none. The fin moved toward him as a hand on a clock moves. Closer and closer toward darkness. He had been swimming away his entire life. John that is. From what he wasn’t sure. This shark of life which had chased him; maybe that was it he figured. With resolve, John turned and gritted himself. That thing giving chase surged and bared itself. The ragged and gaping mouth revealing itself to be a soft bottle nose replacing the mirage in his mind. The porpoise glided to his side to buoy him. John’s life might be saved after all as the thing chasing him his entire life revealed itself. This thing which had stalked and hunted him. This thing wanted to save John all along. All John had to do was stop -stop and see it. This thing which would carry him through. John floated to the other side. John was pulled rag doll style from the water by the livid hands of the sailboat’s crew; some crooned, some cussed and others just stared, yet all were in disbelief with the enormity of the situation which had dropped into the placid Sunday afternoon which their lives typically were. John belched and groaned on the foredeck of the Kevlar sailed 50-footer presenting a stark contrast to the bleach clean atmosphere which the captain was trying desperately to reinstate. The captain shouted to the others, “Nothing to see here! This happens quite often. He’ll be OK! The Coast Guard is on their way!” John now felt that he had been safer with the porpoise; safer in the water which had seemed to float and accept him for who he was swapped by a reality now awash in yacht shoes, murmurs and shame. He felt abandoned like a homeless man on the corner for the authorities to pack up and put elsewhere lest he disturb the sanctity of the sterilized sight. Was it not for one, John would have been tempted to drag himself back off of the deck and into the water as her hands cupped the back of his head and she asked, “Where did you come from?” John looked up toward the bridge and intonated that he had come from up there- he had a collapsed lung and it was too difficult to speak at this point and she followed his eyes to the sky responding gently, “You fell from heaven?” This sent John gurgling and gasping wet and pain, his best attempt at a laugh at this point, as she covered him in her coat and yelled for more blankets which the captain begrudgingly handed her. She detly stuffed John’s screaming body in the warmth of the blankets and once the task was through she paused for a moment and smirked, “By the way, I’d like to be the first to welcome you to the good ship 'Second Chance.


On a sunny afternoon in the former Portuguese colonial town of Ilha de Sombria, Senor Bruno rides his old Fiat to fetch the new visitor of the town, Don Miguel. While waiting the weather of Ilha de Sombria being reliably unreliable as usual takes a gloomy turn and the clouds shroud the sun beneath them. Just as this bright afternoon turns gloomy Don Miguel steps out of his heritage home Casa de Joy. "Don Miguel, your umbrella?" says Bruno. "Shall not be necessary." Don crudely replies. "Sim Senhor Miguel, where are we headed?" " To cemitério de poetas." Bruno revs the engine of his old Fiat and starts racing towards the old cemetery of the noble-born. "Don Miguel whose grave are you visiting today?" asks Bruno eager to strike a conversation Adjusting his black hat and unbuttoning his tailcoat Don Miguel says "A lover's... a poet's perhaps." Hearing a faint clap of thunder from afar predicting the onset of a storm Bruno is eager to make the trip as quick as possible. As they pass by an abandoned lighthouse. Bruno starts reciting local lore, "You see Don Miguel that abandoned lighthouse over there. It is believed that two centuries ago a poet while waiting for his lover was murdered by the lover's father and to this day the lighthouse stands haunted and one can hear echoes of poetry every night resonating from within the walls of the lighthouse." Don Miguel clearing his throat asks, "Do you want to hear poetry?" Bruno eagerly replies "Si senhor why not?" Don Miguel, as slender as he was, his voice carried a lot of weight starts to sing. "One night, I hold on you. With a red rose, a burning candle, the Lighthouse still awaits." "A lover who promised the world, The blue lips, the burning heart, the Lighthouse still awaits." "Pardon me, lover, for death is more beautiful, Flinging the self and embracing the ocean. You don't take the blame. For the lighthouse that spreads darkness The Lighthouse still Awaits." "Bravo! senhor bravo. Your poem speaks beautifully about the poet's wait at the lighthouse. Although pardon me, but it was a murder, not suicide. Or rather a mystery that we might not unfold" says Bruno. "Ah, or will we?" Just then the old Fiat comes to a halt at the gates of the cemetery. The clouds now darker than before have started thundering even louder. Don Miguel thanks Bruno. And steps out of his car. "Don you may borrow my umbrella" Bruno offers. "Shall not be necessary" Don replies. Bruno revs the engine of his car and rumbles down the road. A bolt of lightning strikes the lighthouse. Fearing for the wellbeing of Don, Bruno looks back through his rearview mirror. But the mirror does not cast a reflection. He stops the car and bends his neck to call out for Don. Don not hearing him. Takes out a solitary red rose from the pocket of his tailcoat. Just then the packs of raven start cawing in the cemetery. Thunder strikes again. And this time Don vanishes in thin air leaving behind a solitary red rose. On a tomb that reads ‘Here lay Don Miguel Gonzales. A poet. A lover.


