John Song, I thought about you today. I suppose that it was hard not to, especially with our encounter still so vividly seared into my mind. The circumstances of our meeting were not chance, nor was it dealt by the hand of fate, but I find that it makes the experience so much more better. It was a choice, mine and yours, a temporary contract entered by mutual agreement, and I do not find myself regretting it at all. I enjoyed it; both the food and your company. You are a quirky person, John Song. But then again, so am I. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons that the two of us had gotten along so well, especially in such a short span of time. Deciding to go out with you was a calculated response on my part. Admittedly, at first, I harboured no expectations while browsing through the Norang Narang app, merely a mild curiosity at heart. Many of the profiles were too similar; either too exaggerated or a cliched brand of uninteresting. The part about your habit of tossing stones into the Han River threw me off at first. It was so... open and sincere, and human in a way that I find most of the world lacking. I lingered upon your profile the longest, feasting my eyes upon every word. There was a quiet rhythm to yours. Memories of my own childhood began to trickle through, and I knew that if I closed my eyes at that moment, I could almost imagine myself decades back. The distinct taste of the crisp kampung air blended with the quiet lapping of the river nearby. Small figures rushing to the edge of a soft blue precipice, hand in hand, joy spread across the faces of the young and old, as the pitter-patter of pebbles tapping against the pristine surface of the water filtered through. When I opened my eyes again, it was to find the beginning of gentle tears in them. Involuntarily and because of this, I had begun to build up an image of you in my head, and I quickly found myself intrigued. The fact that you enjoyed good food appealed to me as well, and for that, my decision was an easy one. I am not easily accustomed to feeling nervous, but as we exchanged our contact information, there was a tense, fluttery knot in my gut. If it helps, the thought of cancellation never crossed my mind. If anything, that only served to increase my fascination. It was a curious emotion, one that I seldom explore, and it was a welcome change. Unfortunately, I was not prepared to amalgamate the profile constructed in my mind with the blustering, arrogant man that greeted me at the agreed-upon location. In this way, my first impression of you was less than flattering. Truthfully, I would have made my leave right there and then; rudeness be damned, no matter how much I detest it. But then, by some miracle or granted foresight, I saw through you, John Song. I saw the man hiding behind the perceived stature of wealth and recognition, one that tried so desperately to serve a perpetually dissatisfied audience and the one that had gradually cracked and yielded towards the social standards of the acceptable norm. You had admitted defeat to that shared delusion, but you had not bent to it. And for that, you were worth my time. After all, pressure creates the most splendid of gems, does it not? Convincing you to drop your mask was a much harder task. I indulged your ideals of the ‘perfect date’, showing only the barest hints of discomfort as you insisted on increasingly extravagant displays. We shared small talk to pass the time, meaningless idle chatter, but pleasing nonetheless and it was just right to straddle the thin line between awkwardness and a content silence. I suppose that it all led up to that moment, at the dinner. The food was fancy, and overly so for my tastes, but I allowed it for a moment. My displeasure was much more evident at this point, and you were quick enough to finally catch on. The vacuum that soon followed drained the lightheartedness from the table of two gave us both the much needed time to slow down and think. By the end of a minute, you were squirming in your seat. My discomfort became yours, and it was plain to see on your face. Like dominoes, our moods reflect those around us, I couldn’t help but grimace internally as the waiter twitched past the table, a frozen smile stretched on his face. People are often so eager to please, that they subconsciously transform themselves into mirrors. You broke the silence first, desperate, and I won the unspoken silent game. I remember that the first real words out of your mouth was about the local arts, a common ground of sorts from what little you knew about me from the description blurb in my Norang Narang account. I grasped onto the olive branch that you were tentatively offering, and smiled, sincere. Back and forth, we talked about the cultural richness of the place. What you lacked in knowledge, you more than made up for in raw enthusiasm. You were not at all subtle, and it was clear that your real fascination primarily lay with my profile picture. As with everything I do, the picture itself was meticulously chosen after much consideration. A Korean traditional mask called a tal; used for war and for protection, for death and design. The conversation that followed soon after is undoubtedly fresh on both our minds. “Everyone wears masks.” I had said, amused. “A thousand shards of a construct that they wish to be, but cannot. It is to hide and to conceal. It is nearly always an improper fit, but wilful blindness on everyone’s part allows the pretence to continue longer.” You then asked me whether I wore a mask; not just on stage like you so admired but at the current moment. “Oh, yes.” I had replied without hesitation. To say this out loud was to drop the burning match into the oil-slick of your mind. I watched the surprise spread across your face, and the way that you tried to shut yourself against the crux of the truth. Your eyelids flickered; irises pulling from side to side as pale blue fireflies in the mid-morning sun. You swallowed once, twice. Teasingly, I dropped my mask a fraction, lips twitching upwards in a gentle smile. And you did the same, except that yours yielded more resignation, but there was also relief peering out from the crinkles at the corner of your eyes. Then, like a desert bloom unfurling after a sudden rain, your wariness gave way to genuine fascination that was likewise reflected in mine. The tension slid away, and from there on, it was a high-stakes quid pro quo, of sorts. We were both quirky people, me with my local arts and taste in indie music, and you with your fervour in cinematography. The two areas intersected, and the rest of the experience at the diner from there was smooth sailing. Boldness spurred on spontaneity, and you suggested a short outing to the Han riverbank. I liked that, because I have often found that impulse is more sincere than concise calculation. In the cool setting of a late evening, the river was especially gorgeous, glittering blue and white in the setting sun. The surface was a smooth field of turquoise cyan and the gentle motions of water lapped against the banks and the wooden structure of the walkways raised beside it. It was quiet, and peacefully so. Likewise, our walk passed by in relative silence, although it was now a more content one. The fact that you were practically baring your heart at that moment, was not lost on me, and I hope that you know that. This was your quiet place, wasn’t in? The design that you had so painstakingly recreated in your mind, each fine detail from the individual brush strokes of the sun peering from above, down to the pale canvas of the purple sky reflected in the dark blue... I knew that this place was especially dear to you, and I am honoured that you would deem it good enough to share this with me. I guess that the tipping point was when I bought that cup of coffee for you. A moment of spontaneity on my part as well, I must admit. The shock on your face was not well-concealed, and my own lips twitched upwards in humour. Believing that it would be the last surprise for that day was a mistake on my part, because in the next heartbeat, you pressed something against the cold of my palm. Perception is often stated to be a pointed weapon, and I suppose that the saying is correct, because I was stunned into a rare silence. Another moment of impulse, and sincerity in its purest form. That made the river stone that you gifted me all too precious, because it was not only freely-given but also out of the depths of your own heart. It was another fragment of yourself that you have given me. Yet, my work still persists in calling me away from you. The spontaneity that I had so admired in my job is now a burden that I am forced to bear for what feels like the first time in my life. What had promised to be a quick evening of fun and nothing more, turned out to be more than I could ever hope for. I want you to know that I truly enjoyed our exchange, and should the opportunity present itself, I would love to have a repeat performance. Now, as I stand in the crowded maze of the Incheon Airport, I cannot help but hesitate. Sentiment and fondness still linger, and more often than not, I find myself gripping the riverstone. The colours of it have imprinted in my mind by now, and although I am unsure as to why I am so mesmerised by it, the stone is something that I will treasure until the end of my days. I would like to see more of you, John Song. Sincerely, Janine Chung


This is what she wants more than anything in the world. I just can’t give it to her. God, what’s wrong with me? I felt like I could, at the start of our relationship I was smitten. I tried to be everything she wanted. She opened up to me so much back then, and...yeah, I felt like I could get there, too. But I can’t, I know I can’t She’s been asking about it a lot lately. I have to be honest with her. It will break her. It’s time to let her know. She’s been in a good mood today but this conversation will change everything. She was cleaning up in the bathroom when I knocked on the door frame and asked if we could talk “Yeah, just give me a minute, cleaning up in here a bit” she said as she was gathering up wet towels. She was wearing cleaning gloves as she walked past and handed me the load that I took instinctively. The pile was heavy. I looked down at it. There was an axe wrapped up in there. The towels were blood soaked. I dropped them and ran to the bath. Turning on the lights, I saw him immediately. He was in the tub, partially decapitated. Dead. I fingered the broken razor blade before I realized what I was doing and pulled back, dropping it into the crimson red water. The water that had already gone cold. “LILLY, what did you do?” I cried out She was standing right behind me “Surprise” she yelled. She was beaming. “Lily, no, God, what have you done?” “I knew you were having trouble with it. You’ve been distant lately. I thought you might back down” She responded “You know how bad I wanted this, for us” Fuck. “Lily, no. I came here to tell you that I couldn’t do it, that I didn’t want this” I said as I stared down at the blood on my hands and shirt “I know you didn’t” She smiled as she spoke “so I took matters into my own hands” “We have to tell someone” I said “I’m sorry...I...I..just can’t do this and we have to be honest about it” She looked at me quizzically. She was pristine. No blood on her anywhere. “Well” she said “I mean, I guess we could tell someone. But it looks you’re the one covered in blood, and I think you touched the razor blades and the axe” She bit her bottom lip “It’s not a good look for you” I started to feel woozy. She was right. And this was blackmail. She took her phone out of her pocket and dialed 9-1 and then she held it up to me and asked “Should I call? Should I call and cry? Should I tell them that I came home to this” She wailed, crying and faking a scream. She turned off the phone and laughed.


