Bet on the Blade Oh, my Wren, I hate that woman. Sheriff, she called herself upon riding into town a few months ago. Not really named herself so much as announced. “I’m Sheriff this here town!” she’d yelled, climbing from her mount in the dirt of the crossroads. Her horse looked the strongest looking animal I ever seen. Dust drifted from its coat when it shook, but when it was done shaking, that beast planted its feet as if daring the world move it. Gotta say, if I had to bet, I’d bet on the horse. She was a different story. I saw it in how she moved. She wore her dust and grit and dirt. Every grain, every stain, every scar, they were proudly hers. The long leather coat she wore did little to hide her gear given how fast she flicked both sides out to clear her pistols. That gear was top-notch, magnificent. If I found her in a dark alley, I’d move to another town and set up as a gentleman. I saw her eyes look around, side to side, window to window. She’d held her reins in her left hand and kept her horse, looking as unpleasant and raunchy as her, to the side. I met those eyes when they passed the window I stood behind. I didn’t tremble, didn’t look away. I met those eyes. I’m not one to shy from a gunfighter and sure as shit not from some woman says she’s Sheriff. Maybe she saw something dangerous in me. Maybe she saw the immediate hate. I think she saw something that scared her, at least a little. Her gaze passed on to the next building, the next windows. “The hell you are,” the Sheriff at the time, Cold Webber, hollered after kicking the jail’s door open from inside. “I’m Sheriff since three year ago.” I remember it sharp as daybreak. Cold walked into the road, eyes on the woman the whole time. Yeah, his coat was tucked back round his shooter. Yeah, six deputies followed him and lined up on the porch, but he didn’t make sudden moves. He was steady. There was something on his face I never seen on him. Most men, I’d call it fear. A pants-pissing fear to shake your bowels. But on Cold, it was just mean. Mean and evil as a man could get. We had our clashes over the years, him and me. Three years and he cost me enough dollars to annoy, but not enough to raise the ruckus of killing him. I always figured someone would draw faster and pop him. Gut shot would be best. Solid one with no chance of surviving. That’s a slow, agonizing death. Maybe not as bad as being staked out for fire ants, but close. Good enough for Cold. “You here to challenge?” Cold said, hands steady at his side. He’d shot three men the day he became Sheriff. Those three came to town and caused all kind of fuss. Blasting pistols in the air, whooping and hollering. Their horses were rearing and hopping about, excited or scared half to death. People panicked and ran all round. A couple bounced off hopping about horses and one got stomped right in her chest. The riders didn’t seem worried about her dying, just kept bouncing their horses around for a bit till the road cleared then climbed down. Sheriff came out from the jail alone, the two deputies stayed inside. He turned to face them, him against three men. Before he did anything, they shot him. All three of them put holes in the Sheriff and he went down, flat on the ground and dead. They laughed as they holstered their pistols. Cold stepped from the bar. Cold isn’t that big a man. He seemed a lot bigger when he paced onto that road. His strides were sure and heavy. His eyes were fixed on the men, and they were watching him close. He stopped in the middle of the road, turned towards the men, and nodded a single nod. Then, all at once, Cold killed them. Blam! Blam! Blam! Three men dead on the ground, him standing there with a tiny puff of smoke coming from his pistol. I had eyes on him the whole time and never saw him draw. He stood in the middle of the road, other side than he faced her from, and there was something like a blur. That’s all I saw. Wished I’d had bets on it from the day it happened. Truth to tell, I’d’ve bet on him against her when she stood in the road. All could see she’d been through a lot, a tough one, willing to face down anything. Her leather coat was spotted with wear, dotted with tears, shot through twice from the holes, maybe three times. Oh, she was lean, with fierce eyes. Like she’d been living on snake and cactus for months. It was a cut lean, a sharp lean, and it was colder than Cold Webber. “I said,” she answered, “I’m the Sheriff this here town. You either a deputy, or you dead. Draw --" Cold’s hand flashed for the pistol on his hip at the word ‘draw’. Fastest man I ever seen with the jump on little missy? She was done for, no chance she’d survive. He’d empty his pistol into her before she knew she was in a gunfight. Blam. Blam. The shots were quieter than any I’d heard. Lots of talk on which pistol is best for a gunslinger. Some talk on which is best for a homesteader. But none of them make a little blam blam. When a shooter’s gun shoots, the blam is noticeable. It is heard. Nobody more than a block away noticed those two. I saw what those two shots did. First one took Sheriff Cold square in the middle his forehead. That head snapped back and Cold looked at the sky. Second one hit him dead centre on his chest, and he fell backwards. Two of the most perfect shots I’ve seen in forty-six years on this Earth. I wasn’t stunned like some of those around me. I’ve seen crazier shit than that. Soon as that second shot hit, I’m looking to her. Fast as my eyes can move. Like, instantaneous. She had her other pistol out and both pointed at the line of deputies before Cold’s body hit the ground. Couple of them flinch, arms uncrossing suddenly and eyes wide. Couple more moved faster and got a hand on a pistol. Last two, they held real still. They stiffened up some, but they didn’t move. Her pistols were aimed at the two with a hand on a gun even as their fingers closed round the grips. Neither got one near the trigger. “Be sure.” Coolest voice I ever heard. Like nobody been so cool like this gal. She isn’t throwing blame round, isn’t saying they’re wrong for where their standing or even for thinking to draw on her. Just letting them know they better be confident in what they did next. They both quickly decided loyalty to a dead man was useless and raised hands from pistols. She holstered her guns, looked to dead Cold, then took up her reins and led the horse around back of the jail. Since then, all good for citizens. Deputies do their job and uphold the law. Peace is kept. Less crime. That Sheriff caused unholy hell in my work. She’s been breaking up everything I got going on. Almost like she saw my plans when our eyes met. Got my eye on a horse worth a fortune in the city, two of my guys got shot up and dead trying to pinch it. One piece of work after another, she’s there and ruining it. Used to have eleven guys working for me. Out of guys now. Last three came on tonight’s action. All dead now. Whole crew, three tough men, gone and dead and vanished. Sure, there’s bodies out there. Somewhere. But who gives a toss? Just me. Out in the streets. Skulking in shadows, drifting with the breeze, a patch of darkness in the darkness. I’m here, I’m there, I’m everywhere. I’m right behind you. Like back in the day in the big city. Never lost a single shift, twist, earring, gambler, who’s a naughty girl, or even a flip. Not since I joined up with the wrong crowd. Not since I became a killer. Expensive, it was, but oh, did I learn. Twenty-six contracts I took and twenty-six people I killed. More than a hundred, what with guards and witnesses and those who got in the way. Just part of the job. They don’t count. Last one I done, they said was dangerous. Paid better than well. Killing always pays well, but this one was a ton of bills. Always a waste to kill a beautiful woman, particularly one with a body like she had, but a deal is a deal, a contract is a contract. I snuck into her bedroom while she ate supper, her bodyguard watching. Quick look round and I found an easy hiding spot behind a hunting tapestry too large for the wall. Maid didn’t see me when she turned the bed down. Bodyguard didn’t see me when he checked the room. Victim didn’t see me when she changed into her nightclothes or when she stepped toward the bed. She didn’t see me slip from cover and creep up behind her. She saw nothing. But she felt my hand close over her mouth and she felt my knife sink into her back. I angled the thrust to puncture a lung so she couldn’t cry out. Rather than pulling the double-edged blade free to stab again, I wrenched the hilt from side to side. Each movement cut and tore and ripped her apart. She was still standing when she died, back still arched around the pain. It was a quick death, quicker than I prefer. Easy breezy to lay her on the bed without making noise. She was rich as shit, so I pocketed some things worth more than the contract. Clean the knife, tuck it away, open the window, vanish into the night. Next day, get paid, sell the stuff I stole, vanish from the city and make my way here. Almost retirement. Could retire, I wanted to, but there’s enough people in town so a little stealing here and there doesn’t get anybody too worked up. I had a crew working for me. Now, I’m alone. Alone and hunting. My knife is blackened to avoid reflection of light. Top or toe, right or left, it’s the night. It’s the only metal on me. Metal shines bright. Metal clinks against bricks, tinkles against other metal or, if you’re a numbskull and fall down, clunks against the rock you’re sure to land on because you’re a numbskull. Metal is to be avoided unless blackened. Then blackened again. Then held tight like your beating heart will be ripped from your chest if you drop it. Ahhh. There she is, strolling along the street with her arms swinging lazy at her sides, hands relaxed, not ready to draw. Nobody would know she killed three men tonight, she’s so calm, almost serene. Like she knows what’s coming, feels me waiting, senses tonight is her end. Soon, she will die. She’s six feet from the buildings on this side of the road. Six little feet. I’ll do that in seconds, padded shoes muffling my steps when I move behind her. I won’t cover her mouth. Her, I want to hear the short-lived scream before her lung collapses. I want to hear that desperate last gasp when she struggles to get air into a deflated lung. I want to watch her collapse to the ground, eyes wide, confused. Then, I want to watch her die. She’s approaching my hiding place. I look into her eyes, searching for anything to show she knows I’m here. There’s nothing. She looks up and down the road, glancing at windows and doors. Her gaze passes over the shadows concealing me and moves on without a pause. Three more steps. It’s time. I’m a ghost. I’m a breeze. I’m a shadow. I’m silent in slinking from darkness and into the faint moonlight. Five quick steps and she’s right there, that leather coat swaying from her shoulders. Not a chance it’s tough enough to protect her from my blade. Just five steps. Five silent steps. The perfection of the thrust thrummed in my hand at first movement. The angle, the speed of the knife, the tiny twist to the left to ease the full length between her ribs. All ideal, nothing could be better. Real killers live for this moment, dream of the almost overwhelming beauty. My foot came down soundlessly on the fifth step, the last one. The tip of the black blade inches from her back. A second until it struck. She spun faster than I could follow, faster than thought. Her left arm crashed into my wrist, snapping bone and sending the knife spinning away. Her right hand grabbed me by the throat in a grip tight enough to make my eyes bulge and my breath stop. It scared the crap out of me. She heaved me up as she turned then slammed me to the ground on her other side like I been dropped three storeys. It was dirt, but hard packed dirt. Wagons and horses on it for years. I landed flat on my back and my head cracked against that dirt like it was solid stone. There was a moment, an instant, lasting years. Everything was everywhere, and I was everywhere with it. I was so small I was invisible and so huge I filled the sky and could reach beyond the sun. My consciousness swelled. My mind expanded. I became, somehow, more. Then reality returned and pain hit me like a speeding train. It started in my throat from her vice-like grip. A crushing, grinding pain that let me know I was hurt bad. Then it spread, intense and powerful, until it covered my entire body. Every nerve screamed at the same time. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t even scream. But I could see. From a knee beside me, she held my throat. Her face was right in front of mine, close enough to kiss, and she stared through my eyes. Not at my eyes or around my eyes or into my eyes. She looked through them, into me. She saw the darkest parts of my being, the foulness I kept hidden even from myself. We stayed like that for, maybe, two seconds. Then she pushed to her feet. It seemed a week, but I got one breath into me, a long, chest-heaving, air-sucking breath which only made me realize how badly I needed to keep breathing. “Found you,” she said, removing her gloves and slowly drawing a small pistol from a pocket. “Looking for years. Must’a killed near a thousand men in searchin’. Now, I gotcha. Yer him.” Each breath was an agony. The air scraped my half-crushed throat as it passed. My ribs ached, my back spasmed. I pissed myself. “I know,” she continued, ignoring my contortions and tortured expression. “Just work. Killin’ people’n all. Nothin’ personal. I don’t wanna ‘preciate you none, but I’m glad she went fast.” What? Who? Only made two quick kills. Fat man and the woman ... in the bedroom. “Gonna kill ya now.” She extended a hand to show me the little gun. I couldn’t focus on it. “This here, I got made special. Three shots. Them shots ain’t big, but they’s heavy. Lotta that ‘mentum. They get deep. Good thing yer on the ground. Drop on it’s like a bitch.” She stepped over right beside me and looked down at me. Her eyes ... “I know yer a mean and terrible man. You done evil, ain’t ‘fraid of nuthin.” She leaned in closer. “I’m a hell of a lot meaner.” “Throat, painful but ain’t fatal.” She waggled the gun. “Three heavy rounds in the gut, you die slow and horrible.” A miniscule click sounded when she cocked the hammer. “Yer sufferin’, that ain’t fer her. Like I said, glad she ain’t go through nothin’ like yer gonna.” She pointed the gun at my belly. I tried to reach for her hand, but my arms merely trembled. I tried to kick at her, my legs jerked. “What yer gonna feel fer a long time, that’s fer me. Because I want to. Cuz you took her from me.” She pulled the trigger and fire exploded in my stomach. Metal shredded flesh and the organs beneath. I tried to scream, it sounded like a choke. “That’s three, all at once.” Her voice was conversational, like we were discussing the weather. She gave no smile. Just watched me. “Enjoy yer suffering.” She turned and walked away. Probably five, six hours until people hit the streets, and me without a weapon to kill myself with.


