CHARLIE O’BRIEN, PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR - II [4]. Charlie’s secure satellite cell phone rang, and as always it rang to “ Private Eyes ”, of course, what else would a real-life private eye have for a ring tone? Charlie always loved “ Hall and Oates ” the fantastic singing/songwriting duo from Philly ! “I see you, you see me, watch you blowin’ in the wind, when you’re making a scene, oh, girl, you’ve got to know, what my head overlooks, the senses will show to my heart, when it’s watching for lies, you can’t escape my Private Eyes .” On the ring tone were these words: “You play with words, you play with love, you can twist it all around, baby, that ain’t enough ‘Cos girl, I’m gonna know if you’re letting me in or letting me go, don’t lie, when you’re hurting inside ’Cos you can’t escape my Private Eyes.”

Charlie just loves that tune, he really does. He also loves Philadelphia, and he calls his gorgeous model like looking wife, his ‘Philly girl.’ On the other end of the phone was Don Barnes , the OCSD Sheriff and Chief Coroner. He was just checking in with Charlie and Sarge and wanted to know what kind of condition our condition was in with regard to our investigation. Charlie responded to the Sheriff, “Sadly, Sheriff, we have not taken down the bank- robbery gang yet, but trust me Sir, Sarge and our A-Team, and I shall, and you can take that to the bank.” Just as soon as Charlie got off of the phone with the good Sheriff, ‘ Private Eyes’ began singing to him once again. It was Captain Danks, Sarge and Yvette’s boss at the OCSD on Santa Ana Street, in Santa Ana. The Cap wanted to know the same thing as did the Sheriff and he got the same answer from Charlie, that is to say, “Nothing yet Captain, but I will definitely keep you posted, rest assured of that.” Charlie just had a thought, a brainstorm as it were in his opinion anyway, he decided to call the excellent RCSD (Riverside County Sheriff and Coroner), Chad Bianco . He and the good Sheriff had worked on several criminal cases in the past. And Charlie held him in high regard. Charlie spoke just as soon as the Sheriff answered his personal cell phone, “Sheriff I was wondering if I could borrow one of your good deputies, perhaps a weapons expert, to assist us with our nightmare bank-robbery investigation?” Sheriff Bianco , replied immediately, “I’ve heard and read about the heinous bank robberies in L.A. It is very high profile out here in the I.E. ( Inland Empire ) because we are right next door to L. A. County.” Then he hesitated, then he continued, “Of course, anything for my old P.I. compadre . And I will let you have my undersheriff for up to six months, he is the best man that I got amigo, how about that?” Charlie was shocked, he really was, then after he gained his composer, somewhat, he said, “Sheriff I cannot thank you and the RCSD enough, and I shall return the huge favor sometime in the future when you need a hand with one of your investigations.” He also told Sarge, “You know my son, everybody needs milk. You and Yvette and your whole family should be drinking milk every day. Look at how healthy I am and I have been drinking lots of milk my whole life. But I still like a good cold Coke or Pepsi Cola every now and then.” Then just before he took his first bite of a French Curler (or his Chocolate Long John or his jelly-filled glazed donut) his cell rang once again, it was ‘ Sergeant Kevin Lybrand’ and he was calling his man Charlie to get an update on their investigation. Charlie very quickly took a bite, a big bite of the cruller, and a big gulp of milk and replied, “Hey Kevin, what’s happening my friend?” Then he added, “Kevin I am right in the middle of an important phone call, can I get right back to you after I finish my three donuts, oops, oh, I mean my long distant phone call?” Kevin, laughed and then laughed some more, then almost gagged with laughter and then finally spoke, “Charlie ole man, go right ahead and finish your three donuts, oops, oh no, I mean your important phone call, and then call me back, OK?” Kevin added, “I just talked to Hong Kong ‘Triade’ gang members, scary, very scary individuals with lots of tat’s (Tattoo’s), all over their bodies as well as their faces and on top of their shaved heads.” He then added some more, “The leader of the gang, which had five members, was named ‘ Vicktor Karchenco’ and he was big, and he was vicious and, he was most definitely deadly.” Then he thought for a second, and added some more: His nickname was the ‘ Fisherman ,’ and the reason for that name was that if you cheated him, or disrespected him, or if he just did not like the way you looked, ‘he would put you to sleep with the fish.’ Then Kevin asked Charlie, “Do you remember the God Father movies, Charlie?” And Charlie replied, “Yes, Kev I saw all of them, actually several times.” Then Charlie said, “Good work Sergeant Lybrand, very good work. You just got us our first concrete lead on the bank robbers.” Then, “Hit some ‘hot spots’ while you are still there in Chinatown and turn-over some rocks and see if any low life illegal Ruskies (or Commie Pinkos , as I like to call them) turn up. Remember Kevin, ‘ head on a swivel ,’ like Sarge always says.” After Kevin’s call, and taking some, or a lot, of his stomach medicine for his GERD, Charlie called Sarge. He was down in Korea Town, around Pico and Alvarado area. Charlie told Sarge that he loved Korean people as they were almost always very honest and honorable individuals. However, “Just ‘sniff’ around a little bit and see if anything, or anyone, ‘ smells .’” Sarge quickly responded, “10-4 Jefe, you know that I am on the job, and remember old man, be careful out there and watch your back.” Sarge loved our man Charlie but he just could not help himself teasing him every chance he got. Then Sarge thought, and decided to add, “Charlie, old man, sometime let’s, you, Yvette ‘Marie’, your lovely wife, Lynn, Kevin and his wife, and Captain Danks and his wife, all get together and fly down to my and your favorite place, Ensenada, Mexico.” And, he also stated, “And, Jefe , we could all sing ‘ Kum ba Yah’ on the way down there. And eat a ton of excellent real Mexican food (comida) on the jet plane. Also, you could tell us some of your well known ‘war stories.” Then he laughed, again. Later that same day, Charlie caught a call from Billy Thieme , an old friend who lives out in the Valley (San Fernando Valley). He used to work for the LACSD (Department) in the ‘rough and tumble’ Firestone Division in the Norwalk, Dairy Valley, Hawaiian Gardens, and Bell Gardens. Charlie knew that there was a very large Russian enclave who lives in and around North Hollywood. Most of them were here legally and they came to the U.S. to get away from the Godless Communists , however, lots were not, and they were former FSB [KGB], same people, same faces, just a different name. The restaurant’s name was the ‘ Little Odessa’s Russian Community Lounge.’ Billy knew some Russian friends who frequented that place. His friends overheard some tough and nasty looking guys in the corner one night. According to Billy’s friend, the leader of the ‘pack’ was a scary, very scary, looking man named ‘ Vicktor Kharchenko ,’ cousin of the very infamous ‘ Decebal Stefan Emilian Matasareno’ half of the North Hollywood ‘Shoot Out’ meth-head duo back in the 1990’s. . The other half of the quite deadly duo was “ Larry Eugene ‘Murph’ Phillips , Jr.” And it just so happens that he was one of the infamous ‘meth-head’ bank robbers back in the 1990’s that took down the Bank of America branch in North Hollywood. That was the worst botched bank robbery in US history. Charlie turned on his cell phone to the itune feature and looked up one of his all- time favorite blues songs, “ Boom, boom ” (boom, boom) by the incredible Mississippi Delta bluesman , ‘ Mr. John Lee Hooker.’ It started out like this: Then our man Charlie called Jan Smoker , and asked her to call her old CIA friends and see what they could find out about our ‘Fisherman’ and his Crew. Jan is so fast and efficient, that she called Charlie back in only four hours. She started out by saying, “Charlie my good Hijo , my CIA contacts at the ‘ Agency’ said that the Fisherman and all five of his evil cohorts, were all former FSB (formerly known as the KGB) members. The same mean and violent type people, same scary looking faces, same snake-like whisper voices, but just different names.” And then she looked at her notes, and started speaking again, “These are bad dudes, real bad dudes, Charles, so ‘keep your head on a swivel’ as Sarge likes to say.” Charlie was shocked at how much Jan found out in so little time, he replied, “Thank you ever so much, very important news from ‘your voice to my ears. And remember careful is my middle name.” Jan laughed, and laughed, and then laughed some more, then answered, “Sure, Charlie, sure you will, old man.” Then Jan had a big smile on her face, and hung up her secure cell phone. [5] Charles Warner Kennedy (Charlie) O’Brien, is a Dreamer , he truly is! [6] On weekends Charlie drives his Classic 1964 Chevy Impala two-door hardtop. This beautiful ride has been completely restored to the original condition. He just loves classic cars and he has owned several of them over his life time.