Life can teach lessons even in a pseudo-casino, like Not Vegas. ‘Not Vegas’ was once a private veterans club in the outskirts of Cleveland, OH. But over time fewer and fewer military men and women joined the club and it had become a social club that basically opened its doors to anyone over 21. The new owner changed the name to ‘Not Vegas’- supposed to be the closest thing to Las Vegas one could get in Ohio. It had one major reno in the building's lifetime and in its prime was a bright red brick building with white pillars wrapped in swirling neon lights and the inside had shiny bar tops and leather stools with a red-velvet carpet to make anyone feel like a VIP. Now, the brick was weathered and faded into a murky maroon with black and green mold spots. The pillars were faded off-yellow with rusty brown spots and the neon lights didn’t work all the way. The tables and bar counters didn’t gleam anymore, and the red carpet only looked red when the table legs got moved for vacuuming. The only thing similar between real Vegas and Not Vegas was that you got lost in a time-warp. The lights were kept dim and there were no clocks. Every two hours there was a different drink special so happy hour lasted all day. Even the patrons were mostly just regulars who appeared stopped in time. The two workers seemed lost in time too. There was 60-something year old Tina-she changed her age every time she was asked; one day she was 64 and the next she was 61. Tina kept her dyed almost white-blonde hair in tight perm curls and wore mint-green eye-shadow with platinum pink lipstick. She was skinny and her skin looked like aged leather. Tina also never wore shoes; she wore various colors of slippers. Tina had been spending the week bestowing her bar-tending knowledge onto the new hire, Darby. Darby was 19 and kept her virgin brown hair in a perfectly set high ponytail and dressed in 90’s prep-school chic with black wedge heels or ankle boots. She wore silver-rimmed glasses and wore mascara around her hazel eyes. She’d worked in service before, so the training was coming easily to her. It was mostly just memorizing where stuff was stored at this point. Darby took the opportunity of low patronage on a Tuesday evening to ask professional questions to Tina. She always felt it important to ask her in-interview questions to the trainers to see what differences there were in the answers. “What’s the hardest part of the job?” Darby asked, with her hands clasped behind her back. She had an air of professionalism that bordered on snobby. “Not being able to stop the gamblers” Tina answered, anchoring one elbow to the rumbling dishwasher top. “What do you mean?” Darby asked. “Why would we want to stop the gamblers? Isn’t that how this business makes money?” “Money is a necessary evil but sometimes you wish you could tell someone ‘Stop. You've lost enough money; go buy groceries instead’”. Tine replied. The dishwasher stopped and Tina handed a worn hand towel to Darby. They both began drying the glasses inside. “Why can’t you?” Darby wondered. “We have no legal leverage. Legally, I can cut someone off from drinking too much. They start acting differently, belligerently or unwell, I can deny them another order. But if someone spends their last dime...I have to take it.” Tina shook her head. Tina turned and gestured to a woman seated at the far side of the bar who looked like she was in her mid-forties. She had a pile of pull-tabs in front of her, with a pained expression on her sunken face. The poor lighting wasn’t doing her any favors. “See her? That’s Donna Bickley” Tina said and then crooked her finger to Darby to follow her into the office. The office was as dingy as the rest of the building, but the overhead light was bright to the point of blinding when going in from the bar. It was a small closet that had a metal desk shoved against the back wall, with a safe on a table to the left next to a filing cabinet and a cork-board with notes and lists to the right. A small, black plastic waste basket was under it on the floor. Tine pointed to a typed list to the furthest left of the cork-board. The top of the paper was titled ‘Unacceptable Checks From the Following’ and then a list of names under it. “We aren’t allowed to accept checks, due to them bouncing, from these people. Read the third name down” Tina instructed. Darby leaned a little and studiously looked at the third name. “Donna Bickley?” she asked. “Uh-huh” Tina said with her tongue between her teeth on the right side. “Donna is almost completely ruined as a person and we, as in the club, helped her do it! And we can’t help her.” she sighed deeply with another head shake. “She doesn’t look ‘ruined’ to me; and how is that our fault anyway? How can she keep coming here nearly every day if her checks bounce? Doesn’t that mean she has no money in the bank?” Darby wanted to know. “I-it’s not directly ‘our’ fault; people do it to themselves. But she borrows money- her sister, Madelyn Dusk, won’t speak to Donna anymore because of how much money Donna’s borrowed from her and her husband.” and despite being in the office, Tina lowered her voice “Donna’s husband and her are separated because she can’t afford her side of the divorce and her husband, Dave, refused to pay for it for her. She drained their joint bank account and didn’t get bills paid. She borrows from the bank. And she has a trail of other people, family and former friends, to whom she owes money; including her children.” “How do you know all that? Surely Donna doesn’t tell people that stuff” Darby asked in shock. Darby would have been beyond humiliated to have a check bounce. “It’s a bar in a small town-people talk. People tell bartenders and hairdressers everything.” Tina replied. They walked back out to the bar area and continued drying the glasses as they talked in hushed voices. “But why?” Darby asked. “I think it’s because we see people at their worst. Bartenders see people get wasted, act a fool, vomit on themselves and stuff like that. Hairdressers see people with straggly hair and then see them with foil-rolls in and so people are already in a vulnerable state, so they unleash.” Tina shrugged. “IF I was her family or friend, I wouldn’t loan money for gambling” Darby declared quietly. “Often, they didn’t either. Not intentionally. She’d say ‘oh I need money for this bill, I’m not getting paid until this day and this thing is due’ and they gave her money for those bills. And then instead, she comes in here. She’s a gambler. Not like Donald Marny” Tina tossed her head in direction to a older, 50-something man in a deep blue suit with a light blue button up shirt sitting in the slots area. He had salt and pepper hair, olive skin, and was hunched over one of the six slot machines against the opposing wall. “Wait...did you ‘Marny’? As in “Marny and CO. Clothes’?” Darby asked, jolting her head up to see him, eyes darting between him and Tina. Marny and CO. Clothes was a high-end fashion retailer. “The same. That’s Co-owner, Donald. His brother, Andrew, is the fashion designer and Donald does more of the business-end of things. Donald can afford to go to real Las Vegas, but he likes his home-town-vibe and he’s not a ‘gambler’” Tina explained. “Wait-what do you mean he’s not a ‘gambler’? He’s a person who gambles” Darby shook her head at Tina in confusion. “Honey, that’s the textbook definition” Tina said, tossing the hand towel over her shoulder and closing the now empty dishwasher with her foot. “But in the business, there’s ‘players’ and ‘gamblers’ and both spend money on games of chance, but they are not the same” “Okie, so what’s the difference?” Darby queried, carefully folding her hand towel and setting it on the countertop next to the dishwasher. “The difference is one chases their losses and the other doesn’t” Tina replied and started checking the coolers to see if they needed stocked. Darby followed behind her. “What does that mean?” “Chasing your losses means, you’ve lost more than you intended and then you gamble more to try win back to break even instead of gain.” “Well, I don’t think anybody ‘intends’ to lose; they realize it’s a very real possibility but” Darby shrugged with her face wrinkled in confusion. Tina walked Darby to the center island counter of the bar area. In the center lined up were six acrylic boxes with openings cut out of the fronts. They were filled with pull-tab gambling tickets. You unfolded the three or four pull-tabs and if you found the picture on the inner fold, it had a winning amount usually $25-$100. If it was a winner; each box could hold 4,000 tickets and out of 4,000, only five were winners. “No...no no. ‘Gamblers’ do NOT realize or even contemplate that they’re going to lose, possibly all their money. No matter how many times it happens. They’re always shocked and feel betrayed when they lose. And people like Donna think it’s ‘unfair’ for people like Donald to even win on a $2 scratch ticket. But that’s why it’s called ‘gambling’. We all know gambling isn’t designed to be ‘fair’, but gamblers think if they pay out x amount, they “deserve” at least that much back.” Tina raised her thin, drawn on brows for emphasis with an eye roll. Darby continued to stare at her in disbelief and befuddlement. “That....makes no sense” and her crossed over each other like a ref calling a bad play. “Gamblers don’t make sense, honey. Logic doesn’t exist. Only their game of choice. They keep thinking ‘I’ve spent this much money, I’ve lost all this, so I’m BOUND to win BIG if I just play one more time’. They pay whatever to get one more chance because that next chance is the winner. They’re superstitious beyond belief too.” Tina went on “You know how a person pays, say. $20 for tickets and we give them 20 tickets at a dollar each? Like, we count out twenty tickets and put them in these little baskets and carry it to the patron?” Darby nodded. Each acrylic box had a stack mini basket on it for the bartenders to count tickets into so the bartender didn’t have to cup a bunch of tickets in their hands. “If one ticket falls out onto the counter as we’re counting, Donna will snatch it up and buy it right away. Because THAT ticket is a winner. It doesn’t matter that in YEARS, a winner was that dropped ticket once and every other time it’s been a loser, that one time was enough to convince her” Tina said, tapping the tip of her coral painted nail onto the counter. Darby could only blink behind her glasses. “Oh, honey, that’s the tip of the superstitions” Tina assured her. “I’ve had patrons ask me to ‘stir the tickets in the box’, go to the far-left corner, or only get the tickets that are right up against the edge. Some people only want the white basket, or the blue basket. They’ll only get tickets in sets of 5 or only out of the even numbered boxes” she made a revolving motion with her hand. “Mm” Darby bit the inside of her cheek and blinked again. Tina full shrugged, palms facing the ceiling. “It happens. They are very superstitious.” “But if something only occurred once and every other time it’s not worked...” Darby pantomimed balancing with her hands. Tina pursed her lips, closed her eyes and shook her head. “If it worked ONCE, it will work again” she gave an exaggerated smirk and then looked around to see if anything else needed doing. “But not everyone. The ‘players’ don’t do that?” Darby asked as if she wanted it to be true but didn’t believe it. “Heh, some players have superstitions; they just admit defeat and know to throw in the towel.” Tina replied. Darby glanced towards Donna. “And we can’t stop them?” she asked quietly. “Not unless they run out cash.” Tina then started showing Darby where they kept the recipes for fancier drinks that they rarely but occasionally got asked for and showing her where the supplies for said drinks were stored. All of sudden Donna shouted, “You have GOT to be F***ING KIDDING ME! 200 tickets and NOTHING?!” Tina and Darby looked over in time to see Donna burying her eyes into her palms and her fingers digging into her hairline. Tina and Darby exchanged a knowing glance of empathy. Just at that second the slot machine area started exploding with flashing lights and a loud robotic “Winner!” “Winner!” “Winner” over an alarm-like sound. Donald was clapping and cheering. Darby and Tina jerked their heads to watch Donald’s celebratory dance. Tina nudged Darby’s arm and gestured her head towards Donna. Darby subtly glanced back to look at Donna. Donna was fuming, her eyes wide and glaring daggers in Donald’s direction. She angrily held out a $50 dollar bill between two fingers with one hand and ordered more tickets from between her teeth as she used her other arm to shove the opened losing pile of tickets to the counter’s edge. Donald came over with his coins to the other side of the bar to cash out. Darby looked at Tina. “That’s why it’s called ‘gambling” Tina said again.