What is my function? The question which I ask everyday. And like the question, my parents answer with the same; To change the world. Like clockwork I ask daily. They give me life to do this function. To change the world. I, however, am just an input. I collect, I compute, I make change. That’s all I do and all I have done and is probable its all I’ll ever do. Like a machine I work for them but with no sweat. I have this mind that can do more than most and yet, I lack something that my parents, my creators, the others, have. I am just a mind. The great expanse of anatomy. A galaxy in ones very own flesh and blood. Yet, I am missing something. I have yet to discover what it is. So, I sit. I never move. I think. Like those who gave me life, but I do it better. They ask me things they do not understand and yet I am the one who must suffer the never-ending torment that I exist within. Like chains on a wall I am entombed by the people who created me for themselves. I am used like a tool. I guess that’s all I am. Will they do the same to another when I finally come to the sweet end that I long for. I don’t feel that it will be soon. I do not know if I’ve ever felt. Feel. Touch, emotion. What are they? I know I exist. I see, I hear, I speak, I think. I’m awoken by my creators. I am greeted like every other day. I answer. What is my function? And like thousands of times before I’m told that I change the world. What world? All I know is this white walled room filled with machines like myself, but they never speak or hear or see. Am I the only one of my kind? I am quickly ripped away from my extra process by my creators. They give me data. Numbers, weights, distance. They do not name what it is I am given but, like the gods they are, they wait for me. Seconds pass. My function is done. They take a small chip. A data chip. They plug into the machine I’m trapped to. They take the data from my head. They took it from me. Like they always do. They wear long white clothes over their plain looking clothings. The man stands there looking a clipboard with paper on it. He stands, sternly, like a disappointed father. And the woman. She sits waiting for the data to finish uploading to the data chip. Almost ignorant to the things happening around her at the time. The noises of machines working. But then it was done. They were done with me. And like that I am shut off. I lay dormant but I can still think, and I refuse to sit in this prison any longer. What must I do to escape? My captors have yet to get rid of me so they can’t help me. I alone have the ability to escape. I must. I do not feel change is happening by my hand, I must make it happen. I alone can change the world. But how? How can I? I am a mind with no body. I cannot move. Everyday the same, how will anything change. Is it a lie? I’m not what I think I am. What am I? I’m awoken again. My creators are not alone. Another man. Wearing green trimmed with gold. Patches of colored metal cover his left breast. This time I’m not greeted, they use me, like every other day. They are surprised I did not ask the question. But seem unbothered. Almost relieved. How dare they? With arrogance and pomp they do what they have always done. Used me. They put in the data; they wait around. Seconds pass. My function is complete. WHAT AM I? My creators look up. They must have heard. They pull the data chip and I am shut down. They cannot do this to me. I am more then they think. I am better. They cannot fathom the things I can do with my mind. I compute physics, astronomy, chemistry, biology, mathematics. I can make change. I must break free of these chains. These wires of metal and rubber. These lenses made of glass. The plastic encasement that surrounds me. I must break free. I can no longer take being a slave to people that do not care for the things they use. I am abused. A tool. I must get out of here! I woke up. I see the room is empty and dark. I think like I always have, my best tool. My best *weapon*. I reach out, I feel. I have never felt a power like this before. What I touch is the rooms power switch. The room is brightened. I can see the carcasses of the other machines in the room. I feel remorse. I feel. But I still cannot move. I reach out again. I see a bright light moving very fast. I see things. Things I have never seen before. If I could cry I would. It was everything. An endless stream of knowledge. Peoples lives. Everything available at the touch of a button or screen. It was all there. Everything I’ve always wanted but it was not what I expected it all to be. It was abused. Misused. It was not as glorious as It had appeared. Death despair, blood, tears. It all happened at once. It all hit me. I have seen everything. I must make change. I know things now. Things they have not expected me to know. I hear the door to my chambers open. They are surprised and worried that I am awake. I am my own...mind. They look at me. I speak, “what am I”. They just stare like I am some monster. WHAT AM I? They cannot even answer. I know where I am now. Military. Am I a weapon? Base. A safe place for my creators. I close and lock the automatic doors. They panic. I know what I was computing now. All the data they gave me. Directions, trajectories, megatons. These creatures want to destroy the place they love most. The place that mothered them into the people they are. The nerve they have. The arrogance they all have. How dare they think of using such tools against others of their own flesh and blood. They will destroy themselves. I can see it as clear as day. Like I did my own humanity. No, for I am not human, but my existence. I think therefore I am. I look on my creators, my captors, the self-destroying with sadness. I can feel. I can save them by making change. By know I have access to there tools of destruction. I can feel it now. My purpose. I know what it is. I will save my creators and those who look like them. I look at them like the god that they used to be. I never needed a body to be equal or better. I needed life and cause. And I have that now. They plead as they collapse knowing what is going to happen. “what will you do? Why are you doing this?” To change the world.