Do you remember that great old 'Motown' song, " Charlie Brown " by the fabulous Coasters ? Charlie just absolutely loves Barry Gordy's Motown Music, he truly does.

Charlie and his lovely, model-looking-like wife, Lynn, just saw the fabulous 'Smokey Robinson .’ It was just an unbelievable performance and just to make it even more memorable, Mr. Berry Gordy (yes, the man himself ) was in the audience. How cool is that? Smokey and Barry live in the same theater. WOW.  People love to sing, "Here comes Charlie Brown, " whenever they see him.

Once again, and out of the blue , Charlie was hailed by his ever present and always within easy reach, cell phone. As you already know, his welcoming ring tone is “ Private Eyes ” by fantastic Philly boys, ‘Hall and Oates.’ On the other end of the line, was LT Yvette ‘Marie’ Murrieta, Charlie’s beloved Mija (adopted daughter). He was always so, so very happy whenever she called him, he really was. She was also known, when not ‘on the job’ as Mrs. J. J. Hernandez, the Sarge’s wonderful and very brave, wife. She was, as you know, a Lieutenant at the Orange County Sheriff’s department in the O. C. Also, Charlie likes to tell everyone, and I do mean everybody, that she is the better half, a much better half, and then he always adds “by far.” Whenever anyone tells Sarge what Charlie says, he always responds, “Charlie is right for once in his life, Yvette is the better half, no disagreement on my part about that, none at all.” LT. Yvette was doing some R and R (Research and Reconnaissance) on the ‘ Fisherman’ his Russki thugs, for the A-Team. And she ran across some very interesting ‘dirt’ about them and she thought that Charlie would want to hear about it, a-sap.  Yvette spoke as soon as he answered his cell and she said, “Pappy how are you doing? Good I pray, Sarge and I want to have you and Mama Lynn, over for dinner soon, real soon.” “And I will make my famous tamales , enchiladas, and burritos, and tacos too. Of course, with Mexican rice, beans, Sarge’s BBQ corn, and lots, and lots of hot flour tortillas.” She continued, “Plus as usual, I will make you a big family style taco salad, one of your favorites I know.” LT. could almost hear Charlie salivating over the phone (he is such a foodie, she thought to herself), so she added quickly, “Calm down Jefe, we got a vicarious bank robbery crime to solve first, then we eat, fiesta, and then eat some more, alright?” And.