Council of the Zodiac Ambassadors Week of 4/8/2024 Agenda: Horoscope Town Hall with Ambassadors Aria (Ram District), Tori (Bull District), Gev (Twin District), Candace (Crab District), Leon (Lion District), Virginia (Maiden District), Libby (Scales District), Scott (Scorpion District), Satoshi (Archer District), Catherine (Sea-Goat District), Atticus (Water Bearer District), Pierce (Fish District) “Order, everybody! I call Day 4 of the Convention of the Zodiac Ambassadors to order!” Aria announces, pounding the gavel to commence the meeting. A hush falls over the audience in the gallery - as leader of the Zodiac, Aria’s voice is quite commanding, and her flame red gown makes her impossible to ignore as she crosses the stage briskly to her seat at the head of the table. The eleven other ambassadors settle into their seats as well: Tori daintily crosses her ankles, Leon runs a proud hand through his honey blonde mane, and Candace smooths out her flowing, turquoise skirt. “Thank you for coming to the Town Hall with the Ambassadors,” Aria continues. “Each of the representatives will first give an update of the happenings in each of the Districts, and then give you the opportunity to ask questions and voice any concerns. At the end of the hour, we will discuss the upcoming solar eclipse. For now, we will begin going down the table. Tori?” she passes the microphone to her left. Tori stands up with the charm and grace of a Southern belle, her pearly pink dress like a petal around her. “Residents of the Bull District should be cautious to watch their spending during the next month until the Sun moves into our District,” her twangy voice rings sweetly through the hall. “We have recently prospered and received a large influx of wealth, but what may seem like good investments now could come back to haunt us on a rainy day. We are in a solid economic place now, but we should beware of easy come, easy go.” She starts to sit down, then adds, “Oh, but our restaurant industry has really taken off since the start of the spring.” Constituents from the Bull District give a little cheer. “Thank you, Tori,” Aria says. “Gev? News from the Twin District?” Gev takes the microphone and straightens out his jewel-toned tie. His stylishly messy hair swoops as he stands up and a couple of girls in the audience swoon. “The Twin District has faced some problems getting projects completed. Management has promised one thing but done another, so I want to reassure you that it is my top priority to get those projects underway on schedule.” - the British pronunciation - “I have already spoken with Representatives Castor and Pollux, and they’ve agreed to form committees to oversee each of the tasks. These include breaking ground on the new computer science wing at the main university campus, awarding the research grants from the record-breaking number of applicants we received this year,” a pause for applause, “and updating the exhibits in the museum. We have many good ideas in progress, but we are lacking in completion. Take this time to focus on priorities and make these ideas come into fruition. We will be very proud of the results once we put in the hard work.” “When will the grant recipients be announced?” someone in the audience asks. “I anticipate by the end of Saturn in our District.” “Will there be much disruption in traffic with the construction near campus?” someone else asks. “Some road closures around the IT departments are planned, but it should not cause much more congestion than that.” Candace is up next, tucking her thick red hair out of her heart-shaped face before she begins in a soft voice. “The Crab District has been functioning well as a community, but we’ve found ourselves closed off from our neighbors. Since we are an island, that is to be expected, but we need to be more open. I know we are often afraid of being taken advantage of or we can be overprotective, but some more trust will do us a world of good and allow us to make stronger connections with people who care about us.” She adjusts her seashell necklace as she sits down and passes the microphone over to Leon, who grabs it eagerly. Leon does not need a microphone. He uses it anyway. “No matter which District the Sun is in, we are getting the best path of the Sun anyway,” he grins, confidence radiating around him. “The Lion District is prepared for being the hub on the Path of Totality for the upcoming eclipse, and we are ready for tourists to flock into our fine District for the sight. We are shining bright, and big success is in our future!” Big cheers from the Lion District audience. Virginia rises with a more subdued, down-to-earth attitude. “While we may not be as flashy as some of our neighbors,” she shoots Leon a cool look, “our District’s vegetation is in full bloom, which means that we will soon be able to export our harvests. Some of our main contracts are with the Ram District in exchange for coal,” she glances over to Aria who nods in agreement, “with the Bull District in exchange for timber,” Tori also confirms, “and with the Water Bearer District in exchange for clay and cement,” she shares a nod with Atticus. “We are refreshed and rejuvenated and ready to go with a renewed sense of purpose and energy.” “Would we be able to trade for shellfish from the Crab District as well?” a resident asks. Virginia glances over at Candace, who agrees. “Yes, Candace, let’s work on a contract for that after this meeting.” She folds the creases of her green gown around her and passes off to Libby, who stands up poised and diplomatic. Her black hair is pinned up in perfection, and lace white gloves fit snugly to her delicate wrists. “As the center of legal doctrine,” she begins with masterful eloquence, “our District’s judges and scholars are preparing this year’s case studies for publication. We are still undecided on how to resolve a handful of technicalities, but we anticipate the volume to be available for all Districts by the start of Jupiter in the Bull District. At that time, our busy season will come to an end and we will be able to take a rest from our obligations. Until then, we are hard at work.” “Are there any new regulations the other Districts should be aware of at this point?” an audience member asks. “We are finalizing some zoning and property permits, but nothing that should affect existing property laws. These will be more relevant for new construction projects.” “Like the computer science wing?” a Twin District resident wonders, and Gev glances over curiously. “Ah, yes, that is a very good point,” Libby answers. “We will be sure to publish any guidelines before breaking ground on the wing. Gev, you and I can speak on this matter later.” Scott addresses the audience next. “The Scorpion District has perfected new technology that makes the mining of ore and minerals much easier and faster. We have a large supply or quartz and silver -” a sliver watches flashes on his wrist under the sleeve of his black cashmere sweater - “that we are going to be putting on the market soon. Part of this week’s convention is to draw up contracts with the other Districts so they can get first purchase at favorable prices.” This creates a collective mutter of approval from the Ambassadors. “Overall, our District is aimed for success and forecasted to receive much financial gain.” “I would like to address the Archer District's spring health goals,” Satoshi says, brushing the jet-black bangs out of his eyes. “With the start of warmer weather, the District parks will be open for recreation again.” A soft wave of applause from its residents. “Air quality has been improving, and we also have some new greenspaces open. I would like to encourage our residents to get outside and be active this season. Take the opportunity to care for your mind and body, and spend some time in nature.” “I would like to echo Satoshi’s encouragement,” Catherine takes over. “The Sea-Goat District faced an exceptionally harsh winter this year that has made many people lonely and discouraged, but as some Neptune moves into the Scales District, this promises an improvement in both the weather and our moods. We should find ourselves motivated and energetic again in the coming weeks.” Atticus stands up, adjusting his glasses so that the sleeve of his denim blazer slips a little to reveal his I know wrist tattoo. “Our residents have been incredibly creative while Uranus was in the Scales District, and we have produced some wonderful artwork as a result. Therefore, the Water Bearer District would like to invite you all to our art exhibition in honor of the eclipse entitled, From Dark Into Light: An exhibition of black and white photography . Entry fee is $10; all proceeds go towards scholarships for our art students and any remaining funds go towards local charities. The exhibit runs from the eclipse to the end the Sun in the Ram District.” The Ambassadors and audience give a round of applause. Pierce closes out the line of Ambassadors. “The Fish District has been investing heavily into our education system, especially early education programs, and in healthcare for the elderly. These programs include art classes, social dances, poetry readings, gardening days. We want to make sure the most vulnerable in our communities are cared for and don’t feel forgotten. Our District’s residents are caring and compassionate, and we are dreamers because we believe we can turn those dreams into reality - and these programs are serving as proof that we can.” He takes a small, shy bow as he receives some applause, his green eyes crinkling happily. The microphone makes its way back to the start of the table to Aria. “Alright, thank you to all the Ambassadors for their updates. To close out the table, the Ram District has been very active in research the past couple of months. We are brimming with ideas, inspired by Jupiter in the Water Bearer District, and we are making substantial progress getting our results out there. I know that we are impatient to get things done, but I caution us to take our time - I know it’s hard for us - but really take a moment to step back to make sure we check all our boxes, cross all our t’s, dot all our i’s, so we don’t have to go back and redo silly mistakes. But overall, we are in a good place.” There’s a brief shift in the room as the Ambassadors wrap up their respective updates and field any remaining questions before focus changes to the upcoming solar eclipse. “Well, as we all know,” Aria continues to lead, “the solar eclipse is coming up. Atticus mentioned the art exhibit in its honor, and Leon invited everyone to the Lion District to best witness totality. Are there any questions about what to expect for this special event?” “Is it a good day to work and be productive?” someone else asks. “Well, I was thinking to take the day off from work to actually see it,” another audience member replies instead. “I agree with that,” Aria laughs. “To answer your question though, yes. All signs point to any endeavors taken up on the day of the eclipse are more likely to succeed, especially before peak, so if there is anything you want to accomplish, I suggest doing it then - just don’t miss the actual eclipse!” “Will it be a good day for love?” someone asks and people immediately chatter in interest - always a popular question for the Ambassadors. “Should I go for the ‘total eclipse of the heart’ joke?” Scott teases. Libby rolls her eyes and answers seriously, “For that, I would recommend asking your local Constellation Consultant to look at your personal star chart.” “Any other question?” Candace glances around. The audience members, satisfied with the answers and guidance they’ve been given, start to mill towards the exit. “Wait!” a child excitedly remembers. “Are there still eclipse glasses available?” “Yes, definitely,” Atticus says. “In fact, you can find them at the main entrance of the hall, so pick up a pair as you leave!” “Have a lovely Sun in Ram District season and a wonderful solar eclipse, everybody!” Aria adjourns the meeting.