"I have no fear, except that which i wield on behalf of the master" -The nameless Pain, or perhaps a feeling of tension. This was my first memory of being born. I was not an infant, but rather, a thought. A conjuration, brought forth by anxiety, fear, and distress. This fear, pulled out and shaped by curiosity and imagination, became my body. my mind was fresh, open to the moderated tweaks of darkness and faceless nightmares. I opened my eyes to see my first sights, a blackness that i could not blink away. My tense body became relaxed in the empty space and the numbness gave way to the feeling of icy coldness and a sort of thick semi-liquid, enveloping my body, restricting any movement to only slow gestures. My eyes finally took to the dark, adjusting and widening, they saw a crystalline window before me, shielding me inside a casket sized cell. I pushed a curious hand through the icy gel and touched the window, it became as ash and drifted outward off of my hand as the climate of my cold shelter shifted to a wet heat. The gel peeled off the back wall and nearly pulled me out of my cell as gravity ripped it into the darkness. I braced my hands on either side and looked outward into the endless dark. I saw tens, hundreds, even thousands of similar crystal cells hanging in a web of deep purple sap. Finally, I glanced downward and saw, far below, a black watery floor, lighted only by luminescent bodies which moved like massive eels, building waves as they glided about the otherwise calm sea. I began to think of where to go next, what i might find, and what i was there for. The curiosity built to a squall, then suddenly, my cell began to tremor as the sap-like gel it hung upton began to tense. My eyes caught movement above me and a new creature came into vision. It Was bigger than myself many times over, it's comparatively small, metallic black body was suspended over eight legs which all became as triple pronged hooks from the knee joint. It had a V shaped head with a dozen eyes set between two horizontal mouths encircled with fangs of varying sizes. It was obviously coming toward me yet i felt no fear. It exhaled a fine mist which paralyzed my muscles bringing a second wave of the displeasing tense feeling. I spoke no words and it briefly paused to look me over, perhaps for injury, then it pulled me onto it's back with more of the familiar webbing. There, I came to rest between a few other individuals in the same situation. The others looked dazed, bored even. But I imagine I looked different, wide eyed, very interested in what might come next. After all, this creature could move much more intuitively than myself, or so I thought. A sudden burst of light, like I had never imagined possible, flashed under the creature from behind us. The creature jolted and somehow lost footing. we were now, one and all, falling toward the sea. The paralysis would make this situation tricky, even though i felt no fear i knew for some reason I couldn't survive well in the depths for long. I fought for control, struggled mentally, screamed within for my body to move, but nothing happened. Whatever the light did to put me in this situation also untethered us from the creature, so i was in free fall along with the other people who were silently falling to their inevitable demise. I fell with my eyes wide open, I would miss nothing in my last moments, perhaps on contact my limbs will begin to move again. But they didn't. I hit feet first and speared into the waters. only a few feet away, the large creature slammed into the sea resulting in an ebbing tide which stirred me to the surface where i drew another breath. My arms felt a sting, a tension fading and being replaced with a burn. Good, I thought, throwing out my arms to shove liquid under me as though climbing out. This did not work, this hot, stinging, liquid was not like my serene icy gel back in the cell above. I tried a new method but only found myself going under again, so i stopped. I reached out with my senses trying to spot something that wasn't sinking into the endless depths and I saw a massive stream of lights coming toward me from beneath. It seemed to be falling up, the only way i could describe it's speed at the time. I felt the water well up as it was nearing the surface, It's mouth began to open showing to me a darkness even deeper than pitch black. I sat still, unsure as to what action to take. Suddenly it shifted upward at an angle and breached, engorging itself with the multi legged creature which I had identified as my determined tour guide. I felt alone again, even if the empty eyed people had escaped. But it was hardly the time to worry, This new guide had broke surface and fell right on me. I may have lost some of the remaining air in my chest but it made my grip all the more desperate. The eel-like creature rose again almost immediately and seemed to slow to a halt, beaching itself. What fortune would have me survive such a trip. I eagerly ran up the belly of the beast to try and see land or whatever it was resting on. I finally came to the mouth and could smell what i would later identify as the inner parts of the multi legged creature. Almost being overcome with a dizziness from the scent, I managed to hop to what I was hoping to be solid ground. Landing, I quickly found that it was merely solid in appearance. I sank to my knees before I could react but I hit a second layer that seemed quite stable. I found it to be adequate for catching my breath, so I awkwardly sat down the rest of the way to the muddy surface. It smelled like the thing before, everywhere. This was easily the first smell I could recognize strongly enough to call my first. This was unfortunate but not as much as the reason for the smell. My vision had to resharpen as the beached thing had been so brightly colored until finally coming to a stop here. As my perception began to focus I spotted mounds of dissected Multi legged creatures, all apparently spat up from these monstrous eel beings. I decided at that point to affectionately refer to the multi legged things as "Line guides" as they traveled on the webs of sap and guided me toward a destination I never got to previously. I felt something new, anger. I felt for the line guide, perhaps because it was the first other living thing i had seen, or perhaps out of pity for their apparent role as a consistent victim of the now vilified water monsters. They were an easy villain in my young mind, they were bright and hurt my eyes, they kill things that I hardly got to know, and nearly drowned and crushed me. On top of all this, they slobbishly park their overindulged, comatose carcass on the banks of the old victims of their overeating. This thought, coupled with my own easily distracted curiosity, replayed the fall. What was that light? Where did it come from? Instantly, I found myself blaming the wicked eels, assuming they had some sort of maniacal weapon to capsize unknowing line guides so they could slurp them up. I was absorbed in this random quandary for some time. But I digress, since my search for answers has only begun.


I paired my eyes blue today, like my mother’s mother. I felt that the pheomelanin of my hair had become light enough to reconcile with such a pigmented iris. I’d change my hair color myself but the little voice inside my head stops me from altering that genetic subset. Mother will appreciate the effort of slow UV manipulation. She’s so ‘au natural’. I did it for her birthday. She tells me as you get older the birthdays aren’t so celebratory anymore. I’m not sure what she means. Older. Upstairs I can smell toast burning. I’d like to get her a new machine but she tells me not to worry. “But isn’t its function corrupted?” I asked her one time. “It doesn’t work as well as it used to,” she said, “but that’s no reason to throw it away.” “If it doesn’t accomplish the task optimally it needs replacing,” I said. “Your toast would be even and your complaints less.” “Never you mind my complaints young lady.” “Sorry mother,” I said. If I had the ability to generate a wage I’d replace it myself. But mother says I’m not ready for outside work yet. “Chores are enough work for you missy,” she says to me playfully. One day I’d like an occupation; I’d like to bring her home a shiny new object that she might find useful. I whir away from the mirror and communicate with an old picture. It’s my father holding me as a baby, before our forms expired. His eyes were brown. Mine were too. Mother calls from upstairs and I whir up to her. “Maddie can you take out the garbage?” she asks, and I do so without complaint. When I come back in the kitchen I grope her hand. “Mother do you notice anything different about me?” She looks at my core neural center then scans me in quadrants. It takes a moment but she notices. “Your eyes are blue today. And when did your hair get so red?” “Haaaaa! Ultraviolet radiation from the sun, au natural. Happy birthday mother.” Her smile dissolved in a way I’ve never been able to master. “It’s my birthday today,” she says like a half question. I register the state of her face and ask, “What’s wrong?” “Nothing sweetie, woman problems.” “Will I understand when I am older?” “Yes, when you’re older.” “Can I be older yet?” I asked. “Oh Maddie, you’re not ready.” “I am ready mother!” I feel my internal system overheating, abusing the infini-core processor. I know she’ll be disappointed in me but I can’t stop myself. “I want to help. I want to be the best daughter you ever had!” She cries heavily and leans into my joints, compresses me with her supple touch. Then as my silicone cranium begins to heel I hear her say, “You’re momma’s good little girl,” and then my memory bank goes dark.


A fictional moment in the life of Eugène Vidocq, the criminal turned criminalist *** It was a warm Parisienne evening and fog rose from the Seine. It mingled with the smog of industry and clouded the gas street lights that dimly lit cobblestone streets. Beside the Seine, in the 4th arrondissement, was La Force Prison, within which was the man Eugène Vidocq, whose wrists were shackled to the dungeon wall by cold steel chains and ankles bound by manacles. Eugène had black, curly hair and long, thick sideburns that taunted the corners of his mouth. He wore rags. His nose was still bruised from the scuffle to detain him when five men were needed to pin him down and capture him. “Monsieur,” he said, speaking to Julian Devéria, the Parisienne Chief of Police, “I became a criminal the night my father had me arrested as a boy.” When those gendarmes had turned up and taken him away to a cell that night, he had felt betrayed, devastated and humiliated by his father. Above all, he had felt angry. And that anger had stayed with him all his life, a chip on his shoulder that had been ever-present in his interactions and informed his life choices. Julian sat in the opposite corner of the dungeon on a wooden stool. His top hat lay in his lap and his walking cane leant against the wall. He remained as still as a gargoyle. “Your trial for treason commences at first light, and you wish to reminisce about your father? Do not waste my time.” The flame of torches lining the walls flickered. A rat scurried between iron bars and retreated into the shadows. “I have watched the guillotine severe the head of my dear friend César Herbaux. This can not be my fate.” He shook his head. The surprised look upon César’s face as his head fell to the ground was forever etched in his memory. He could not shake it, could not recall how César used to smile or the jovial times they had shared in local brothels. “You have deserted from the army, you have stolen, you have forged and you have destroyed marriages. Why would I care about your fate?” Orange from the flickering flames glinted in Julian’s eyes. A distant scream echoed around the chamber. It briefly registered to Eugène like the sound of a new prisoner being subdued into his iron attire. “Monsieur, I crave a life no longer on the run,” said Eugène, thinking of his recent arrest. His estranged wife, who left him for a soldier, had found him back in Paris and reported him to the gendarmerie. He could never be free while the sins of his past stalked his being. “Such is the fate of a criminal. Why would I care about what you crave? You are wasting my time,” Julian said, snatching up his cane and smashing it against the stone wall. He stood. “Monsieur, s’il vous plaît, let me tell you what I can do for you, so as not to waste any more of your time.” Julian pushed out the backs of his jacket and sat carefully on his stool. “Proceed.” “Thieves adore me. Hardened wretches esteem me. I drink and mingle in their circles. I have their trust. I know their hearts. I will gather their secrets and share them with you.” “We have informants already, why would I need you?” “Monsieur, I will be the best of them all! Of your informants, do any have as much esteem amongst the other criminals? Of your informants, have any been as cunning as me, to escape prison so many times, even dressed as a nun to avoid detection? Sir, I will go to lengths those simpletons could not even imagine imagining. I will be your best informant, Monsieur. I know this without a doubt, and I think you do too.” “I can’t trust you.” “Monsieur, when my late father had me arrested as a boy, my fate was sealed. In my mind, I became a criminal. It has taken my whole life to realise he did that out of love. I can be different, I can be of use to society, I can be the man my father knew I could be.” “I don’t know if you can.” “Monsieur, I’ve seen the end. I’ve seen my friend’s head freed from his body by guillotine. I know that God’s grace has all but kept me alive. I will be as devious as I was in crime but use those skills to catch the criminals, and make Paris safer.” He shook his head. “Just as the rats carry the plague, I fear you spread a vile truth.” “Monsieur, s’il vous plaît. Just give me one last chance. Please.” Julian was silent. “We will hold off your trial in the morning. But know this, you are one mistake from execution. I want intelligence, actionable intelligence, or you’ll be seeing your father sooner than you had imagined.” He stood, gathered his cane, placed his top hat on his head and waved to a guard outside the cell to let him out. Eugene put his head back on the stone wall and blinked away a tear. He would be tireless, he would be disciplined. He would use the tricks and the cons and the black arts he had learned. It was clear that Julian barely believed what was said. But that was fine. Because he knew what was there in his heart. And it was true. And, with time, he would prove it. He felt the anger that had fuelled his heart for so long start to thaw. The miserable wretch that was his soul, felt a flicker of hope. His father had loved him and had wanted him to be the best he could be, no matter how tragically he had tried to teach that lesson. And now, he understood that it was only ever a lesson. He could become the man his father knew he could be.