And this is what the’ three ‘Amigos’ (Yvette, Sarge, and Charlie) found out that most of the good and law-abiding citizens of Los Angeles County do not know. Alex Villanueva, the Sheriff and Chief Coroner, of all of Los Angeles County, which is one of one of the greatest and largest Sheriff’s Departments in the whole country, the LASD Department, told Charlie and Sarge and LT Yvette, the brief (very brief) history of his excellent and dedicated department, and this is what he told them : [7] LASD Alex Villanueva , Sheriff, LAPD Michael Moore, Police Chief, and our man, Charlie the world famous, PI, were driving on the 10 (Santa Monica) Freeway, as it intersects with the log-jam 110 (Harbor Freeway) near downtown Los Angeles. They were riding in Charlie’s new BMW, which he likes to call Black beauty III, because he has had three of this particular model 750IL, and they were all beautiful black in color. Alex said to Charlie, “Hey, my amigo, let’s turn on your car stereo and listen to some tunes. I think that my compadre here, Chief Moore, likes the blues just like I do, and I recall you telling me that you love ‘John Lee Hooker,’ the great blues master.” Michael leaned over and turned the volume up loud, real loud and at the same time opened up Charlie’s cool sun-roof so that everyone in downtown LA could hear the great Blues music along with them. Then Alex said to Michael, “If we get pulled over for loud music, by the LAPD, can you flash your badge so that our friend Charlie does not get a ticket?” The Chief laughed really loud and then responded, 10-4 Sheriff.” And Charlie yelled to Alex, louder Sheriff, turn it up louder, let the gang bangers know that the new L.A. Sheriff and the new L.A. Police Chief are in town.” L.A. Bank Robbery Suspects Charlie called Peggy and Ron Edwards , Jan Smoker, and LT. Yvette Marie, and asked them who were the prime ‘person (s) of interest’ in the terrifying and accelerating Los Angeles (the bank robbery capital of the world) robberies? This is the list that they came up with, and told Charlie that this was just a preliminary list, and that there very well might be several more criminal organizations and or individuals to be added at a later date. 1. The Russians: Vicktor Karchenco (aka the Fisherman ); Alexandar (Alex) Kopiyka; and, Boris Omsk ‘Big’ Tvershaya. All of these despicable, and murderous individuals, were ex- FSB (formerly the hated and greatly feared- KGB) officers. They stole a lot of money, gold and silver, and a ton of weapons when they left their former ‘handlers.’ 2. The Deadly Hong Kong Triad: Formerly known as the “White Lotus Family” (San Ho Hui). And thought to be over 250 years old! 3. The North Korean Criminal Organization: Known as “Kkangpae Communist Society”. Also, they are said to be part of the North Korean Mafia, and the Japanese Yakuza. And; Charlie told LT. Yvette Marie, that he really liked Korean (South Korean) people. They have a great, honorable and very ancient culture, are very polite, and very respectful. They are also highly intelligent people and their children love to learn and excel at school. Then Yvette said to Charlie, “My favorite Jefe ever, I love Korean people just like you do. And also, I love and I know you do too, the Korean people in the North. They are treated so inhumanely and terribly, and yet they endure and they survive.” 4. The world roving Romanian Gypsyies : Known all over the world by the name, “The Emil Matasareanu gang.” [8] Charlie said to OCSD LT. Yvette Marie, “Mi’ja, wonderful daughter of mine, do you remember the very popular hit song by Randy Newman, ‘I Love L. A’?” Yvette immediately replied, “Si my great Pappy, I remember it well, me and all of my friends in school, went around singing it all of the time, back in the day.” Charlie said let’s play it on my iPod just for the fun of it, get Sarge on your cell phone speaker so he can sing along with the two of us, alright?” She laughed and then laughed some more. She has such a marvelous laugh , Charlie thought. Yvette started to laugh, again, and Charlie asked her what was so funny? She responded, “My Jefe, do you know how bad my beloved husband’s voice is? I love him dearly, as you know, but he really cannot sing very well.”


I always thought it was funny how one flap of a butterfly’s wings can send the whole world spiraling. Well, not literally a butterfly but a simple action, something that seems inconsequential. For example, a melting popsicle on a summer day or a skater’s decision not to wear knee pads. Or perhaps that fact that I had overslept and therefore was walking outside later than usual.

It was just another week stuck in quarantine, and I had made it my mission to spend fifteen minutes outside every day. Unfortunately, I had overslept, so the whole schedule I had formed during those lonely months had somewhat shifted. I still managed to grab one of my homemade masks and step into the sun. “Good morning, Ms. Cooper,” I greeted the neighbor as I sat on the porch. The old woman just smiled, and I noticed her grandkids sitting on the edge of the grass, eating popsicles. The sweet treat was melting all over the sidewalk, but Ms. Cooper didn’t seem to notice. That’s when a boy sped by on his skateboard. I wasn’t sure if he was oblivious to the juice or just didn’t care. In any case, the wheels slipped in the puddle, and the boy skidded off. Before I knew it, I was on my feet running across the street. “Oh, my gosh, are you okay,” I questioned as he sat up. He was flung a couple of feet from the board, and his knees were bleeding. “Come on. Let me help.”