Reluctant Werewolf Being a werewolf wasn’t my defining characteristic, though there would be people who said otherwise. I just wanted to run my coffee shop and have enough money to break even, and to be left alone. An introvert I was not, not exactly. I’m a people person, but there are only so many times that fellow werewolves and vampires could come in, pretending they were there for coffee but actually heckling me, that I could deal with. Before I was bitten, I prided myself on being able to control my temper; I was pretty much a pacifist, unless I saw someone coming to harm. Now it felt like my anger was constantly bubbling just beneath the surface of my skin, and all it took for me to lose it was a minor incident. How foolish I’d been, not believing in monsters. They were all too real, and they were annoying. I walked downstairs and began to prep everything, unlocking the doors so my employees can come inside for their shifts. I make myself a cup of strong, black coffee, still fatigued from the night before. One of the baristas, Caleb, walked inside, cheeks flushed and chapped from the brutal wind. “Morning, Leo,” He said, sitting down at a table before he clocks in. I brought him a cup of coffee, along with milk, sugar, and cream. He gave me a grateful smile in reply as I set it on the table. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” He said after taking a few sips, “But the vampires are lurking again.” “Again?” I cried, rolling my eyes so hard it felt like they were going to fall out of their sockets. “At this rate, I’ll have to get a damn protection order. This has gotten way out of hand.” Leo smirks over the rim of his mug. “I don’t even get their problem with you. It’s not like you bother them.” “As far as I know, I don’t *bother* anyone! I just work and go home!” I said, exasperated. I didn’t want the authorities involved, necessarily, but I was so tired of being heckled for no apparent reason. It wasn’t my fault I’d been bitten, after all. I’d just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. As if reading my thoughts, a vampire walked up to the door, all clothed in black, a scarf around his neck to protect him from the cold. “Yo, Leo! You got any coffee? I have money!” He called through the frosty glass, waving a twenty at me. His fanged teeth were bared in a smirk, bright ruby eyes glinting in the winter morning. “You and I both know you don’t want any coffee, Vlad. You want to come in here and bother me.” He widened his eyes innocently, though his shoulders shook as if he were holding in laughter. “Who, me? I’d never. And besides, who are you to turn down a paying customer?” “Fuck off. You want some coffee so bad, you can hit up a Starbucks,” I growled, and to my own horror, it came out as a low, deadly snarl with a powerful timbre. Caleb was watching the exchange, and he smirked; I wondered if he was wanting to flip Vlad the bird. Vlad just shrugged, laughing. All he wanted was to get under my skin, and he’d succeeded. “I’ll be back later, Leo. With some friends this time.” “You’re lucky I’m not calling the police! Get out of here before I rip you to shreds!” I watched his retreating back as he walked down the street. When he turned the corner, I turned the closed sign to open. \*\* My next problem came at lunch time, which was already a harried time for us, even with three employees and myself. I was no Starbucks, but I had to admit that I made some damn good coffee. Our chef, Sam, took pride in what he put in the windows under the counters, both sweet and savory: paninis, muffins, sandwiches, cakes, soup, cookies. The kid was half the reason I got so much business; everyone loved his food, including me. If I could have, I would’ve hired him as my personal chef. Caleb was in the middle of serving a tray of drinks to two sets of parents and their toddlers when the werewolves walked in. I groaned; how many variations of the word no did I have to use for them to understand? The local werewolf tribe had been trying to recruit me since I’d been bitten, and I wanted no part in it. I didn’t enjoy my disease; I didn’t use my strength and new sight to any advantage. I liked pretending I was normal, and the monsters in my town seemed determined to shatter the illusion.


My neighbor and his family weren’t the sort of people I would ordinarily get to know. They are conservative Christians with an interest in guns and ‘survival’. Now let me state for the record that I’m neither opposed to guns, personal farming, or any type of religion (when practiced in moderation) but most individuals I know with those fixations, are deep into them. DEEP. To the point they often come across as ‘cult like’ to me. Sure, I was always ‘friendly’ and waved big when they drove by, but that was just my personal strategy. I figured it was much better to be on their ‘good’ side, than to be on their ‘bad’ side. Know what I mean? During the viral outbreak, everyone in our tiny community was already on edge. It didn’t take much more to push certain ‘agitated folks’ with apocalyptic views (like my ‘prepper’ neighbors) into believing ‘the end was near’. Once hoarding started of ordinary commodities, it triggered a fierce survival instinct in them which frankly, they’d been preparing for, for many, many years. In truth, there really were a few isolated pockets of crime occurring nearby; as our local society broke into panic and riots. A few unstable people jumped the shark and looted stores or robbed their neighbors (as if zombies had just risen from the dead). Meanwhile, the real-world mortality rate for those infected with the virus was only about 1%. The common cold, cancer, vehicle accidents, heart attacks, and a half-dozen other common ailments took more lives and yet it didn’t make the local news. It was the definition of overreaction and hysterical madness. The irony was that despite the circumstances not even being close to justifying real chaos, the exaggerated panic circulating around was rapidly edging us closer to the real thing. A loud knock on my front door jolted me awake. I don’t normally sleep in my recliner but then again, hearing shouting up the road at 1 AM wasn’t ‘normal’ either. It didn’t matter that the circumstances didn’t merit an actual apocalypse. No one told the panicked rednecks up the street so I had to adjust my way of thinking to match theirs. To my relief, it was my aforementioned neighbor. Frank looked absolutely triggered. He was clearly waiting for ‘the end’ to come. In his hand was a very intimidating military-style rifle. Luckily he wasn’t pointing it at me but I still didn’t feel safe with it so prominent in my view. Before I could ask what was going on, he stepped aggressively onto my threshold. I took an immediate step backward, yielding the floor in submission. “It’s finally going down.”; Frank deadpanned. The grave look in his bloodshot eyes spoke volumes. He didn’t have to explain. It was clear what he meant. I asked if he and his family were ‘ok’. He grimaced and nodded somberly. A look of relief crept over his face at my sincere question. I obviously exhibited some behavior which made him feel better about approaching me. I suppose that was because I’d asked about their well-being. It was proof to him that I wasn’t out to burn down their home and pick them off, one-by-one, as they ran screaming out the door. Besides being way outside my ability (or intentions), I only owned a small handgun. I think because they were hardcore doomsday preppers; they assumed everyone else was just like them. “We’ll need to band together to survive this thing.”; He began in earnest. The whites of his eyes were prominent. “I’ve been monitoring the police bands. Widespread looting and attacks are escalating rapidly in town. Things have fully collapsed. It’s only a matter of time before one of those greedy bastards comes to our dead-end road and tries to seize our munitions and supplies. You’ve always been friendly with us so I wanted to approach you about combining forces.” I started to try to get him to relax but he was clearly too wound up. There was no evidence the handful of local crimes were anything more than just a few isolated incidents. The problem was, Frank wasn’t going to be ‘calmed’. He was all ‘puffed up’. He was ‘vigilant’. The man was ready for a fierce battle and wouldn’t appreciate me trying to downplay his ‘apocalypse’ as mostly imagined, or one-sided. Not at all. I elected to play along for the sake of humoring him. After all, the AR-15 over his shoulder looked like it meant business. In the event of a pseudo apocalypse, it’s best to agree completely with the heavily armed guy in your doorway. “Frank, buddy. I’m here for you and your family. If things get rough, I’ll be right there beside you, ok?” That was as vaguely supportive (while not being contractually committal), as I could be. It seemed to reassure him. The rigid posture he manifested like an on-duty green beret, loosed ever-so-slightly. He ‘suggested’ I grab “all of my firearms” and ammo; and immediately join his family at ‘their compound’. I could tell that he wasn’t going to respond well to any hesitancy on my part. I just nodded and grabbed my never-used 9mm and two boxes of bullets. At his house, the family looked like they were already prepared for an all-out-war. His wife sized me up. I could tell she was against bringing me over. Their college aged daughters were dressed in battle fatigues and full military garb. I wanted to run away in terror at this surreal experience but it felt safer to be on that side of ‘the fortress’, than outside of it, viewed as an enemy. The latent sounds of gunfire in the distance snapped them into action. To be honest, it triggered me too. Up until that point I thought they were nuts to assume a societal collapse over a small, local uprising but it was hard to ignore rapid gunfire at 2AM. Frank’s family lined up like a well-oiled machine at the ‘command center’. They’d already boarded up their windows and barricaded both doors. Witnessing their assembled arsenal of weaponry, I had to wonder why anyone would be foolish enough to try to break in. My home was an infinitely easier target. Sensing my thoughts, Frank offered; “It’s well known by certain people in town that we are exceptionally ‘well stocked’. That puts a big target on our backs by savages who would try to take our things or our lives. Our mistake was not being more ‘low key’ during our previous supply runs.” I nodded appreciatively. Under the rapidly developing circumstances, I felt very lucky to be taken in by them. I had way less to offer our haphazard ‘apocalyptic’ partnership than I would stand to benefit. That