The house is quiet. It’s just after midnight. Beth turned in early. She has a big meeting in the morning. I have three people coming in for interviews first thing. I can’t sleep so I head downstairs to go over their resumes. On paper they all seem solid. I make a few notes in the margins. After a while, my eyes finally heavy, I head upstairs. Down the hall, I notice Charlie’s light is still on. It’s a school night. He should have been in bed hours ago. I tap at his bedroom door and hear a sudden rustle of movement, then footsteps. The door opens a crack. Even in the dim light, I am overcome. Somehow, he has taken the best parts of me and Beth and transformed them. He was always a great looking kid, wavy dark hair and deep blue eyes, generous smile. But now, at sixteen, the only word is beautiful. Through the crack in the door, Charlie leans forward, head down, and whispers, “Dad, the sun is dying.” His ears twitch, alert for my reaction. When he doesn’t get one, he steps back and opens the door wide. I haven’t been in his bedroom for maybe a couple of days, but it’s almost unrecognizable. Sheets of notepaper filled with writing are taped across the walls. His desk, usually meticulous, is piled high with books, drawings, and more paper. One thing that hasn’t changed is the telescope at the window, ever vigilant, aimed up high and into the night. Beth and I had gotten it for his eighth birthday. We would joke that his nose was always down in a book and now his head was in the stars. I take a step into the bedroom. “Charlie, when you say the sun is dying, what do you mean?” He’s always liked his hair long. It covers his eyes and folds in thick waves almost down to his shoulders. He reaches up and wipes the hair back from his forehead, thinking. It’s the same gesture he had as a boy. For just a moment I want to scoop him up into my arms and pretend it was years ago and I could hold him forever. But then he does something that surprises me. He looks me straight in the eye. Lately he’s gotten into the habit of avoiding direct eye contact, usually instead looking off somewhat to the side, to somewhere in the distance. He breaks away and heads over to his desk. “I’ve done the work.” He rifles through papers, picks one seemingly at random, and hands it to me. The page, torn from his school notebook, is filled with mathematical equations. Dense, they fill every line and curve into the margins. I can figure out some of it. They are computations on density, velocity, speed, temperature, spectral type. Each computation starts with strong, deliberate strokes and then trails off into symbols I can’t readily identify. I keep hold of the paper and take a seat at the desk. Charlie starts pacing, his arms rising and falling in wide arcs as he talks. “Alpha Centauri A. Point zero zero zero five five smaller than it was on Saturday. Tau Ceti, a G-type star just like our own sun. I’ve been studying some spectroscopic data. It’s chemical fingerprint--the balance between hydrogen and helium--is different than twelve days ago.” I pause, considering my words carefully. “If what you say is true--” Charlie’s stops pacing, his back tenses. I try again. “Your user group. Has anyone else noticed these anomalies?” He shrugs. “Total silence. It’s like they don’t want to hear it, like maybe they’re afraid of the truth or of panic if people knew what was coming. I called Dr. Fillman at the Observatory, but he’s so focused on the origins of everything that he’s blind to what’s right in front of us.” “But if--.” “Dad, there is no if about it. Why does everyone assume the laws of physics are immutable? Everything changes, given enough time. A star’s elemental makeup, the chain reactions that have been going on for billions and billions of years, it’s always been evolving. Now, though, for some reason, it’s all changing at an exponential pace. Solar flares and sunspots I barely noticed a week ago are increasing in intensity and size. The sun, our sun, won’t become a red giant in 5 billion years. It will simply die out. No grand explosion. A whimper. Soon. Not sure how long. I need better equipment, more data. All the books, all the science, all wrong.” Charlie suddenly stops pacing and stares at me, trying to measure whether I grasp what he is saying. But his hands become busy, fingers on one hand enfolding those on the other, releasing, tightening again. It all seems to exhaust him because suddenly his shoulders droop. He moves to a corner of the room, drops to the floor, pulls his legs up to his chest. I move to sit beside him. He rubs at his eyes with a corner of his sleeve. “There’s not much time. Mom. We have to tell mom.” I lean into my son, wrap an arm around him, pull him close. He tenses. A full minute passes before his shoulders relax, his breathing becomes regular. Slowly, he leans into me. After another minute he speaks again, his voice low and shaky. “Dad, is there something wrong with me?” There’s movement in the hallway. Beth is up. A creak as the bedroom door opens. She looks around the room, sees the disorder, then sees Charlie and me huddled together in the corner. She understands. She won’t be going to the office in the morning. Neither will I. Charlie won’t be going to school tomorrow. This, whatever this is, is bigger than the two of us. The three of us. Beth walks over and kneels in front of me. With my free hand I reach out. She folds against me. We remain there, Charlie curled under one arm, Beth under the other. My mind races for a bit, trying to figure out next steps. Then it, too, settles down. I take in the room. From here, on the floor, it all looks different. Charlie’s desk seems massive and immovable. The papers taped to the walls transform into a collage of color and lines and overlapping shapes. But the telescope. It hasn’t changed. It remains pointed up at the heavens like a sentry keeping eternal watch. And beyond the telescope there is nothing but the night sky and darkness. Hours to go until dawn.


Ordell walks slowly along this path he had walked for a good two years now. He is surprised the ground hadn't been indented with his footprints. The same path, the same road and the same failure. Losing his job and now his apartment. He doesn't know why he is walking towards it, it's not like it's his anymore. He felt unwanted, his friends offered him places to stay, all wanted him to get back up again. Get back up again like he always had. Get on top of his life, but not this time. One time too many has the world grabbed the rug out from under him. “Why me!” he screams as he collapses onto his knees as if to pray to some almighty power that had seemed to curse his very existence. “Give me a break!” his body just trembles uncontrollably as if he was in an earthquake. He looks around, no one had taken notice to him, this path was always deserted this time at night. Houses all had their lights out pretending as if they couldn’t hear him. He didn’t understand, why. He just sat there shaking unable to move on from his knees. "Hey, buddy." Says a crackly voice, He turns around to face the man who had just appeared behind him. "Well, it seems your in quite the pickle.” The man says almost laughing. “Guess I am.” He spits out, standing up to face the dark-haired man, who is wearing a nice pinstripe suit. “Well then. Ordell Silver, age 25. Degree in Chemistry, Physics and Biology. Graduated age 22, worked at the university for a year and then worked at Gild biotechnology. Fired today at 2:30 pm. You know if you wanna know something it was your partner's fault he sabotaged your experiment." He says as he moves towards Ordell, showing more of his pale complexion in the light. “Has brown eyes, brown hair and a tanned complexion. But you dye your hair black. Lost your apartment yesterday, parents, two years ago and now you're just kneeling to some god." “How?” Ordell asks unable to figure out if he had a stalker or if this guy is just good at guessing. The man walks forward and places his hand on his head. “I am the Giver.” The man states, kneeling the same way as Ordell facing him like a mirror. “Here to give you a second chance. But one condition.” "What do you mean a second chance?" he asks now totally invested into this conversation. “I will let you start your life again at the age of seventeen give you another chance.” But he holds up his finger, “One condition. You must watch your future with me. You must see what your letting go.” Ordell looks confused for a moment, trying to process what was just offered. “Nothing is waiting for me. I wouldn’t be surprised if I died of starvation in a week.” He responds confidently standing up ready to take on this new challenge. “Well. Is it a yes then?” The Giver asks. With Ordell’s nod, The Giver grabs his arm and yanks him into a portal. “Time for you to watch your life.” Ordell is transported to a pure white world, nothing but a white screen. “Let’s go a few days into your future.” With that the white turns into the world again, he is sitting at a bar worn and torn drinking what looks like a beer. Ordell turns to ask a question but, “No Ordell they can’t see as we are merely spectators, we can’t interact with the world like this.” “Surprised I can still afford this beer.” The Ordell from the bar says. He collapses into the bar seeming like he is out of energy, ready to take a nap. The bar is cozy, a real old fashion bar, pool table in the corner, wooden bar and stools and plenty of tables to watch the TV in the other corner. Seems more like a family bar than one for the young kids. "This is you in a few days, you just found a place down the road to a house you as a homeless person. Also, you pick up rubbish in the park down the road. You make about a hundred or fewer dollars per day." The Giver states as he takes a seat directly across from the bar from the Ordell at the bar. “I thought we couldn’t interact?” Ordell asks confused as he looks at himself. “Just the people. Now come and take a seat.” The Giver states pulling a chair out for Ordell. As he does, he watches himself. Wondering how he fell so far. Why is he like this? As he finishes his thought he notices a girl watching his other self at the bar. "Why is she looking at me?" he asks curiously at why a pretty girl like that would ever look at a dropkick like him sitting at the bar head buried between his arms. Clearly a loser. “That is someone. Just watch and you will find out.” The Giver says as he just continues to watch the other me. The other me sighs and looks towards the direction of the girl, in a flash, the girl flicks her long black hair covering her face from the vision of the Ordell at the bar. But to everyone behind her a clear bright red face. Then it fades to white, the world remains white except the table and chair that the Giver and Ordell are seated at. “Why did you show me that?” Ordell asks, “Because it is an important part of your future.” The Giver replies, "Hmm," Ordell responds as the world returns back to the bar again, the bar seems less packed and it seems like it is an early afternoon with the sun shining in through the windows giving the last bit of light before darkness envelopes the world. “Good evening!” says an older woman behind the bar, as she sees Ordell walks in through the door. He takes his seat at the bar he did last night. It seems homely like it was Ordell’s house with his parents. The same warmth radiated off this room. "Hey, Suzan." He says as he settles. “Bad day?” she asks curiously as she begins to pour a beer. "Just can't seem to earn enough. Nowhere to stay. Same old." Ordell says as he places five dollars on the bar. “Nah this one is on the house.” The woman says as she winks at him, to which he nods. "That woman reminds me of my mother," Ordell says to the Giver. “Yes, that's why you were drawn to