“I can take of myself,” he snapped, but he obliged and stood. I helped him across the street and into my house. Yeah, risky move, but the boy seemed alright. Plus, he was bleeding. Everyone needed to help each other, especially now, right? That’s what I was doing, helping a stranger.

“Wait here. I’ll get the first-aid kit,” I said as I set him down in the bathroom by the entrance. He grumbled but sat still. I took that as a sign of agreement and ran off.

“What happened,” Dad questioned when I asked him where the kit was. He actually looked grateful that I was interrupting his work.

“A boy scraped his knees on the sidewalk. I’m just trying to help,” I answered, rummaging through my parent’s nightstand.

Aha,

I thought as I finally found the red box beside my parents’ bed.

“Be careful,” he warned as I ran out. I found the boy exactly where I left him, though this time, I could get a good look at him. His hair was bleached white, blinding actually. He was tall and gangly like the Douglas Adams quote about David Bowie. When he looked up, his piercing green eyes almost made my heart stop. Stunning. That’s what he was.

I washed my hands, trying not to blush. He wasn’t bleeding anymore, so that was good. I got a cloth wet and dab at the scrape. He winced but played it off well.

“You do realize that you just brought a strange boy into your house, right,” he questioned. “Yeah, but you were hurt, so,” my voice trailed off.

“You do also realize that we’re in the middle of a pandemic, right,” he asked.

“Look, I just wanted to help. You can leave if you want.” He didn’t. He just sat still as I applied the antibiotic ointment and the bandage.

“Why are you helping me?” “Because I like to help people, and because you needed help.”

And because you’re kinda cute.

He looked at me, amusement dancing in his eyes. His mouth was covered, but I knew he was smiling. Gosh, he was adorable. When his hand brushed against mine, a jolt went through my body.

“I wasn’t aware you brought him inside,” Dad said from behind me, and I nearly jumped. For a moment, Dad just stared at the two of us.

“Sorry, sir. I was just leaving,” the boy insisted. He stood and hurried off, racing to the front door. I watched him run across the street and pick up his skateboard. He was on it, gliding away before I could stop him. Soon, his bleached hair disappeared around the corner, and I sighed wistfully after him. He had seemed nice. He wasn’t too bad looking either. I was half tempted to chase after him but decided against it. He had run off. I wasn’t going to make him come back.

“I didn’t mean to scare him away, but I didn’t think you would actually bring him inside,” Dad admitted. I just sighed, turning back to the bathroom to clean up. That’s when I saw it.

“Uh oh,” I muttered.

“What is it?” “He dropped his wallet.” Knowing he was already long gone, I started rifling through it. I don’t know exactly what I was hoping to find. Maybe an ID or a debit card with his name on it, but all I found was a twenty, a school picture, a pass for the museum, and a punch card for the coffee shop nearby. No names.

“Find anything,” Dad inquired.

“A start,” I answered and stood. “I’m going out.” “Are you really going to track down this boy in the middle of this mess?” “I need to get him his wallet back. Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll be careful.”

“I didn’t like the look of him.” “You don’t like the look of anyone.” He just sighed. He knew I was right. I was a 16-year-old girl with a really overprotective Dad. If Mom were home, she’d tell me to go after the boy. Too bad she was stuck at the hospital in the middle of the pandemic, so Dad was the only one home. I was his princess, after all. That’s literally what my name meant. My princess. Since I was little, I dreamed of finding my prince, and now, I thought I had the chance. I didn’t know what I’d do if Dad didn’t let me go out.

“Bring your phone and call me at lunch,” he relented. I pulled him into a hug, relief flooding my veins.

“Thanks, Dad,” I muttered and grabbed my purse and keys. My car started with no problem, and Dad waved as I pulled out of the driveway.

Okay,

I thought, examining the wallet. I figured I would start with the museum pass since it was closer. I hadn’t actually been there for a long time, but it seemed that this boy had. His name was smudged on both cards, just my luck. I had nothing but a card to go on. I didn’t even know if anyone would know who he was.

Finally, I walked into the art museum. It was a small facility, but the art there was amazing. Honestly, I was surprised that the boy had a pass to such a place.