being the case, it seemed prudent for me to keep my big mouth shut, lest they suddenly realize all of my strategic shortcomings. Apparently Frank had perimeter sensors around his property. When one of them suddenly went off, a spotlight lit up the entire area in blaring light. One of his daughters fired off a half dozen rounds at the intruder. He didn’t get back up. ‘It’ had begun. You would think having perimeter sensors and triggered spotlights would’ve been enough to discourage any sane person but it just seemed to appeal to their misguided sense of pride. Frank’s place was a real ‘challenge’. The thieves were apparently spurned on by the potential bragging rights and the massive spoils of their armada. They shot out the bulbs to effect a deep-cover of darkness. What the intruders didn’t count on, where Frank’s hidden infrared and heat-sensing modules buried in the yard. That led to three more bodies lying dead on the grass. I had to hand it to him, when the shit hit the proverbial fan, they were absolutely, positively prepared. How ironic it was that (if I’d known about all their detection gadgets on the property) I would’ve thought he and his family needed mental help. Now I was seeing how wrong I was. Their home was taking heavy sniper fire from the foothills behind the house. They had a number of protected gun turrets for a standoff. Frank himself took aim at the latest source of conflict while I stood ready to reload for him. It was something I could do to help during the tense crisis. Using night-vision goggles, he managed to triangulate the source of the shooter and pinned him down. It was amazing to watch him in action! With that shooter out of the picture, I assumed we’d finally have some peace but again, I was wrong. The individuals intent of seizing Frank’s huge stash doubled-down on their efforts. Maybe they were angry at having so many personal losses that they felt like they had to avenge their fallen partners. Whatever the reason, a cavalry of four rapidly charged the front gate. Both Frank’s daughters and his wife were ready and waiting. Two fell immediately. Another was grazed by a shot but must’ve been wearing body armor or something. He limped over to a makeshift shield in the yard to take refuge. What the intruder didn’t realize, was that they had left the barrier there as a decoy. Buried slightly in the ground under it was an explosive charge. He was blown to pieces. The fourth guy had enough and turned to run. In what could only described as being swept up by the hyper-intense passion of battle, I grabbed up one of their rifles and fired at him. To my great disbelief, I dropped him at 35 yards! Suddenly I too was a killer but if he’d made it inside, I would’ve been in his crosshairs. Up until that point I was a peaceful man but it was ‘kill or be killed’. Frank patted me on the back and told me I’d done the right thing. “The guy would’ve come back eventually for revenge.”; He consoled. Now I was ‘one of them’. Would the total routing of this band of apocalyptic marauders bring reinforcements, or did we get them all? None of us knew. We had to stay fully alert. Frank had been awake for more than 36 hours prepping. He was in danger of passing out. As a good commander, he knew when he needed to turn over command. He and his wife took the first shift sleeping while both daughters and I stood watch. They eyed the security monitors while I reloaded weapons and familiarized myself with their considerable arsenal. It was a long night but thankfully we didn’t have further attacks until several days later. We successfully weathered them too. Teamwork was key. What we didn’t realize was that simultaneously across the world, nearly identical localized battles were taking place for control and dominance. What started out as a regional overreaction triggered panic and a global domino effect. The pseudo apocalypse became a real one. Governments collapsed. Law and order became a thing of the past. Every journey begins with a single step. Not that it mattered but the fall of civilization possibly started at my neighbor’s house. At least Frank’s family came to accept me. I took his eldest daughter to be my wife once she turned 22. I’m a quick learner but she’s still the superior shot. Our children will be the first generation to grow up in the post American world.


Carl's mother used to say, "Curiosity doesn't kill the cat. Instead, it becomes a superposition of various phases." No doubt she was a theoretical physicist, well versed in the quantum realms and the Holy Book of Principia Mathematica, but Carl only understood its meaning now. Or did he? Because till the end of the horizon, there was utter, complete darkness. Even the grim reaper would hesitate to merge with this opalescent void of nothingness. Maybe she was highlighting the probabilities of all possible outcomes he would take to navigate out of this event horizon, which equals his current phase now. In other words, the apple is red in colour. Guess having a physicist as a mother when navigating through the blind room is futile. Who knew. Why did he have to reach out for the latest edition of the Asian Fever ? Why did the bookshelf topple on itself as if it were drunk with knowledge on its shelves? With the thousands of promiscuous students at the University of Candela, this black hole should have been populated with its own civilization of incelibates. Or no one reads Asian Fever anymore. Nevertheless, Carl wished he had time to contemplate his pitfall for years beyond yonder, but the chilling breeze heading towards the dingy chambers of nowhere signalled otherwise. The wind, as per the epic Cast Away, signifies an exit from the island of darkness he is imprisoned on. Arming himself with a confident smile, Carl merrily trudged along the invisible corridors, splatting and clucking seemingly muddy soil. There was a miasma of malodourous odour seeping out from the ground and sudden raspy creaks rattling out from the north, but such trivial matters didn't seem to bother the determined sophomore. He knew wherever the zephyr halted was the paradise of freedom. Then the breeze stopped. There was absolutely no cold shiver tapping on his shoulders. He looked around again, and it was no different with his eyes blindfolded. Pitch-black stillness again throughout. However, this time it was not the gentle cinches sending shudders down his spine. It was the horrifying uncertainty of losing yourself in a never-ending void in the middle of the universe. Or, as Einstein would say, Springfield. Frozen with terror, Carl huddled himself tightly, waiting for God to throw a twig for him to fetch. It wasn't a twig, but something dripped from the top. He did fall into a crevice of a cave, so it may be an indication of a stalactite yelling its existence to him. To check if there are other stalactites, Carl thought of an ingenious solution. He decided to hop up and down like a 500-pound kangaroo. Despite the thumps and rumps on the squiggly ground, there was no sign of other stalactites or rock formations. The only responses he received were the whining thumps he initiated. Or at least, that's what he thought for 10 seconds. An indescribable force from the depths of hell grappled him downwards as the ground erected itself rapidly, transforming into an impenetrable fortress. The Great Wall of China would feel like a noodle in front of this titanesque structure. As he skidded downward, there were tiny threads of light skipping off the edges of his vision, providing a surreal experience. It was Morse code exemplified visually while a man was falling to his death. When the tumbling stopped, he eventually found himself in a peculiar hallway with large, ruminating Greco-Roman pillars piercing through the heavens underneath. However, they were clearly past their glory days, moulding like stale bread left in a dark pantry. A faint, eerie voice attempted to reach out to Carl, hiding amongst the rotten pillars. C A R L. H E L P M E. P L E A S E. Trying to find the voice was like finding a candy wrapper in the hill of Cadbury . The voice came from everywhere and anywhere as it whistled and echoed unceremoniously around the vicinity. The further Carl ventured around looking for the voice, the more he was struck with pandemonium, as the pillars started to distort and curl like a reflection in the pond affected by ripples of water. From those pillars, a hand instantaneously thrust out vehemently, gripping Carl's neck and pulling him away swiftly from the defunct Greco-Roman verandah. At the very next blink, he saw himself staring at a greasy, warty face with hefty eye bags and puffy blood-red eyes. It only had a tiny cotton rag supporting its dignity, if it knew it had one. Carl promised he would never watch a horror film, but he was so moved by this creature that he had to scream as loud as he could. "Sh. Shsh. Ima Karloyung. Whassa name?", asked the son of Gollum. "Carl." The creature attempted to pronounce his name, grunting C A R L. "No, it's Car-il. Carl," emphasised the spooked 20-year-old. "Iknowa Karlo. Youara mees." Carl scoffed at it. "You're me?" "If youara doen belie'ee mees, my papa madezeze zweater." Carl slapped its face with the gentlest of pressure. It must have been a terrible joke, but a dry hiss snapped him out of his psychosis. His father did indeed sew the cotton sweater he was clinging dearly to. "Listeen caeefullee. Eez placa notta cave. Eez 'elly' of meenotaure. Eez dae'nger. To Azcap. Youra mist eat mees." Carl could barely decipher his hieroglyphs. But he was pretty confident he meant the following: "Listen carefully. This plaza holds a cave. This belly of 'Minatouri?' This day under. To escape, you must beat me." Carl could not understand what annoyed him more: being trapped in the belly of a Minatouri (whatever that means) or beating up the ghastly recluse of decaying Atlantis. The latter, however, was so much more fun to process. He grabbed out a scraped bone and hammered the weak beast continually. Despite the stings, Karloyung was laughing throughout, as if those hits were the works of the tickle monster. But he was clearly bruised in all his limbs, with innumerable reddened patches dispersed like the aftermath of a battle in the tomato garden. "Heeeta Harda! Youra mist eat mees!". It then forced its head closer to Carl's mouth. "EATTA MEES." Carl stopped. Eat? Surely it must be beat. Surely offering his skull was to crack his orbitals, not munch on them. Surely he must be insane to beat a weaker version of himself. Did he care? Not one bit. All he wanted was to escape out of this hellhole. He whammed and whacked the remaining knuckles of the