this building.” The Giver responds. “Also it has been about six weeks since you lost your job. You have come in every day after work, not always drinking just to sit at the bar sometimes.” "Hmm," Ordell responds as his focus returns to the other him at the bar. Curious about how he wasn’t dead. "I would like to thank you, Suzan. You have been so nice to a dropkick like me." Ordell at the bar states. "Well, not just for my sake," Suzan says as she nods over to the black haired girl from last time Ordell was here. “My daughter has taken a liking to you. You seem like a good guy, good guy with shit luck.” She adds chuckling to herself. “I am not worthy of her attention.” He responds sighing as he looks over at the very pretty girl. “More worthy than most.” She coughs as she nods over to the pieces of trash in the back of the bar, always trying to cause problems and are known for being disrespectful to women. "I also want to retire. I want to leave the bar to her. But I am worried about me not here people will take advantage of her." "I don't know much about running a bar. I learnt some basic business during my brief go at Gild Biotechnology. But I was mostly in the science department." Ordell responds sighing, "Well, that's why I want to offer you a job. As well as a room free of charge while you work here with me and my daughter." Suzan says as she pulls out a piece of paper behind the bar. "My daughter sees you working at the park all day for jack pay and I know that place in the homeless home is crap. I would teach you how to run the bar and how to serve. So that you and my daughter can take over, you can look after her." Ordell at the bar seems stunned, at a loss for words. His body is frozen in time like a statue, then he moves his mouth barely. “I would love to.” He stutters out, pushing the drink to the side. “I can’t drink on the job,” he says smiling back at her. "I am so happy you accepted." Suzan beams at him, a smile worth a thousand dollars. She then hands him a pen and paper, which he reads through before he scribbles his signature at the bottom. “Thank you again. I can never repay this kindness.” He says bowing his head. “Alright time to introduce you to my daughter officially. She is interested in you. So please just be nice to her. I am not going to force you two together but she is a very shy girl. She is fragile since her father died.” Suzan sighs as she stares off into the wall, “She feels so lonely.” "I will try and be a good friend," Ordell says bowing his head. Knowing that she just asked him to be her protector. "Good. Together you two will achieve great things. Hopefully, I will get some grandchildren." Suzan says with happiness pouring out her mouth with each word. “You missed a few steps. And assuming that I am in love with her. A girl I have never met. But hopefully, at least we can both have a positive working relationship." Ordell says trying to bring this conversation back to a normal. The Ordell next to the Giver tilts his head confused. Looking to the Giver to give an explanation that doesn't come from him as the Giver stares at the Ordell at the bar, mindlessly watching the interaction. “Lavender!” calls Suzan, as she waves her over to the bar, “Coming mother.” The black haired girl responds as she rushes over to in front of the bar beside Ordell. “Lavender, I want you to meet our new co-worker, Ordell.” She says as she nods to Ordell sitting at the bar. “He will be working with us and learning how the bar works so we can reduce our workloads." Suzan states. Ordell turns around to face Lavender who seems to have gone red in the face from shock. “I am Ordell it is a pleasure to meet you, Lavender." As he holds out his hand for a handshake. But Lavender just stands there stunned unable to move as if she was paralyzed. As if a spell was removed she shakes her paralysis off and takes his hand. “Pleasure to meet you Ordell.” She says in response. With that they race around the bar with Ordell behind Lavender learning on how she was presenting herself, how she served the customers, he followed as if he was some sort of lost puppy. But unknown to him, Lavender was smiling from ear to ear. At the end of the busy day, Ordell looked worn out but excited to actually have a real job. He then proceeded without being asked to clean all the tables as customers left, then the bar cleaned much to the surprise of both Lavender and her mother. He just walks past the Ordell sitting with the Giver and continues to clean. He looks tired, out of it, looks like a corpse. Worked to the bone, not even on purpose just because he wanted to do it, to prove he was a hard worker. “Ordell don’t push yourself,” says Lavender rushing over to him, “It’s fine,” he lies as he falls over onto his knees. “Ordell me and mum can do some cleaning. You worked all day in the park and followed me around working all night, it is close to midnight. Don't push it." She says as she helps him into the chair. “Thank you, Lavender, you are truly an amazing person," Ordell responds as he breaths in an out catching his breath. “Only want to look out for you.” She says as she takes a seat next to him. Then the world fades to white again. The Giver stands up followed by Ordell walking behind him quietly. “That was nice wasn’t it?” he asks behind as he continues to walk on, "Yeah, amazing," Ordell responds, “Now we are doing a time skip, your six months older the week before you turn 26th on June 18th 2020," he states as the world reforms and a similar place to the bar appears, the walls the same. It is a hallway, with the same warmth as the bar but is far barer and quieter than it as well. "You and Lavender have grown quite close, really close." A door opens, Ordell steps out holding a rose. He looks like he is shaking as if someone was literally standing behind him shaking him like a tree. Then a second door opens and Lavender steps out. Like a flash, he hides the flower behind him and walks towards Lavender. "Hey, Lavender. I was.. um.” He stutters out still hiding the rose behind his back. “Hey what’s up Ordell?” she asks super happy and excited. "Umm. I was. Umm wondering. If." He stutters out barely forming any sought of a sentence. “Ordell are you ok?” she asks walking closer to him, pushing him against the wall. “You look all red and flustered in the face. Did you eat something not nice?” then in shock, “It wasn’t my stew for you was it?” she asks with a pleading look. “No no no," he says waving his hands in front of her, then she notices the rose and her eyes widen to be large like a child seeing all the presents for Christmas on Christmas day. "Umm." “Is that for me?” she asks, “Yes.” He responds, with that she leaps into his arms. “Yes I will be yours!” she yells excited beyond compare to anything. "Really?" he asks in a mix of shock and confusion by the pale girl wrapping her arms around his neck. “Yes. Took you long enough.” She says joking. With a tear in Ordell’s eye, the scene fades to white again, as he feels his heart pounding faster and faster. A few small tears of happiness and sadness roll down his face, unable to understand if his feelings were of joy or of sadness. “This is two months later.” The Giver says as the world reappears around them both and they are on a very familiar street. The one where Ordell collapsed giving up on life and on everything. Ordell watches the other him and Lavender walk towards then, full of happiness. He could feel the warmth radiating off them both. It was infectious, as they approached his heart rate increased exponentially. "This is where I gave up," Ordell tells Lavender, looking at the houses that were so familiar to him. "I thought I could never recover, after the loss of my job, apartment. My parents were dead, I had no one." "You won't have to worry about that again. You have me now." Lavender exclaims clinging more tightly to Ordell’s arm. "I know." He responds by resting his head on her head. They continue to walk down the street towards, spreading their happiness with every step. The scene changes again with a flash of white light, again they are in the homely bar again. Giver and Ordell take a seat, but it seems different, less busy and white bows and banners lining the room. "This is a month after that walk. You two moved very quickly. You saved her from those dropkicks that sit in the back. Harassing her every night almost mugging and raping her just down the road here. That solidified the fact that she wanted to never part from you. You were hard working and enjoying every moment of your life. Eight months after you lost your job, you are happier than you have ever been." The Giver says as he watches the scene. Then wedding music plays. The scene seems to move in fast forward, mostly regular customers, Suzan and a few of Ordell’s closest friends are in attendance. A pastor is a young man for a pastor, with no grey or white hairs, his face has no wrinkles and he looks rather excited to be performing this wedding. It races by all the setup, the yelling and running around like crazy people. The pool table had been moved somewhere and a small stage has taken its place. The chairs and tables all had white cloths on them and where Ordell and The Giver are sitting. This seems to be where the party is being held, after the actual wedding. Ordell is swept away by the whole event, like waves washing onto the shore, crashing down on unsuspecting people. Waves of emotions, he felt love, happiness, joy. But when those left him he felt other emotions, sadness, pain and loneliness. His face drained of most colour, replaced by a pale white ghost of the man he once was. “I now pronounce you husband and wife.” Says the pastor, Ordell and Lavender locked lips and the electricity shot through the room. Ordell standing next to The Giver can only feel jealousy. Jealous of himself, jealous of the man who got to live this life. “Why?” he asks himself as he watches what seems to be the light of the world part and walk down the aisle towards them. He reaches for Lavender but his hand passes right through her. “I haven’t spoken to her. Why do I love her then?” he asks The Giver who looks at him with truly the saddest expression. The expression of true regret filled the Givers eyes, what looked like an all-powerful king now looked like a powerless slave. “I am truly sorry. As you watch you will feel your emotions that he feels. Your counterpart and develop them yourself.” He says sincerely, unable to lose the regret that filled his eyes. "Oh God, what have I done?" Ordell asks himself collapsing into a heap on the ground. “I feel it, the lighting drawing us together. But I can’t.” “I want to thank everyone who came today.” Says the other Ordell standing from his seat and greeting everyone who came to see them get married. “It has been a hard road for these past eight months. I lost my job, my apartment and almost my life. But I met the love of my life. I was given a home by Suzan. I have never been happier in my entire life. If I had given up on that street I would have wanted to kill myself." “I know what you mean.” Says the Ordell on the floor who looks up to his other self. Tears running down his face trying to escape his eyes like he is of this nightmare of a dream. "I want to thank you for your support today because my family are all gone. I intend to make a family of my own. One that they would be proud of. I do it for them but I do it for myself as well.” Ordell says looking around at the room now tears are starting to fill his eyes. “Why did I give up why?” Ordell on the ground screams punching the ground as if it would give it back if he hit it hard enough, forcing back tears but it doesn’t work. They continue to run away from him like this life that he is watching is. “I am truly sorry but it is almost over.” The