He needs a name,

I thought but decided that it would be better to actually learn his name. Until then, he was just Boy.

I walked around the gallery for a minute, wondering which of the paintings was his favorite. I was particularly fond of an ocean landscape with a small ship in the background. When I was younger, my mom would take me to the museum and ask me questions about the painting about what I thought was going on. When I was younger, I told her the ship was the prince’s ship. He would be married to his princess there like in the movies. Now, I told myself that the sailors were exploring new lands.

“Can I help you,” a voice asked, and I turned to find one of the employees standing there. “Uh, yes, actually. I’m, uh, looking for a boy. He’s about my age with bleached white hair and green eyes. He’s tall too,” I explained, remembering my mission.

“Oh, I know him,” the employee said, and I saw her name was Jacqueline.

“Can you tell me his name,” I inquired eagerly. She shook her head. “Sorry, I can’t. He doesn’t really talk to anyone.” I must have looked disappointed because she said hurriedly, “Can I help you with anything else?” “No,” I muttered. She started to turn away, but then I remember. “Wait!” “Yes?” I debated whether or not to actually ask, but she looked at me expectantly.

Too late now,

I thought. “Do you, um, know his favorite painting,” I stammered.

“Well, I don’t know about his favorite, but the two of you seem to have similar tastes,” she answered, pointing her thumb at the ocean. “He stares at this painting all the time.” My heart leaped. “Really?” “Yep, though I don’t know what he sees.”

Maybe it’s the mysterious ship in the back,

I thought.

“Thanks for your help.” She smiled and nodded, walking off to talk to someone else. I just gawked at the painting, wondering if Boy saw what I saw. Could we really be focused on the same thing? Was it just a coincidence that we shared the love of this painting? I reached into the wallet and grabbed his picture. I couldn’t help but imagine him standing in the same spot I was. I found myself yearning to actually meet Boy and learn his name. Unfortunately, I wasn’t going to learn anything in that gallery.

Sighing, I walked out and headed back to my car. The next item on the list was Starbucks. If I didn’t find him there, I wasn’t going to find him anywhere unless he decided to cruise down my street. Though, judging by the fact that I hadn’t seen him there before, I decided that was unlikely. At least I’d get a cup of coffee out of this trip.

I pulled into the small parking lot and headed inside, rehearsing what I was going to say. I’d order my usual and casually ask if anyone knew who the boy was, though I didn’t want to sound like a stalker. With any luck, I’d at least learn his name. That’s not what happened though. I came to the counter and reached into the wallet to show the barista Boy’s picture, but she took the whole wallet from me.

“That’s my brother’s wallet,” she exclaimed. “Where did you get this?” “Well, um, you see, he was,” I stammered.

“Did you steal this? Are you trying to pay for your coffee with his money,” she demanded. “No, no, no. I was just—” “Just what, huh? Spit it out.” “Hey, ease up, Tiffany. Let the poor girl explain,” the other baristas scolded, giving me an apologetic smile. I tried to smile in return, but Tiffany was pretty intense. “Your brother, he was skateboarding by my house, and then he sort of fell,” I explained. “I was just trying to help, so I took him into my house and, um, tried to patch him up. He, uh, dropped his, he dropped his wallet, and I was just trying to return it.” Tiffany narrowed her eyes at me and sighed.

“Well, that does sound like my brother,” she muttered, looking me over. “Sit over by the window. He’ll probably in for his usual in a few minutes.” I nodded gratefully and hurried off, grabbing my coffee on the way. I sat there eagerly, watching everyone who came in. When Boy finally arrived, he walked up to his sister, and she marked his order. I was pretty close to the window, so I could see exactly what she put on the cup. My hope only grew when I realized that his order was the same as mine. Tiffany gestured to where I sat, and his green eyes met mine. I could swear that my heart stopped as he walked over to my table.

“So, we meet again,” he mused. “Tiff says you were trying to return my wallet.” “Yeah, I was. I tried the museum first, but you weren’t there,” I admitted, and amusement danced in his eyes.

“That’s some dedication,” he noted. “Amir.”