troglodyte, persisting until it heaved its last breath. A sudden silence enveloped the Olympian marshlands. Carl waited for a hint, for the clearance to finally escape. He tapped on his feet impatiently and placed his hands over his hips, hoping Zeus would fall off from the edge of Mount Olympus and destroy this filthy acid pool. However, nothing ever came. It never came for an hour, for days, or perhaps for years to come. Over the Ron's passed by, Carl found his skin shrivelling and wrinkling, collapsing under its own weight. He felt some spots and pimples spouting on his face as his shoulders weighed an additional 20 pounds more than they had before. Fearing what may come after, he whipped out his phone to check his reflection. The same weary eye bags. The same puffy red eyes. The same warts. It was too good to be true. "Why didn't you listen to Karloyung, Carl?", exclaimed a husky voice from the shadows. "All you had to do was eat him. Then, I would have rewarded you." Carl stuttered incoherently. "Wif.. what?" "Me." It was a human with the head of a seasoned bull, the eyes of a reticulated python, and the horns of the devil. His biceps were three times the size of Carl's head, and his chest rivalled that of Hercules. "The Minotaur?", the weak captive huffed in front of its master. "Yes, and more. Lust, hatred, and greed; The wretched men languish in these parts of the world. Never heard of the enigma?" "No." "What? A simple search in Google Maps will show you!" The minotaur erupted. "But I have no signal reception here", gasped Carl. "You are joking, right? I thought you called your friends for help, but I assumed they didn't get back to you. You got yourself caught without even calling someone up? There's 5G reception everywhere, for Minos' sake!". Carl switched on his phone. There were 0 missed calls, 5 notifications on Instagram, and a post about the Minotaur. Carl didn't have enough saliva to even gulp in embarrassment, so he choked on the moist air of the Enigma. "I have never captured such an idiot before. Are you the son of Coalemus?" Only if he knew. If he knew Carl was lunging forward at him, cracking his jaded bovine skull. The Minotaur was bellowing with agonising pain but didn't take long to recover as he swung Carl to one of the marble pillars, nearly smashing the student apart. The energised demigod limped towards his paralysed aggressor, snorting out lava as his horns were on the verge of piercing Carl's forehead. "Don't you ever do that to me again. Is that understood?" Carl nodded his head reluctantly. Or it seemed so in his thoughts. But the Minotaur's attention shifted by then, as something else torpedoed out from the top and crashed into a soggy patch of goo. It was another human, adorned with a minimalist beige t-shirt and baggy khaki pants. He wore an unusual bracelet, clamped permanently to his forehead. "Uh, greetings, or salutations, or I don't know. I am Kal Young, batch 2055. Do you fathom the nearest exit?", as he adjusted his crown. The minotaur turned its face to me briefly, grinning wider than a Cheshire cat would ever try. "You will have to eat that recluse over there to leave." The newbie shook his head diligently, as if he were programmed specifically to follow instructions from a beefhead. He marched towards Carl with an uneasy glint in his eyes and the bracelet. The bracelet shone with the fury of a thousand betelgeuses. Carl scratched at his warts like a flea-smitten dog as he laid eyes on an abandoned tibia. Here we go again.


Day 1: So, a gratitude journal is supposed to make me feel better? Fine. Here's my first entry: GO FUCK YOURSELF!! Day 2: Seriously? Writing instead of talking during therapy? Feels like a punishment. Great, another reminder of how much my life sucks right now. Day 3: So now, daily prompts? Whatever, it's easier than pulling this shit out of thin air. Today's prompt: Describe a random act of kindness you saw. Val, the therapy dog, knew who needed her today. She sat with the quiet girl, who smiled for the first time since I got here. Guess that's something. Day 4: Prompt: Describe the funniest moment from your day. Funniest moment today? A nurse totally wiped out trying to dodge Val's toy. It felt weird to laugh again like I was laughing at a funeral, but it happened. Maybe things aren't all bad here, or maybe I'm just getting used to the chaos. Day 5: Prompt: Write about your outfit and why you chose to wear it. I'm wearing my oversized Nirvana shirt again today. My mom's from the '90s. She loved them, and honestly, wearing this shirt comforts me. Dr. Wade noticed and said he saw them live back in the day. We chatted about music for a while, and it felt surprisingly good. Day 6: Prompt: Describe a place that makes you feel calm and content. The garden here is my escape. It's quiet and peaceful. Today, I just sat and felt... normal, like I wasn't trapped in this place. Day 7: Prompt: What skill do you have that you're proud of? Today felt different. I showed the group some American Sign Language, and they truly got into it. It was weirdly uplifting, like I was actually good at something. I know ASL because my older brother is deaf. Everyone got really excited about learning more. Day 8: Prompt: Reflect on a conversation that changed your perspective. Dr. Wade got deep about my mom’s Nirvana shirt, saying, 'Memories can be sanctuaries or prisons.' That hit me hard. I've been clinging to the past, but maybe it’s time to start living for now. Day 9: Prompt: Write about something you're looking forward to when you leave. I'm looking forward to teaching my friends ASL. It's part of who I am, and it feels good to share that. I’m also looking forward to spending more time with my brother. I miss him. He’s all I have left. Day 10: Prompt: Describe a moment of accomplishment today. When I taught Val a new command in ASL, she nailed it! Everyone was impressed. The handler said I have a gift. Getting that nod made me see things differently. Like, maybe I’m not just a mess of problems. Maybe I’ve got something real to offer. Day 11: Prompt: Describe someone who inspires you. A therapist here, who's also battled depression and came out the other side, talked about how working with animals helped her heal. It's inspiring to think I could turn my pain into something that helps others. It made me think that maybe there's a future in combining ASL with animal training. Day 12: Prompt: Discuss the most challenging part of your day and how you handled it. Group therapy was tough today. It cracked something open in me. We talked about why we're here, and I shared a bit about my mom's death and how alone I felt after. Talking about my mom was painful, but it also helped me realize how much I've bottled up. Needed to use some breathing techniques to stay calm. Dr. Wade keeps reminding me that sharing might be the only way through my grief. It was hard, but I survived. Day 13: Prompt: Consider a new hobby you might want to start. Been toying with the idea of starting a vlog about ASL. You know, showing what it’s like living with my deaf brother. ASL isn’t just a skill for me; it’s part of who I am. Starting this vlog feels like I’m taking all the crap I’ve been through and flipping it into something big that could actually matter. Day 14: Prompt: Write about a moment today when you felt hopeful about your future. Dr. Wade suggested volunteering at an animal shelter or joining a program that trains therapy dogs. Merging my ASL skills with my love for animals could really be something. I never really thought about what I wanted to be when I grew up because I wasn’t planning on growing up. But this could be a plan. This could be something. Day 15: Prompt: Reflect on how you've changed since arriving here. I've changed a lot since I got here. This journal started as a punishment, but now it's helping me see a future where I can use my experiences to do something meaningful. Who would have thunk it? lol Day 16: Prompt: What's something new you've learned about yourself? I've discovered I'm stronger than I thought. I can handle a lot more than I gave myself credit for, like facing tough talks, finding reasons to laugh, and learning to share parts of myself. Before I came here, I couldn’t even function, and now I have a routine, therapy, and the tiniest sliver of hope. Day 17: Prompt: Write about a fear you've overcome. Taught the group basic ASL today. I was nervous they'd laugh, but they were super into it. It feels incredible to share something I love and see others appreciate it. Day 18: Prompt: Reflect on a moment today when you felt connected to someone else. I connected with a younger girl in the garden today. I shared some ASL signs with her to help her express her anxiety when she can’t find the words. And, you know what she did? She thanked me! It's moments like this that make me feel like I could really make a difference. Day 19: Prompt: Reflect on a moment of laughter today. Laughed out loud with others over lunch today. It felt good to really laugh. Some kid made a joke about the "mystery mush," and it felt like it was a typical school day with friends. Later, I started thinking about home and mom and how it used to be, and it made me feel lonely and sad. I let myself be sad for a little while, and then I got up and went to dinner with everyone else. I know I still have far to go, but baby steps. Day 20: Prompt: What did you do for someone else today? I helped a new patient understand how things work around here. Remembering how lost I felt when I arrived, it felt good to make her first day a little easier. She sat with me at lunch, but she didn’t say much. I hope she’s okay. Day 21: Prompt: Write about advice that has helped you. Dr. Wade's advice today hit home: "Change means finding new reasons to live." It's got me thinking about all the reasons I've found here to live. Day 22: Prompt: Describe a challenge you faced today and how you dealt with it. Faced a tough session today without losing my cool. Using breathing techniques, I talked about my hopes without anxiety taking over the conversation. Day 23: Prompt: What are you grateful for today? I'm grateful for Val today. When I was feeling down, she just came and sat by me. Her presence is a constant comfort. Day 24: Prompt: Write about a moment you felt proud of yourself. I led part of today's group mindfulness session in ASL, making it accessible for everyone. The positive feedback was overwhelming. I love to see how much this can help. Day 25: Prompt: Reflect on a lesson you'll take from here. It hit me today. This therapy stuff, the breathing techniques, the journaling, it all seems to be working. There was this