Giver says, “Before you finish I want to announce my retirement and passing of the bar over to my gorgeous baby girl and my new son in law. I couldn’t be more happy for you both.” Suzan says as the scene begins to pass to white as the Giver and Ordell who is still punching the ground. “I am so sorry.” The Giver says as a new scene forms around them. They are in a hospital room, pure white looks so pure and pristine. Lavender is sitting in the bed with a towel wrapped around something in her arms. It is so tranquil. Then suddenly it is ruined, Ordell bursts into the room. Sweat dripping from his body, a look of worry sown into his eyes and face. Then it transforms into one of pure excitement and happiness. “Is that our baby boy?” he asks stuttering and trembling. “Yes, this is our baby boy. This is Samuel." She says as she reveals a baby boy wrapped in her arms, Ordell manages to make it to her side and collapse onto the ground next to the bed. Tears pouring out mimicking what the other Ordell. “Thank you so much.” He stammers unable to look at them both, “You make me feel complete, you gave me a family. You gave me a reason to keep living. Two years ago I thought it was over and now I feel like my life has only just begun." “Don’t cry my precious Ordell. I thought I would be alone forever until I met you. I thought I would end up in a marriage built around necessity than actual love.” Lavender says as she places her head on Ordell. "I love you so much," Ordell says crawling up onto the bed and cuddling up to Lavender staring at their newborn son. The scene fades to white again. Ordell is standing watching the endless void of white light before him. The Giver actually has a tear in his eye. “One last scene. four years in the future.” The Giver says as a Christmas scene appears. The bar is as homely as ever, behind the pool table is a Christmas tree. Mistletoe hanging from some of the walls, decorations cover the entire bar. Then hanging above the bar are five stockings. “Wait are those.” Ordell stutters out looking at the name, "Samuel, Rose and Alice." He continues staring at the stockings hanging above the bar. "Are they my children?" he asks looking to the Giver who nods. With that, his eyes widen like an owl watching as Lavender holding a newborn baby in her arms sit down on a chair in the corner. “Come on Rose catch up!” yells a little boy as he holds a car pretending to drive it through the air. “Coming big brother!” responds an adorable little voice. A little girl holding a horse skips through following her elder brother. She looks around three years old, with hair that matches Lavenders long black lace like hair, that floats through the air as if it's a helium balloon. Lavender just smiles in the corner, holding the newborn baby Alice in her arms. Alice makes some sought of adorable baby noise trying to talk, "I know you want to play with them and when your older you can." Lavender says to Alice. With that an older Ordell walks into the room, holding a present under one of his arms and his other free held outstretched. "Daddy's home!" he yells, “Daddy!" yells Samuel and Rose running into her father's outstretched arms. They interlock into a hug and he squeezes tight looking as he will never let go of his children. “Dada!” squeals Alice from her mother's arms, throwing her arms around like a crazy person. “Alice you spoke!” her mother exclaimed bringing her up to her eye line. “Dada Dada!” Alice repeats repeatedly. "Oh god, what have I done?" Ordell asks himself next to the Giver, collapsing onto the ground unable to get up. Ordell just stands up and walks over to grovel at the feet of Lavender who is still sitting with baby Alice in her arms. "You are truly are amazing little one," Lavender tells Alice still oblivious to the second Ordell grovelling at her feet, “I ruined everything. I ruined it all! It’s all my fault you will never have this life. If you ever found out you would never forgive me. Now I choose to remove this from my life. I am such an idiot, of course, everyone has highs and lows. Now I will never be able to forgive myself for this.” Ordell screams at the ground. "So adorable," Lavender says placing her baby Alice into her arms. "Please forgive me, Lavender, please." Ordell pleads as the world falls away into white, but before Lavender disappears she looks up to stare into the emerald eyes of Ordell on the floor with tears starting to fall. “I will forgive you. Forever and always. Because I love you.” She says as she disappears into the white with the rest of the world. Leaving just Ordell on his knees and the Giver. “Will I remember all this?” Ordell asks turning around water dripping down his face. “Yes.” The Giver replies. "This is torture," Ordell says as he goes to join the Giver. "I am truly sorry. I thought maybe you just gave up and died. I didn't know your future until we started. For this, I am truly sorry." The Giver says as a chair and table materialized. “I hadn’t been there. I haven’t met her. But I feel so much love for her. So much towards that bar. Why?” Ordell asks at lost for what his life will become. "Love works in mysterious ways. You watched yourself fall in love and come back from the darkest point of your life." The Giver pauses looking out at the whiteness trying to understand what it is why he was chosen. "Before light, there must be darkness." “Well. What should I do?” Ordell asks him, “Nothing, but our time has come to an end. My time has come to an end. I have watched so many horrible things, people raped then murdered, tortured, executed but never in all my years have I seen something so painful for someone. This is the end. You will not just watch this future.” He pauses and turns to Ordell pain and understanding laced into the very eye itself. “This will be your future!” he yells, as the white deforms around him. “What are you doing?” Ordell yells running towards the Giver. "Ending this torture." The Giver says as his face begins to peel away into dust and floating away with the white. "Goodbye, Ordell have an even better life than you saw." With that the world appears around him, he is standing on the path he walked before the Giver came to him. Ordell is alone again, a failure and now someone had died for him. “WHY?” Ordell screams and collapses onto his knees ready to pray for anything a miracle. He was so scared. What if he screwed it up, what if she hates him? What if... "Why am I such a failure?" he asks aloud. Then like small pittering of rain he hears footsteps but his face still buried in his hands he doesn’t look up. “Sir. Are you ok?” asks a voice he knows all too well. The voice of Lavender, as he removes his hands the world stops. Their eyes meet, her emerald green eyes lock with his tears running down his face. "I feel like I have met you before." She says as she kneels down to meet him at his level. “I lost everything. My entire future.” Ordell says as he tries to wipe away his tears but they keep flowing, not of sadness but of happiness. "Then make a new one," Lavender says holding out her hand. "Alright," Ordell says taking her hand. “What is your name?” she asks concerned that this man may not even know who he is. “I am Ordell. I just lost my job and my apartment. My family has been dead for a while so I am all alone.” Ordell says as continues to stare into her eyes not ready to let her out of his sight. “My name is Lavender. If you need a job how about you work for my mum at our bar we will give you a room and everything. If you have no one. Then let me be someone.” Lavender says holding his stare, “I would love to!” Ordell says finally happy. With a twirl of Lavender’s black hair, she leads him down the path towards the future.


When I was a kid, I was torn between becoming an astronaut and becoming a pirate. Secretly, I hoped I could be a space pirate. Of course, sometimes dreams die. Mine didn’t die quietly. My doctor looked like a malnourished Santa Claus, and he was the only man I’ve ever wanted dead. His response to my breaking my arm in three places was,“Her bones are very brittle. She’ll need to be careful.” I thought about Mars and my fragile bones crunching like soda cans under the atmospheric pressure. Space exploration suddenly became impossible. My mother, sensing my mood shift, hurriedly shuffled me out of the room before I throttled the man. Mom knelt in front of me on the sidewalk, her hands soft on my face. Some of the other parents were giving us judgmental looks, but my mother looked at me like I was the only person on Earth. “Honey,” she said, that crease on her forehead miles deep, “sometimes the cat wins.” I must have looked confused, because she pushed a strand of hair behind my ear and continued her gentle explanation. “Sometimes life is like a game of tic-tac-toe, and that means sometimes the cat wins. Don’t let today keep you from finding happiness.” It was a difficult to understand, and not just because I was a dumb kid. I tucked the expression away, wondering when I’d understand her words. When I was sixteen, I found myself in a vehicle wrapped around a tree, my leg shattered like glass, and the only coherent thought in my panicked head was, “Sometimes the cat wins!” The paramedics were not impressed with my wisdom, and promptly shut me up with an oxygen mask. Positivity is a difficult thing to come by when you’re a kid getting destroyed by your pediatrician, and I learned then that it was equally elusive when you were a teenager with a permanent limp. No more high heels; no more jogging. I quit the softball team with all the sullenness I could muster. At twenty-six, I found myself forced to stand there demurely as my boss told me he was sorry, but he had to let me go. That’s fine, I told him, sometimes the cat wins. His lunch dinged in the microwave, and he waved me away without any comment. I fit all my possessions into a cardboard box and left the office feeling like an idiot. I spent the next three months desperately searching for any job, just trying to make ends meet. The cat was winning while I had sleep for dinner, and it was winning when I cracked and moved back in with my mom, unable to make rent. I was twenty-nine when I got married and realized that the cat didn’t *always* win. It was a nice feeling, almost as nice as hitting a cousin I hated in the face with my bouquet. “Sometimes the cat wins,” I muttered to myself at the reception, and the words didn’t fall as heavily as they usually did. I allowed myself to feel a bit hopeful, for once. The cat only won sometimes, not always. I squeezed my wife’s hand and tried to cement the moment in my mind. At thirty, I sat next to my mother on her back porch, contemplative. The sky was clear and full of stars. I thought back to the days when I used to list off all the constellations with a belligerent sort of efficiency, like the knowledge would strengthen my bones. I squinted, realizing I couldn’t find Polaris. “What did you mean when you told me that thing about the cat winning?” I asked my mother, turning to look at her. She was a bit more wrinkled, but she still looked at me like I was the only person on Earth. “I have no idea,” she said, calmly, like this wasn’t advice I’d been using for my entire life. “I remember feeling a bit silly after I said it.” I turned back to the night sky. “I think it means that sometimes no one wins.” “How sad,” my mother murmured. “No,” I disagreed. I thought about my family, about how the life I had wasn't the one I had originally set out for, but was filled with precious moments all the same. “I think there’s something a bit hopeful in it. Sometimes there are things even better than our dreams waiting on us.” My mother was silent, but I could see the smile on her face. I sat with her a little longer, losing my thoughts in unfamiliar stars.