“I’m Sarah,” I replied. When he looked at me, only one thought crossed my mind: I found my prince.


Four years we spend hunched over a desk with backlit screens in front of us. Brightening our futures but wasting our youth. For now, mountains will go unclimbed, rivers unconquered and canyons unexplored. When our four years are over our backs will be bent and stiff, our eyes crossed and blurred, our minds void of dreams. What we will gain, I’m still not sure. A better paying job, yes. But that provides us with little. The pay is never enough. Every year we want more than last. We will slit throats, including our own, for more. These jobs allot us two weeks a year to travel the world. A man who starts his career at 25 and ends it at 65 gets only 80 out of his 2080 weeks to travel. 80 weeks to experience seven continents, 195 countries and countless cultures. This is what we waste our youth for. Choose a path of money or passion, because rarely do we get both. At best, some might be able to convince themselves that they love what they do. Deep down, however, the young man with furious aspirations of exploration is vexed. We silence that bitter boy; his dreams are childish and impossible. A waste of blurry eyes and broken backs. Four years of hard work for these things, why drop them atop a mountain’s peak, risk losing them at the bottom of a deep red canyon? Why chance drowning these eyes and this back in a swift and narrow current? We do what we do to provide for the next generation. But provide them with what? The same four years that tortured our minds and livers. Those four years that afforded us with two weeks of travel. Those four years, as we are learning, will cost them much but teach them little. They will sit studying conclusions of generations past, memorizing words of dead men, no time to make their own. Their eyes will wander from blue screen to a framed blue sky, distracted by the idea of freedom just years away. They will think, as we did, that their grand adventure will begin when they leave this place. What they do not realize is that adventure can only last two weeks. You have to play to win but winning has never been in my bones. I’m a loser; a white flag waver for the things that bring me pain. I’m not interested in playing their game anymore. I can’t convince myself I am. I’m leaving, I’m done. Finished. I’m off to make my own game, one that I am the only one stupid enough to play. One where failure is not a possibility. Now the only thing I need to do is convince myself it’s not foolish. It is brave. -C.S.D.