I stared at him. He was wearing the blue sweater I had gotten him for his birthday. He had a scratch on his jaw from shaving, but other than that he was whole. He was standing in line at his favorite bagel shop. Ordering a regular coffee. I was nudged by my handler. Right. I didn’t have forever. Less than fifteen minutes now. God. I crossed the street to intercept him. Made sure to look both ways. I felt my eyes start to water. I’m surprised I wasn’t already bawling. He was leaving the store as I approached him. “...G-George?” I croaked. There were the tears. I’m sure I looked like a mess. His face showed confusion. Of course he didn’t recognize me. My handler stepped up then and began to explain everything in a whisper to George. An envelope was passed between the pair, I assume it was the proof. Then we started walking at the ushering of my handler. George was staring at me now. I could tell he was confused, and, hell, I would be too in his shoes. “I really don’t have time to explain anything. I wish I did. I wish I had more time, George, I really do,” I grabbed onto his arm as my handler trundled us along down the street. George still clearly didn’t know what was going on, but I continued, “I just had to let you know that I love you. And I will never forget you. And I’m sorry about all the stuff that I said and did that was just dumb and mean. I didn’t even mean half of it and the other half I didn’t mean for it to hurt you. I was an idiot; I’m still an idiot.” I looked into George’s eyes. God I had forgotten how blue his eyes were. And there was the shaving cream in his ear that always ended up there. How did I forget the colour of his eyes, the sound of his voice, his smell, but I didn’t forget that goddamn shaving cream. I looked. And there was that big, black, hair in the middle of his forehead. I remember warning him that he’d get a unibrow. “I’m doing good now. I hope you’d be proud. I’m not a lawyer. I learned more about your family, met up with your brother a few times. I traveled the world too. Saw Africa and went on that trip to Europe we talked about. Five countries in ten days. I did go back and stay for longer on another trip, but I wanted to do the trip that we had planned. I lived in Japan and South Korea before I moved to Washington. Seattle. I heard from your brother that’s where your family lived before you moved down here.” I think he was starting to believe me. I knew a lot. Too much to be a fake. And who would fake this? Still he was always a logical man, and this didn’t make sense. Not in his universe. He still had the coffee in his hands. He had to have those. I looked at where we were. The corner of Glennerson and Travis. Too close. I looked back at my handler, but he had sunglasses covering guarded, grey eyes. I’d find no sympathy there. I felt something land on my head. The mist that had enveloped the city was hardening into a full out rain. Of course it would. But it was happening too soon. Too goddamn soon. I had to keep going. I still had so much I wanted to say. “I-I’m really sorry about what I did. It was my fault. It will always be my fault. You don’t know what I’m talking about, but I’m really sorry.” It was getting hard to see. I hadn’t cried so much in years. “Carrie is doing well. She’s happy. She’s married. She’s going to be a mom soon. She lives on the east coast now; I don’t talk to her much but I try. She’s one of the last links to you that I have.” The rain was starting to get more consistent and heavier. We didn’t have an umbrella; my handler wouldn’t allow it. “I speak to James even less. We found it hard to talk after you. Imagine that. He graduated. I know it was touch and go there for a while but he came through. He’s still living around here.” We were getting onto numbered streets now. There wasn’t enough time. Why couldn’t I have had more time? “We found an ID from when you were in college. You had some long hair. And we found you with a moustache. I heard from one of your friends that you were into rock. I wish you could tell me about that. I wish that I knew about your childhood and the rest of your life.” 7th Street. My handler had us turn onto it. Now it was just a few more blocks. Maybe five more minutes. I just stared at him. He had stubble. Streaks of grey at his temple. Wrinkles around his eyes. His nose. I had forgotten his nose. It wasn’t anything special, but I had forgotten what it looked like. And he was still so much taller than me. I thought that one day he wouldn’t be, but I guess it would never happen. We never stopped walking. My handler wouldn’t let us miss the deadline. K Street. I looked