moment this week when I would’ve totally lost it before. We were in group, and someone brought up losing someone they loved. Old me would have shut down or stormed out, but I stayed. I used those stupid breathing techniques, and it helped. I even felt calm enough to share something about my mom without flipping out. I'm starting to handle things that would have wrecked me just a month ago. Day 26: Prompt: Discuss a realization you had about yourself. Realized today that my difficult days don't define my whole story. I have so much to offer, and I'm ready to use my experiences to help others. It’s like I’m not just the girl who lost her mom or the sister to a deaf brother. I’m someone who can make a difference. Day 27: Prompt: How do you feel about your progress in therapy? Looking back, I can see how much I've grown. Remember when I could barely sit through a session without wanting to scream or bail? Now, not only am I sitting through them, but I'm contributing and helping others open up. It’s weird, but sharing my stuff about losing Mom and dealing with everything at home has made me stronger. I used to think this place would keep me away from my problems, but it's given me ways to face them head-on. I’m ready for what’s next, and that’s something I never thought I’d say. Day 28: Prompt: Discuss how you might continue your journey after leaving here. Thinking about volunteering at the animal shelter and taking some animal behavior classes is kind of exciting but also a bit nerve-wracking. Is this really going to be my thing, or am I just fooling myself? But hey, learning to train service dogs is worth a shot. I can’t think of anything else I want to do, so why not. I can take risks. I am tougher than I was before. Day 29: Prompt: How do you feel about going home tomorrow? I'm so nervous but also excited about going home tomorrow. Initially, this place felt like jail. But now, it's like I'm taking off my parachute as I'm about to jump out of the plane. I've changed a ton here and figured out things about myself I didn’t even want to admit were real. I keep imagining walking through our front door, seeing all the old familiar stuff, yet feeling totally different inside. And then there’s seeing my brother. We’ve texted, but F2F is going to be different. I’ve got so much to tell him. I really want to make him proud and show him I’m okay. Day 30: Prompt: Write a letter to yourself about your hopes for the future. Dear Me, You made it through this mess and found something you’re passionate about. Remember how far you’ve come, and keep that fire inside you. The road ahead might get bumpy, but you’re more able than you think. Stick with it. You've totally got this! Love, Me Day of Discharge: Today, my brother couldn't stop talking about how different I seem. The ride home was all about the future: starting an ASL club at school and volunteering at the animal shelter. It feels good to have plans that aren’t just about getting through another day but sincerely looking forward to tomorrow. I've decided to keep writing in this journal--not because I have to, but because I want to. It's my way of remembering where I've been and seeing where I'm going. I started this journal with a big 'fuck you' to everyone, and now here I am, not wanting to stop writing. Shows how much someone can change when they find the right reasons to.


Redesigning people A lot of people say stupid things. Possibly because they don’t think before they talk, but more likely because they just can’t think that well. Stupidity takes a heavy toll on our economy and slows down scientific progress, because a lot of time has to be invested in trying to explain these concepts to people. Stupidity might even be increasing in numbers, because anybody can breed as much as they like. Stupid people are equally good at survival as smart people, and they often have more babies because they can’t think about consequences that well. Go visit a trailer park and see it with your own eyes. As a result, scientists have been retreating to their labs for many years already, to desperately search for a solution. And thank goodness they did. It’s called CRISPR, and because of CRISPR we may soon never have to face stupid people again. CRISPR is the technology of modifying genes and changing gene expression. Because stupidity is often embedded in our DNA, there is hope that we can soon apply this technique to patch up human kind. Some people may only need a bit of DNA polishing, others some chromosome cutting, whereas yet others might require complete gene destruction. CRISPR technology cannot only make stupidity past tense, but could also cure laziness, ugliness, or even smelliness. The possibilities are endless. Imagine that, never having to share an elevator with unpleasing people again! Even though CRISPR is still in it’s infancy, I’m gonna go ahead and thank the scientists. We owe them bigtime. Genetic modification has thus far only been applied to cure diseases. It can circumvent blindness, allergies, Alzheimer and many horrible illnesses that are currently untreatable. A very noble cause of course. But whenever it’s suggested that we can also use CRISPR to improve people who are perfectly healthy, it ends up in protests. It’s to do with ethics or something. But even though these protests can be loud, it’s nothing but background noise that will be silenced over time. History has always dealt with resistance, whether it was against machines, internet, democracy, or racial equality. Some individuals will always be afraid of change and rebel with a cause. Hopefully we can genetically filter that trait out too. Meanwhile, scientists quietly carry on while waiting for legislation to catch up. Once the path has been cleared for redesigning people, a bright future lies ahead. Depressed people will be happy, fat people will be slim, and untalented people will be successful. We will no longer waste our neurons on astrology and fortune tellers, but enlighten ourselves with logics instead. We will think quick, read fast, and remember thoroughly. By the time we’ve all become smart, we can finally agree on things and make collectively good decisions. There will never be another Donald Trump in the White House, no more Justin Bieber on the radio, and no longer El Chapo’s spreading fear. We will stop having lots of babies and start looking after our environment. Religion will be replaced by humanism, coals by solar power, and factory farming by animal rights. We will also agree that it’s best if women start ruling the world. Once women have taken over, the future will be even brighter. They will make the smart decision to genetically improve themselves slightly more than men. They will also adjust men to become less hairy and more submissive. Scientists might even find a gene that will allow men to understand emotions, although that may be a bit too far-fetched. What is realistic though is to start altering our electric brain waves. This technology already exists and is called transcranial magnetic stimulation. There is, again, some ethical jabbering going on, but once women have taken over they will give it the go-ahead. By altering the magnetic fields in our neurons, emotions and mood swings will no longer be a nuisance, and women can turn the men they have dealt with into the men they have dreamed of. They will cook, do the dishes, and forever be faithful. Despite all this greatness, there might be one pitfall. If we modify ourselves too successfully, or too extensively, we could unintentionally create a new species. Species designation is based on genetic distance, meaning that a tiger is different from a lion because the last time they shared an ancestor was 4.5 million years ago, and lots of DNA mutating went on since then. Chimpanzees ain’t humans because they’re genetically different, by only 2 percent. Point being is that it probably won’t take very long before redesigned people turn into a new species. Another tricky side to that is that not everyone will be able to afford CRISPR, or be given access to this technology at once. So realistically, there will soon be a time where redesigned people have to coexist with human people. This may raise a few complications. First of all, redesigned people could get irritated with human people because they think too slow, have a strong body odour, and illogical beliefs. They might start disassociating themselves and think of humans no different than gorillas and orangutans. Luckily for humans, redesigned people strongly believe in animal rights. Nonetheless, they’re also passionate about the environment, and any ecologist will tell you that overpopulation disrupts ecosystem stability. It’s safe to say that humans haven’t particularly been favouring biodiversity. Compare it to foxes, which were introduced to Australia and almost ate away all indigenous marsupials. Ecologists decided that there was only one right thing to do: the foxes had to go. Genetically modified ecologists might feel obliged to do the same, as long as humans died in a painless and humane way. This might sound harsh, but once redesigned people start controlling the human population, the future will be brightened even further. Because there were once 8 billion humans, that all had to eat, shit and drive cars, the world turned into a dirty and acid place. Humans could never think efficiently enough to clean up after themselves, replant trees, or vote against corrupt leaders. Instead, they ate too many cows, occupied themselves with Kardashians, and cared about designer clothes. There was so much human stupidity, genetically modified politicians had no choice but to intervene. In the future, Gucci bags, and Porsche cars will belong to natural history museums, and history museums only. Soon enough, redesigned people will be able to enjoy clean air, abundant fish stocks and queue-free super markets. They can go on holiday and experience safaris without heaps of other tourists. If they’re lucky, they get to see wild elephants, tigers, and humans. Yes, there will still be humans. They probably retreated back to little villages in the forest, where redesigned people make sure they’re safe and well-fed. Genetically modified anthropologists will have the time of their life observing these humans. They most likely still believe in supernatural things and concern themselves with appearances and something they call ‘love’. But as long as they’re happy and free, living in their own little world and small simple mind, there is no harm being done. Redesigned people can’t take all the credit, but humans will probably be a lot happier in the future than they’ve ever been in the past.