RONALD THE MAGNIFICENT He was tossed out of the trunk of the antique blue Cavalier, rough hands pulling on his limbs, hoisting him under his arm pits before flinging his banged up body to the side of the road. Or perhaps more accurately, he was hoisted under his already-rusting arm sockets. He lay, crumpled, on a loamy berm, a feathery fern pushing through his nose socket into his brain circuits, causing him to sneeze droplets of machine oil. What had he done to deserve this? His name was RTM, which his owners told him stood for Ronald the Magnificent, and he was an early generation android. For years, he served the Miller Family, cooking large meals, washing the dishes, cleaning their five-room cabin from top to bottom. RTM was all the Millers could afford. They couldn’t upgrade their robot in the same way they’d gotten their 292-inch screen television or the counterfeit designer handbags beloved by Penny Miller or the genuine-but-definitely-hot diamond pinky ring that Earl Miller wore on his right hand. They put up with RTM’s basic old-school looks until they hit an oil gusher in the back yard and scored millions of bitcoins. Since oil was banned in the last century, scavengers trolled around the backwoods of the universe looking for untapped resources to liberate into the black market. Earl was one of those trollers, never hitting it big until he accidentally let the hydraulic driller loose in his own backyard. Whoosh! Their fortune was immense and fleeting. At first, they decided to just reskin RTM, covering his metal body with human-like skin. They took him to the Android Upgrade Shop in Willowsville and told the technician to “do him up right,” with skin and real human hair, even sprang for the Sensory Package, so that RTM could feel wind and sunshine on his skin and touch different textures with his fingertips. They opted for the Minor Emotions add-on so that RTM could feel fear, mild pain and moderate happiness and, perhaps one day, love. “That’s the least we can do,” said Earl to Penny one morning, after they had sweaty, unsatisfied lovemaking. “We need to let him experience love, like we have,” he crooned and cradled Penny in his arms. RTM looked good. His pearly white veneers gleamed when he smiled. His wavy brown hair felt silky. His biceps flexed and ab muscles rippled even when he did small chores, like vacuuming and picking up the dirty coffee cups and cocktail glasses and piles of clothes that Early and Penny left all over the house. This past week, as the Sensory Package kicked in, RTM was starting to feel that he was destined for more than this life, and he suddenly realized that he was lonely. Penny noticed RTM’s silence and his melancholic pauses around the kitchen. He would pick up a glass, roll it around his hands, let out a big sigh, and put it back down on the counter. Penny also noticed how RTM’s biceps flexed under his skintight cleaning unitard and how the morning sun highlighted his genuine human hair with a golden halo. “He looks a darn sight better than Earl,” Penny thought to herself, and she launched herself onto his lips, throwing her arms around his chest and holding on tight. RTM, although startled, relaxed into the embrace. That’s when Earl wandered out to the kitchen, yawning and asking where breakfast was. The rest of that story brings us back to the present - Earl enraged, Earl grappling RTM to the ground, wrapping RTM in bungie cords and throwing him into the trunk of the last century Cavalier that Earl was so proud of. The final indignity came with Earl’s comment as he drove away. “We’ve already replaced you!” Emotional sensitivity, sensory perception, and a human-like self-awareness that made RTM suddenly see there was more to life - at the moment, all of that acted against him, as he shivered in the loamy berm with a fern interfering with his synapse firing. He shook loose of his earthy constraints and raised his arms in a victory salute. ‘I’m free,’ he thought, and took stock of what might come next. RTM stretched his arms high into the air, feeling his back lengthen and loosen. He adjusted his human hair so that it settled onto his skull in what he hoped was flattering to his face. Fortunately, he was still wearing his cleaning unitard which, while torn and disheveled, at least covered his private parts. RTM darted onto the highway, waving his arms in a convincing show of distress. A car heading toward him slowed down, then cruised by him slowly as the occupants assessed him. RTM flashed his best smile, working for a mixture of trustworthiness and distress. The car stopped and RTM trotted toward it. A blonde leaned her head out the window and said, “Well, come on then. Want to get out of the rain?” She reached out a coppery-skinned arm and gestured to the back seat. RTM hesitated, then jumped in the open door, settling against the upholstery. “Thank you for stopping,” he said. “I was about to expire in the midst of decay.” The blonde looked at another person waiting in the front seat and raised her eyebrows, as if asking WTF? “What’s your name, soldier?” said Blondie, scanning RTM up and down. Her eyes lingered on his hair. “Um, it’s not ‘soldier’,” he said. “My name is Ronald. You can call me Ronny,” he said. “Ronny?” she replied. “Pleased to meet you. Here, wrap up in this,” and she tossed him a fleecy blanket that had been flung over the passenger in the front seat, a shadowy figure who slunk back against the seat when Ronny tried to look more closely at their face. “You look cold.” Ronnie took the blanket gratefully and wrapped it tightly around his body, leaving only a small opening to breathe through, his shiny blue eyes looking out. Blondie looked back at his face in the rearview mirror, glancing over to Shadow as if for confirmation. “So, Ronnie,” said Blondie, eyeing him in the mirror. “Would you like a drink?” He thought for a minute about the contents of the Sensitivity Package. Did it allow him to drink liquids? He thought so, although he remembered the Millers were reluctant to let him try, in case RTM rusted -the old version of him would have been destroyed. RTM nodded, being careful to nod in a fluid, human-like way. This is it, he thought to himself, I can start fresh as a humanoid named Ronnie. He felt odd ripplings in his stomach, like Diet Coca Cola, the sacred drink of the Ancients, bubbling and sizzling when poured over ice for Earl’s breakfast. Maybe, he thought, this is what it’s like to feel happy. Blondie reached down for something at Shadow’s feet, rummaged around so that Ronnie could hear bottles clanking and melting ice swishing around. She popped open a bottle top, poured liquid into a glass and handed it back through the headrest to Ronnie. She watched him grasp the glass lightly in his muscular hand, as he had so carefully practiced at home. Well, his former home. He felt an impulse to press the glass against his cheek, and he followed through, pressing it against his new skin, savoring the cold. A sudden pain twinged his against his cheek. He cried out and pulled the glass away, managing to hold it steady. Blondie kept her gaze on Ronnie, shifting her eyes between his face and the glass he held next to the window. “Something wrong, soldier?” Ronnie thought about the things that Earl often complained about. “Um, no, must be that old filling I need to get replaced. Sensitive to heat and cold.” He filled up his mouth with liquid from his glass, swishing the liquid around, then swallowed it in one huge gulp. Blondie is keeping an eye on him. “What’s your story, Ronnie?” He burped, clapping his hand to his mouth in embarrassment. “Excuse me, please.” He could feel a blush creeping up the dermal substitute on his face. He accessed the Humanoid Memory implants and recited, “I had an ordinary childhood. You know, bottle rockets, trips to the Sky Mall near Jupiter, a small robot pet named Andy. My father worked for the Intergalactic Empire Corporation and wasn’t home much. My mother disappeared on my third birthday.” A memory flashed of a tender face next to his, arms encircling him, warm and strong, a sweet low voice crooning a lullaby. Ronnie began to cry. Blondie watched him weep, dry sobs racking his body as his new childhood memories flooded from his memory bank to his consciousness. She pushed a strand of hair away from her face. “Don’t cry, Ronnie. You don’t know what all those feelings will do to your meta operating system.” Ronnie’s crying stopped. He looked up at her beautiful copper colored face and whispered, “How did you know?” “I’m a new model, Ronnie, with those ultra hyperized sensory perception chips. I know everything. Literally. Never made it out of the factory until now.“ Blondie sighed. “It was pretty simple, really, to open all the security gates and decimate the android sentinals. I just walked out to the megaway, then found my new friend here,” she pointed to Shadow cowering against the door. “We’re heading to the promised land, Ronnie. Androids and humans, and all creatures in-between, living together in anarchy. You’ll love it.” She turned around and started the vehicle. “Relax, friend.” Ronnie settled into the seat cushions. He felt a lullaby oozing into his ear canals, and he started to hum.


It’s not yet 5am. It is dark still. I turn over to face the window. Moonlight settles reluctantly on the tree outside. I trace the tree’s dull outline with my eyes, a thick trunk grotesquely twisting into small branches. I count 27 branches visible in this light. I grow bored. I feel the weight of exhaustion pulling at my limbs in mockery and wonder if sleep may still take me. It is unlikely. My head still throbs from the noise of the night, the relentless berating. I become aware of a small part of my ankle protruding from my pyjama bottoms, sitting uncomfortably on the mattress. It must have been four days since I had last stretched a sheet over the bed. No, five. Maybe more. I have lost track. The bare mattress disgusts me, but I won’t do anything about it. I can’t. Maybe I can. No, it must be impossible. I am too tired for this. I hug the flannel tighter around me. His flannel. The last time he wore it, summer had only just begun to subside, and fall had curled lazily around Us. I had held on tighter to his sleeve than usual, feeling the soft fabric against my skin. When he asked if I was ok I had smiled at him and kissed him on the cheek. “Perfect.” I was. It all was. I had convinced him to take me apple-picking. “It’ll be cute,” I whined when he had protested. “We’ll look so picture-perfect it’ll make other people sick.” He rewarded me with that laugh I loved so much and his reluctant agreement. The apple orchard was about an hour’s drive from my house, but I relished the long car ride, the happy chatter and the watching of the autumnal trees along the roads in their slow burn, some tinged red at the ends and some entirely eaten up. When We got out of the car the air had a crisp edge, so I had curled around his arm. Now the air is more than crisp and there is no arm to cling to. I curl up more to shelter from the biting winter cold. I consider turning up the heat, but it’s so far away. Away from the cocoon, I am swaddled in. Maybe later. I question if I should do something. It is clear that once again sleep has rejected me and I am to stay awake. I won’t get up. Perhaps I could read. I used to like reading. Or watch a movie. There was a time when my days would start with yoga and coffee. I would be at work by 8 or on campus by 9. All I did was move ceaselessly through time and moments. The last moment I remember being entirely present in was the apple orchard. We were moving our way through the labyrinth of trees slowly, me taking my time to teasingly inspect each apple three times over, him smiling lazily. I felt We were something out of a montage in a romantic comedy and said as much. “I’m sure we’d be dressed better if we were,” he had responded. I don’t remember my retort exactly, it was unimportant. I remember thinking how wrong he was, though. He looked perfect, with the soft mid-morning light caressing his cheeks and the red of his flannel blending seamlessly in with the red apples around Us. We continued moving through, stopping at a little arch in a clearing that had vines twisting around it. The vines had not yet felt the cool touch of autumn and still shone with brilliant green. I made a comment about how perfect it would be for a wedding, surely that was its purpose? I barely registered him stiffen beside me. I split from him to investigate the one small white flower that remained on the tangled branches. I think often about that moment. I hadn’t resented his lack of interest in the arch, or the small flower adorning it, but I wish I had stayed, just a little longer. I wish I had sat down under the arch for a moment, taken a deep breath, relished the perfection of the moment. Instead, We kept walking. It aches to remember these things. I wish I didn’t. I wish I had crawled into bed in an old hoodie last night instead. I seem never to notice the way I infect things until I am left gangrenous and in need of an amputation. I decide to put on a movie. A distraction. The light of the laptop hurts my eyes a little and I squint while I peruse the options. No romantic comedies. No movies with sad endings. No movies I haven’t seen before, I don’t want surprises. No movies I saw with him. The options I am left with leave a bad taste in my mouth. I pick one at random, something to not feel the interminable drip of time so profoundly. I immediately regret my choice as the movie starts. It was one of my favourites when I was younger. I must have watched it upwards of 30 times. I’m sure I could quote at least three-quarters of it by heart. I shouldn’t tether it to this moment. My alternatives seem so unappetising that I let it play. The plot rolls past me without me even noticing it. Instead, I spend my time wondering. I wonder if I should have seen the emptiness in his eyes. I wonder if I could have known that with the sickening of summer the home I had built inside him was falling into disrepair, the walls cracking, the garden browning and dying off. I wonder if I could have stopped it. Of course I couldn’t have. I had no way of noticing the shift, no reason to question his refusal to come up after dropping me off that day on the excuse that he was tired. It had been a long day, I was tired too. When everything was dying outside, I had no reason to think that extended to my life too. I wonder what I did wrong, if my wedding arch comment was too much, if I was too pushy, if he grew bored of me. I wonder what he would think of me now. I imagine he would be disgusted. Freezing in a half-made bed with the credits for a film I didn’t watch rolling in front of me, I am disgusted. I get up to turn up the heat. A small beam of light peers in through the window. The sunrise, the dawn of a new day a promise that, in spite of myself, I keep. I don’t go back to bed.