at the time. It was close. I was sobbing now. Hiccups and everything. I hugged him. He was soft and warm. I missed this. So much. I missed him. My handler pulled us apart. George’s phone started ringing. He looked down as he answered it and my handler pushed him into the street. Into where he was destined to be. I felt my knees go weak. That hadn’t happened in over twenty years. I hadn’t finished. I still wanted to talk to him. To hug him. I hadn’t got to hear his voice. A car came as he was falling into the street. Their headlights weren’t on and the rain was battering down on their car. They were going way too fast. I saw them see George in the street, but their car started to hydroplane as they slammed on the brakes. I saw him hit, fly through the air, and land on the road. He was bleeding from a wound on his head. Spilt coffee mixed with his blood. His phone went farther than him. He had never answered it. I remember being angry when he didn’t answer my phone call. I remember not learning about what had happened to him. It had been hours later when someone told me. I remember no one told me what was happening as we drove to the hospital. I remember the first time my knees had gone weak, I was standing in the doorway to the hospital and being told why I was there. But I don’t remember his voice. Why can’t I remember his voice? My handler grabbed my shoulder and pressed a button he was holding in his other hand. The bracelet on my wrist began to vibrate as it did it’s work. It was five minutes before I was back in the all white chamber. I was twenty three years away from that moment. And that’s all I would have. A fifteen minute walk from George’s favorite coffee shop to the corner of 7th and K. The last conversation I would ever have with him. The last hug. The last time I would see him, the last time I would smell him. It would have to last for the rest of my life. It already wasn’t enough.


Murder is a subject that not many people care to consider. The idea of losing a loved one by the hands of a murderer is a chilling and unwelcome possibility. The idea of being a murder victim is one of the most terrifying prospects. The idea of being a murderer is very rarely contemplated by sane minded people and so I am utterly unprepared for what I have gotten myself into. I am in complete disbelief. My eyes have begun to water and sting yet I cannot draw them away from the empty shell of what was once a human being that lays on the cold ground before me. The Body has lost all essence of life already. Within the minutes that have passed the skin has become waxen with an almost bluish tinge. The face is expressionless, the eyes closed and the mouth relaxed into a natural grimace. No matter how long I study the subtly changing features, I cannot convince myself that it is just sleeping. My stomach convulses and I heave. It comes to me that I have become the last glimpse of the living world to a human being. I recall how that last glimpse was filled with terror and, what had to have been, an excruciating amount of pain. I, suddenly, need to be away from the alleyway and I clutch my excitable stomach as I run out into the dark street. I am relieved to find the night is deserted and I am able to throw up amongst a pile of discarded rubbish, undisturbed. It takes me a few seconds to regain some composure before I realise that he has not come after me. I could run, faster and further than I ever have in my entire life. I could run far away from this situation, from this city, this entire country if I wanted to. If anything, I could lose some weight in the process and become a whole new person. I feel a migraine begin to evolve in my head and I shake away the completely inappropriate thoughts that crowd my brain. Of course I will return to that alleyway. How could I do anything else? I do not consider him a friend in the conventional terms of the word...but he is the only thing I have that comes close. I now realise why he has not called after me or come to drag me back. He expects me to return. It appears that he has discarded the contents of his stomach, too. His face is flushed, his hands shake, uncontrollably. As I stagger back into the nightmarish scene, he looks away from The Body and searches my face with concern. “Ok?” His voice shakes with the telltale signs of someone who is struggling to contain their emotions. I do not trust my own vocal chords at that moment and simply nod. “Ok...ok, we can sort this. We can fix it...” he is walking around the alley now. He examines The Body from various angles and swears a few times. I carry out my own, swift, inspection and my