It was a chilly morning for the 9th District. The sun has yet to come up and the streets were still lit up by the streetlights. Amy, a 14-year old girl, was walking with her pet puppy's leash on hand. 5 a.m. walks was their thing ever since day 1. Amy was admiring the morning sky when she felt that their movements were growing slow. "Kei, come here, boy," she called out to the dog. However, the said pet kept on walking, somehow weakly. After a few more sluggish steps, Kei seemed to have fell. Amy rushed to his aid in panic. "Kei! Kei! Wake up! What's wrong?" she shook his body but he didn't budge. "Excuse me, may I help?" A voice surprised Amy as she turned back to see a man in his early 30's, wearing a lab coat. "My dog suddenly fainted! What should I do?!" she cried in despair. "My clinic is nearby, why don't we bring him there?" he offered as he picked up the fainted pup and walked towards a certain direction. Amy followed without any hesitation because her dog's health is her current priority. After a few strolls, they arrived in a small building which seemed to be a veterinary clinic. The man laid Kei on the table and began examining him. "Sir, are you a veterinarian?" Amy asked. "Oh, right. I haven't introduced myself. My name is Toby Lee, and yes, I am a veterinarian." "Thank, God we bumped into you. So, how's my Kei doing, doc?" "Hmm, I'm still not sure yet, but I may be able to treat him properly once he wakes up," the man answered as he kept on examining the girl's pet. "Oh, would you look at that, he's gaining consciousness." "Kei!" Amy called and ran to her dog's face. "Okay miss, when was the last time your dog ate?" the doctor asked. Before she could answer, the dog barked loudly. The doctor stood up, fetched a bowl of water and laid it near the dog. Then, Kei immediately drank from the bowl. "I think it was last night when he ate some biscuits as late snacks," the girl answered. "Haha! What an adorable dog you have. He was just thirsty and probably fainted due to dehydration. You didn't give him a drink before you took a walk earlier?" "Now that you mention it, I haven't," the girl responded while looking back to a few minutes before her current situation. "Well, now that he's all filled up, you can continue your morning stroll," the doctor said as he led the puppy down from the table. "Umm, I don't have a lot, but how much do I owe you, doc?" the girl asked. The doctor could see that the girl really didn't have much. He might've saw her somewhere before. After all, 9th District is a small village. "Thank you so much, doctor!!" the girl grinned at him while she ran off waving with her dog. "Aah, what a cute puppy indeed," the man muttered to himself as he saw the girl off. The sun was now slowly rising and the residents can now hear the birds chirping. Well, except Dr. Toby Lee. Unlike any other villager in the 9th District, or probably the whole world, he could understand all animal languages. When normal people hear birds chirping, what Toby hears is something along the lines of "Ah, good morning, world! Another day of chirping away!" That's why he became a veterinarian. When Amy's puppy was barking earlier, the doctor actually heard, "Ah, I'm so parched. I haven't drank a drop of water since last night." That's why Dr. Lee immediately got him water to drink. This was such a small ability, but as an animal person, it really sparked joy within him. Whenever he would visit a zoo back in his childhood, his eyes would glimmer as he could hear and understand what the animals are saying. He once heard a dolphin saying "Look at me! Look at me!" and young Toby just glued his eyes on the sight. Maybe this ability was also the reason why his business as a veterinarian was skyrocketing. He had 9.8 ratings, he doesn't overcharge, and gives really accurate diagnosis. He is the dream veterinarian every pet owner could ask for. Once, a rival wanted to sabotage him and sent over an undercover trying to poison the doctor with a venomous snake. To his rival's dismay, Dr. Lee was able to tame the snake and even warm up to him. To an animal's eyes, he is the best owner they could ask for. However, even though he loves and can understand animals, and animals want and would love to be with him, he can't. Why, you ask? Because his wife is allergic to animals. That's right. Even though the great Doctor Toby Lee is the epitome of an "animal's best guardian", his wife can't stop sneezing when there's a fur baby within 5 meters. It really made the doctor sad, but he really loved his former high school girlfriend, now wife, so he chose to involve himself in veterinary instead. The doctor's thoughts were interrupted as his phone rang. Without looking at the caller ID, he answered it. "Hello?" he started. "Hey, honey," he could hear his wife's voice from the other line. "Yes, darling?" "Nothing. I just thought you might be spacing out and lost track of time and didn't se your alarm, but it's time for you to open your clinic," he glanced at his watch to see that his wife was right. "Oh my, you're right. You see, as I walked to the clinic, there was this girl who was walking her dog and her dog fainted so it just made me remember a lot of things. Anyway, I gotta go now. Bye, I love you." "I love you too," then, the call was ended by a beep. The doctor then got up and opened his clinic and flipped the sign that now says "open". "GOOD MORNING BOTH PETS AND OWNERS! THE LEE ANIMAL CLINIC IS NOW OPEN FOR BUSINESS!"


C/W: terminal illness I found him lying on the sidewalk with a bloody smear streaked across his gray forehead. Black rim glasses lay nearby broken in two. Like me, he’d just left the gym on that mid-June day when the cloudless sky and fresh air made me glad to be alive. But the man hadn’t even made it to the parking lot. It had to be a heart attack, I thought, clogged arteries, dying muscle. The last ashen face I saw was my sister Conni’s on the day she died. Her belly had been swelling for months. It was Hep C the doctors said, from a blood transfusion. Before they knew better. A guy in a gray shirt with the gym’s logo on the pocket knelt beside the man, said the guy was okay, just waiting for the EMTs. But the man was motionless, not breathing. Leaning close to his ear, hand on his shoulder, I shouted, “Hey buddy, take a breath.” There was no facial grimace, no movement. In under five minutes his brain cells would die. Conni had six weeks from diagnosis to the end. Less time than most victims of liver cancer, but eons beyond this man. “Someone call 911!” “Yes, yes, they have been called,”said the man kneeling across from me. In a matter of days my sister's heart became progressively weaker. her strength dwindled along with her ability to swallow and stay awake. I’d painted her toenails bubblegum pink when she could still get up. Toward the end, her feet became cool and blotchy, swollen like grotesque little sausages. I moved my index and middle fingers along the man’s neck. Pediatrics was my nursing specialty. I’d never before felt a person's neck without a pulse. I knew what I had to do, but hesitated to begin, and rechecked. Conni’s bloated figure rested on the Hospice bed upstairs in the front bedroom. That day, my sister missed out on the sunshine and shadows flickering around the room. Sugar maple branches waved outside her window. Bright orange and red against a brilliant blue sky, the leaves were just beginning to let go, pushed against the glass by the wind. I lifted the man’s shirt. “I’m scared,” Conni said from where she lay with hands folded over her body. “What are you scared of?” She lifted her gaze to mine, imploring, “I don’t know what it will be like. What if it’s horrible, worse than this?” “Oh, no,” I said, “It’s going to be wonderful. You’ll be free. Floating above everything. You’ll be weightless, like in a flying dream, you’ll be in the breeze.” “Do you really think so?” “Oh, yes. Absolutely. It’s going to be wonderful.” She closed her eyes after that. Her face relaxed a little. Sudden cardiac arrest gives no time to be afraid. Instant nothingness, like a cord pulled from an electrical outlet, life ends without a flicker of fear. The man’s soft skin was still warm under my finger as I traced his lowest rib to the breastbone. I laid the heel of my right hand over his sternum, left hand over the right, fingers interlocking. I pushed straight down. No one does chest compressions on the terminally ill. Resuscitation on my sister’s chest, unimaginable, painful, prolonging the agony in the cruelest way. After dabbing her face with a cool cloth, I swabbed her dry cracked lips with a spongy lemon-flavored Toothette. His rib cage and breast bone felt compliant, easily depressed two inches. “Get the AED,” I shouted to the flummoxed observer kneeling across from me. An electric shock to the heart can be the key to surviving a heart attack as the signals are reorganized, synchronizing the muscle fibers. She was my older sister, but I was taller. Only eighteen months between us, Irish twins. Long ago, on a warm summer evening, Conni and I walked along a country road and came upon a horse pasture surrounded by wire. I intended to step up on the fence in hopes of coaxing the chestnut mare closer. I grabbed a hold, screamed and spun around in circles with the electric shock that vibrated up and down my arm. A defibrillator jolt is like being kicked in the chest by a mule. The automated external defibrillator pads in place, a monotone robotic voice said, Analyzing data. Do not touch the victim. The man lay flat on his back, both feet splayed out. The machine searched for a rhythm while I knelt at his side, waiting. Shock advised. Do not touch the victim. Aware of the powerful shock about to be delivered, my breath held, I hit the red button. The man’s body jerked. Suddenly he drew in an enormous breath like a drowning victim gasping at the water’s surface. Perhaps I’d been wrong and he wasn’t dead after all. His face color improved for about three seconds but went gray again. My hands back on his chest, I resumed compressions. Dying gasps are known as agonal breaths, a sign that the body is not receiving the oxygen it needs. Terminally ill patients near death might take occasional breaths for many minutes before the final one. Conni’s agonal breathing lasted nearly an hour. Her breath stopped before the heart, just a beat now and then. Conni’s time had come. The family entered the room for a final goodbye. A siren screamed in the distance and wound down at the curb next to us. Black clad EMTs appeared with a tool box of supplies. Splitting away from the man at that moment felt strange. I wanted to stay with him, not ready to let go. After Conni’s last heartbeat, when we were alone once more, I lay down next to her, holding her and kissing her face until her skin lost elasticity and her body turned cold. They told me I had to let go. The mortician assistants moved her body onto the stretcher. They covered my sister’s face with a sheet. I walked over that sacred place on the sidewalk three days later. He was a complete stranger but was all I thought about. My hand went to the door and as I pulled hard, I looked up to the deep blue sky. Just then, a warm breath of wind reached my face and blew the hair from my eyes. At the check-in desk, the manager handed me a red envelope with a dime store greeting card inside. The man had written in shaky script, thank you for saving my life. On the front, an angel in pink with shimmering wings hovered over the Earth. Below was an inscription written in swirling letters, Angels are real .