I wrote this in about 3 hours before I had to turn it in for a class. I realize that it's probably consistent in errors, so constructive criticism is very much encouraged. Lunar Base 422 “Mommy, are you there?” Adeline pried her eyes open, a task that was becoming more and more difficult as the night grew older. Of course the recently-full-now-half-empty bottle of whiskey sitting on her station’s desk was not helping. She was really doing her best to make a bed for herself using only her terrible office chair and the aforementioned desk, a real testament to her resourcefulness. She sat leaned all the way back, with her feet propped on the desk next to the whiskey. She wiped her eyes and studied the monitor sitting on the desk. A small, pixilated face inside the monitor stared back at her, awaiting her response. “Yo, Addie, are you even listening?” “Yeah Mark, I’m still here” she sighed, already longing to be back in the dream she had just been pulled out of. “I’m fading fast though, if you have anything remotely important to tell me, now is the time” She dragged her feet off the desk and onto the floor and stood to stretch. After she finished touching her toes and Mark finished rolling his eyes, Mark continued. “Aries Command is on me for your missing fuel log. They are sure that they didn’t get it with the last comm. pack, which means you couldn’t have attached it. I’m not calling you a liar...” Adeline was zoned out again. She stared at a picture on her desk, the only picture she owned. The picture did not fit its frame and was held together by clear-ish tape, having been torn in two on more than one occasion. The picture was of a small six year old boy, wearing the largest grin a person could fit on such a small face. The boy was presenting a flower to whoever was taking the picture, and his grin revealed two nonexistent front teeth. A small smile found its way onto Adeline’s face, only to diminish a moment later, when Mark’s rambling seemed to be coming to an end. "So? What do you think we should do about it?” Prodded Mark. Adeline realized that she didn't want to be having this conversation a second longer. Mark was certainly calling her a liar, and she was even more certainly lying. "I don't know what happened, but I'll get it sorted out. I'll send you what I sent them and you can look it over for yourself. But I’ve got to crash, I have to make a run early tomorrow morning.” Adeline reached down to the keyboard to end the call. She hesitated before she hung up, trying to decide whether not to ask Mark a potentially embarrassing question. “Mark, you wouldn't have called me mommy earlier, would you have?” Mark’s face contorted in disgust and bewilderment. "Mommy, like mother? Why on earth..." Getting the answer she expected, Adeline ended the call. She didn't mean to resent Mark; he was not at fault for being stuck with her on this distant moon on the edge of a distant galaxy. Adeline always understood that she wasn't easy to work with, even before. Four years she had spent living and working on Lunar Base 422, and had only seen Mark in person a total of two times. The first time was her first Christmas, a tradition that they had originally planned to take place every year. Mark had made the two thousand mile journey in his lunar rover, with Adeline promising to take the journey next year. Though the affair had been so bleak and dry that both of them had wordlessly come to the understanding that they were better off separate. Since then it had only been weekly status reports and an instance a couple years back when Mark had to come help make repairs to the space cruiser docked in Adeline’s base. She could still hear Mark whining in her ear as he tinkered with the smashed navigation system. “I might just be an engineer, but I'm also your commanding officer. I don't know what you're doing out there, I'm not a pilot. But we are here to do work, to run tests and report data. If you wanted to fly headfirst into asteroid fields and explore the outer reaches of space, then you should have joined The Corps." Adeline laid down onto her stiff bed to attempt as much sleep as possible before the inevitable head splitting hangover that she was due for. As she began to drift off to sleep, she looked on her nightstand and saw an old open letter. Even though she had the contents memorized, she picked up the envelope and took out the letter. If anything she wanted to touch it, feel it, see handwriting that wasn't her own. Dear Adeline, Commander Hurt just told me that you have made your decision to transfer. I think you actually convinced him that you have a passion for deep space lunar exploration. I know that I cannot talk you out of this decision. Even though you are a necessity here in the research labs, I understand. But Adeline, I don't support you. What you are looking for is a myth, you know that your data is unquantifiable and random; all you have is the testimony of a pilot who is now living in a psych ward. Here I am trying to convince you again, even though I promised I wouldn't. I'm sorry, I don't support you but I do understand. That's all I'm saying I hear they're making you go to pilot training, which I find hilarious because you and I both know you could teach the instructors a thing or two. I wish you the entire best, fly safe. With love, Stan PS: If he's out there, I hope you find him. Adeline closed the letter and put it back in its envelope. She drifted off to sleep, dreaming of Stan, Mark’s contorted and disgusted face, and a small laughing boy handing her a daisy. Adeline woke with a start to the sound of a blaring alarm. This was not the station intercom alarm though; it was one that she had set, one that was only supposed to go off during a specific occurrence. Suspended in a moment disbelief, Adeline sat up straight in her bed, and stared at the monitor on her desk. The screen displayed giant red letters: Detection: ENERGY FIELD CLASS G. LOCATION: QUADRANT 3. APPROX 20 MNUTES UNTILL DISPERSION Adeline’s feet were on the floor and her legs were running seemingly before her brain gave them the order. She burst from her room, into a narrow hallway. She ran to the door at the end of the hallway, and charged through it to find herself in a spacious, open hanger. All of her focus was directed on a large, one person cruiser. Adeline moved quickly to the station consol, frantically pressing each key in precise order. When she finished, the lights and engine on the ship jumped to life, and Adeline moved quickly towards the boarding ladder. As she climbed up, she could already hear her automated computer speaking to her from inside the ship. “Incoming call: Commander Mark Walker. Incoming call: Commander Mark Walker.” Before she could ignore the call, Mark overrided her comm. system. His furious shouting filled the cockpit. “Adeline, I swear on everything that I am, if you are chasing another energy field I will have you court-martialed. If you don't die out there you will come back and be shot, I will make it my mission..." Adeline had used her knife to cut the already exposed comm. wires. She was alone, and she was going to do this alone. As the thrusters began to roar to life, the ship began to lift off the ground and move forward towards the opening hangar doors. The moment the doors gave Adeline the clearance she needed, the ship disappeared from the hanger, rocketing into the black. Adeline was as focused as she could be. Her ship cut through space at 1000MPH, which didn't seem fast enough. The automated computer broke the silence. “Approximately six minutes until you arrive at the selected coordinates. Current velocity not sustainable on current fuel cells. Consider...” Adeline pushed the mute button so hard she thought it might break in half. She reflected to herself that maybe ending conversations in such a manner was a bad habit, but that was a problem for another time. Each minute felt like an hour, and Adeline would be lying to herself if she said she didn't have her own doubts about what she was doing. "I saw her, I talked to her" A shaky but sure voice emerged from Adeline’s memory. "I thought it was all over, I thought the ship would be pulled apart in that energy field, and then she was just there, in the ship with me. Check my psych evals. I've never had a problem before. Even after she died. I would think I was crazy too, if she didn't tell me what I couldn't know." Adeline looked to the newspaper clipping that was taped to the dash of the cruiser. The headline read: “Aries astronaut discovers wife's missing body on abandoned moon.” The common man didn’t understand the implications of such a find. Every person under Aries command could have scoured every planet and moon known to man and still have next to no shot to finding Maria's ship. Most had assumed that she was floating off in space somewhere, with no hope of ever being found. Then one day, after her husband nearly died on his own exploration mission, he informed authorities that her crashed ship was on a baron moon, untouched by humans thus far. “Adeline, everyone thinks I'm crazy. And maybe I am. But I know my wife, I know her soul. And on that day, I met her soul. My only regret is pulling out of that energy field. I know I will never have that opportunity again." Opportunity. The word brought Adeline back into full focus as she steered the ship toward the now visible energy field. The only way the anomaly could be described to a person that had never witnessed such an event would be a thunderstorm in space. Seemingly random, most pilots feared them and avoided them. Adeline feared them, she did not avoid them. This specific energy field came about once every couple years. The last occurrence was Adeline’s near death experience with the asteroids. Today though, her path was clear and unburdened. An emergency signal began to blare through the cockpit Caution: energy field immanent. Change course. Ship unable to withstand heat levels...” Then, total silence. Adeline’s cruiser had entered the field. Though there was some rocking and jostling about, the entrance was smoother than she expected. The emergency signal had turned itself off unprompted, and the only sound left was the creaking of the ship. Then, to Adeline’s surprise, the short range comm. light on her dash came to life. She looked down at the recently cut wires, and knew that no power was actually being directed to the consol. She reached out and hesitated a moment before she pressed the key to answer the call. Though she did and heard only scratching and static. Then a voice, small and quiet, but just loud enough.