eyes move upwards. I realise that there are two windows from the opposite building that overlook the alleyway. There are no lights behind them at the moment but should someone decide to peer out into the night... “We need to call the police,” I say in little more than a whisper. With a spontaneous burst of energy, he leaps across The Body and shoves me, hard. I am caught, completely, unaware and fly backwards. My back slams into the hard plastic of that large, industrial bin and I am momentarily winded. It is my turn to swear. “What’d you do that for!” I snap. He marches towards me and I take a protective stance. He slams his hands on the bin at either side of my head and I wince. “Will you shut up! Do you want to wake up the entire street?” he hisses. “Well, then, don’t go throwing me all around the place!” “Well, then, don’t go saying stupid things!” he snarls. “Call the police? Do you want to go to prison? Do you? Do you want to become the mistress of a butch, skinhead lesbian called Sandy? Cause that’s what’ll happen-!” “Ok!” I snap. “She’ll probably make you wear a dog collar and beg for treats. And you’re so pathetic you would do it-” “I said ok!” I whack his arms away from me and rub my throbbing back. I catch sight of The Body once more and I am shocked to find I had completely forgotten its presence on the scene. “What’re we going to do, then?” I ask. He runs his fingers through his, already, tousled hair. “We’re going to have to move it...” I wish I had run away when I had the chance. “How?” I say, weakly. “Should we just...grab a leg and an arm each or...?” “Don’t be stupid. How d’you think we’d look walking down the street like that?” I want to tell him we’d look like any other group of friends after a night of drinking in the city. But I decide now is not a good time. I stand, silent and awkward, as he concocts a plan in his head. He paces the short space available, muttering to himself, pausing, occasionally, to consider The Body. Finally he rubs his hands together and announces that we, “need the Iron Beast.” In the fifteen minutes I am left with The Body I am sure that I struggle through several panic attacks. I have no means of determining the time but I feel like it has been night for too long. I am expecting the sun to rise any minute and a swarm of morning pedestrians to crowd the streets. When I hear the Iron Beast approach I feel no relief. He seems to have gathered his wits together more effectively and when he comes to stand across from me, The Body in-between us, and says “Ok, now you can grab an arm and a leg”, I comply with no arguments. Somehow, I hadn’t expected The Body to be as heavy in death as it was in life. Our first two attempts are unsuccessful. On the third, I misjudge the gap and the head whacks against the bumper with a dull thud. I take a step back and refuse to engage in a fourth attempt. “This is ridiculous,” I gasp. “Look at what we’re doing right now...I’m sorry but after everything that’s happened tonight...I don’t think I can bring myself to drive around town with a body in the boot of the car, ok?” He is, clearly, arriving at the end of his patience with me. He considers my face, set into a defiant scowl, and strides around the car to open the passenger door. Another fifteen minutes later and we are driving along the steadily, brightening street with The Body strapped into the back seat. He relays the rest of his plan as we drive. I enjoy his decision to drop me off at the shops to ‘pick up a few things’. I am less pleased by his request for me to meet him at the waterside. “We’re going to dump it in the river?” I ask, revolted. “Why not? It’ll just join the millions of other bodies and shopping trolley’s that are already there. Unless you’ve got any better suggestions?” My mind races. We could take it outside the city, burn the Iron Beast with The Body inside. Dig a ditch and bury it. Dump it down an embankment on the walkway and let the squirrels and foxes have their way with it. Then I realise that the sun is rising and we have no time to do any of these things. “Fine...” I mutter, like a grumpy child. Despite having lived my entire life riddled with low self-esteem and disastrous amounts of self-consciousness, I have never felt so out of place as I do now. The supermarket has just opened its doors and the aisles are vacant save from the very few early morning shoppers and grumpy staff members. Everything seems far too clean and bright. I realise I am sweating and my hair is a frizzy mess. I move to flatten it before I realise my hands are filthy and I stuff them in my jacket pockets. I wonder if I will ever be able to stroll through a supermarket without appearing awkwardly unnatural. My eyes flit towards the security cameras. I cannot tell if they are actually turning to follow my movement or if I am imagining it. The cashier gives me a contemptuous look as I toss the two packs of black bin liners onto the conveyor belt. I see, quite plainly, her eyes moving over my torn leggings and filthy t-shirt and I fold my arms, self-consciously. Beep. The first pack moves across the scanner in a swift motion. I can’t help but tut, impatiently, as the cashier struggles with the shopping bag. I watch her ridiculously, perfect, manicured nails fumble with the opening and my patience snaps. “I don’t want a bag.” She continues to rub the plastic between her fingertips. “I said I don’t want a bag. Ok? Just leave it. Why would I need a bag to carry some bags? I thought all you big corporations where into saving the planet and being green and all that. Just leave the bag, ok?” I realise I am rambling and bite my lip to stop. The cashier stares at me, completely unconcerned with my distress. Her eyes don’t leave my face as she passes the second pack across the scanner and holds out a hand for payment. Only when the money, soaked in the sweat from my palms, touches her skin does she look away, making no effort to disguise her disgust. I calm, slightly, when I am stood outside the shop, bin liners having been, successfully, purchased. It takes me a full five minutes of care-free walking before I remember The Body. By the time I reach the waterside the streets have become more active. I, suddenly, regret my refusal to accept a shopping bag. Every stranger I pass is a potential witness and the items I hold in my hands are incriminating evidence. I try not to seem too conspicuous as I clamber over the fence and make my way down the embankment to the water’s edge. He has been going spare waiting for me. I am pleasantly surprised and most relieved to find he has chosen a decent location, with plenty of cover from the trees and the bridge above us. The Body lays in a straight position in the dirt. The skin has lost any hint of colouring and is now a waxy grey. The ground around it is littered with cigarette stubs. I guess that more than half of them have come from his own hands. “What took you so long?” he hisses at me as I approach. I noticed he has stopped shaking but his eyes are still manic with anxiety. He snatches the bin bags from my hands and inspects them with unnecessary fixation. I decide to be generous with my patience and perhaps I will only have to pull the bag over The Body’s lower half. Somehow, after everything I have participated in, pulling a bag over The Body’s head just seems cruel. “You are the biggest idiot I have ever had the misfortune to know.” His voice sounds completely calm all of a sudden, and it is this that unnerves me. “What are you talking about?” “Of all the times to make a stupid mistake!” I open my mouth, already equipped with an angry retort, when he rips apart the packaging and tugs one of the bags free. He shakes it in front of me and, as the air fills inside it, I realise what I have done. “Yeah, these would be helpful. If we were disposing of a bloody midget!” he snaps, tossing the bags at my feet. I had been far too preoccupied to check in the supermarket, although it had never really occurred to me that black bags came in different sizes. In my mind I can see the shin-high metal bin in my mothers kitchen and suspect the bags would line the inside of it quite snugly. “Oh...” I am sure he would have hit me then, if he hadn’t lost his footing on the uneven ground and fell on his backside. “Fuck this day!” he whines. “Ok, we need to get an axe...” “An axe?” I squeak. “Or a really big knife.” I understand what he is proposing but the thought of even witnessing such an act makes my empty stomach heave again. “We can’t...” I manage to whisper. He bites his lip and I can see his is not particularly partial to the idea either. “No...no, I don’t think we can,” he concedes. His hands move over the pebbles on the shore and I can almost hear the gears working in his brain. “What are you thinking?” “I know what to do. Grab a couple of those bags. We need to start acting quicker...” It seems to take no time at all before we have several bags filled with pebbles. Our fingers steady themselves long enough to allow us to attach our makeshift weights to The Body and roll it, none to gracefully, into the murky waters. We watch with shuddering breaths as the head bobs just above the surface for a few seconds then, slowly, sinks into the icy-cold depths of the dark waters.