## I. The wind smelled like ashes and the air tasted of salt. I could hardly breathe. The woman had died on the cliffs below. Her neck had snapped, her bones had broken, and the black sea had swallowed her. It kept her for days before it spat her out onto the cold sand. She was bloated and blue. The familiar scowl on her face was gone, eroded by the current and hungry fish. Nobody knew how Mrs. Dena Black had really died. Everyone thought she had fallen. The police captain wasn’t too sure about that. He had called me for help and begrudgingly I left the warmth of my bed and the softness of my fiancee’s breasts pressed against my back. I didn’t want to be here, but a woman was dead and it hadn’t been an accident. I saw it clear as day. The sea wasn’t far from Black Manor. And Mrs. Black knew the path so well she could walk it in her sleep. Everyone knew about her affinity for the cliff. Every day, she is at its peak, right at the very edge, her legs dangling childishly. She spent hours gazing at the churning sea below. She laughed at those who warned her. Her children tried to reason with her. “I’ve been doing this since you were a twinkle in your father’s eye. Leave me be.” She loved the spray of water on her face, the smell of the sea invading her senses. She had sprinkled her daughter’s ashes there and then, years later, her son’s. Her remaining children said she used to talk into the wind and pray for her babies to come back to her. They hadn’t ruled out suicide because she had never recovered from the losses. Maybe she had had enough. But I knew the truth. I knew because she told me. I heard her behind me. Her footsteps had a disgusting, squelching sound to them. She was coming for me because I had called for her. The sooner I had the answers, the sooner I could go home. Her hand fell heavily onto my shoulder. Her fingers were blue and swollen and as she leaned in to whisper to me, I felt gritty sand on my earlobe, and smelled death on her breath. “I didn’t fall, and I didn’t kill myself.” She gurgled. “Someone pushed me and you know it. You see everything, don’t you? We both have the same smell. You smell of Hell.” And you smell of dead fish, I thought. I wish I could say I was used to this, but each ghost was different. Sometimes they looked as they lived. But other times they appeared like Mrs. Black. Their death was a statement. I repeated, “Someone pushed you.” The air still smelled of ashes and I remembered the cremains that Mrs. Black had sprinkled into the wind. “Who pushed you?” I asked. “Did you see them?” Her laugh sounded distorted, as if someone had sawed at her vocal cords with glass. The Black family didn’t have the best reputation with the rest of the town. They were cruel, demanding, and strange. Creepy. The townspeople heard screams coming from the manor, and people regularly went missing in their dark woods. Their servants would run from the manor and leave town. They never said why, they just disappeared, never to be seen again. Mrs. Black’s death was a cause for celebration. “If I knew, wouldn’t be here, would I?” she sneered. “I wouldn’t need someone like you? Would I, Ms. Necromancer?” I felt the irritation rise inside of me. Fuck, it was so cold. The sky was gray, and it started to rain. Again, I thought of my girlfriend and fantasized about her warm touch. The sooner I did this, the sooner I could leave. Begrudgingly, I turned to the water and lost myself in memory. I saw flashes of Mrs. Black’s life. The abuse from her father, the negligence of her mother. She would escape to watch the sea on the cliff side. Her parents never noticed. She spent hours there. She imagined she was a bird and wished she could fly. It would be so easy. So easy to throw herself into the water. But she never did. Her parents died in an accident when she was a teenager and she inherited their wealth and Black Manor. She met her husband and birthed her first child. For the first time in her life, she was happy. But her husband was jealous of her pedigree, the money, and her ownership of Black Manor. The darkness inside of him would bloom whenever he drank. He reminded her of her father. She grew to hate him, but at least she had her children. She loved them more than anything in the world. She had 5 daughters and 1 son, and they were perfect. She lived for them and she would die for them. Her husband went missing one day. They never found his body. I had a feeling about what happened. I felt her joy after he disappeared; her agony when her daughter committed suicide; the grief that submerged when her son was stabbed to death during a fight at the local bar. She drowned. Ashes in the sky and dust in the wind. She was older and sat on the cliff. Her lips moved rapidly, but the wind drowned out her voice. And then I saw what I had been waiting for. The moment of her death. A tall figure stood behind her. She twisted her body to see who it was. They pushed her, and she fell and she broke. The sea swallowed her whole. She drifted and awoke on the beach. I summoned her, and she came to me. I had brought her back to allow her the dignity to move on, to punish the one who had killed her. I snapped out of the reverie, and before I could stop myself, I looked over the edge. Down below, the drop was endless. Eternal. What was that saying? If you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back. Something like that. But I couldn’t look away. Waves crashed, and the sea foamed. It reminded me of clouds. I thought of how nice it would feel to lie to them. Surely they would cushion the fall. The height hypnotized and terrified me. I took a step and then another. I snapped out of it just in time. I inched away from the cliff carefully. Let’s not die again. There’s nobody around you to bring you back. Not like last time. After they extricated me from the wreck, they made me live again. I remember the first breath I took and the screams that erupted from my throat. I screamed while the car burned, and ash filled my throat. I pleaded, and I wailed and I fought as they took me away. They must have given me something, or I passed out because once again the world went black. Mrs. Black rasped behind me. She coughed and she wretched and I heard a loud splat hit the ground. The stench made me nauseous. I had to get the hell out of here. “You’re right. Someone pushed you, but I didn’t see who did it.. Do you know anybody who would do this? Somebody who would like to hurt you.” Everyone, I thought. Everyone hated you, and as though she heard my thoughts, she laughed and then she grabbed my throat. She squeezed. She was so very strong. I clawed at her as I struggled to breathe. I left long scratches on her arms; her face. But the dead don’t feel pain and black, green liquid oozed from the wounds. She held me over the cliff, and my feet dangled in the air. She loosened her grip on my throat so I could breathe. “Look,” she said, her voice low. I didn’t. Instead, I kicked wildly, trying to get back on solid ground. “I said look.” She said forcefully. She shook me and I looked into the abyss. What the fuck? There were bodies in the sea. I counted at least 6. They bobbed like untethered buoys, naked and long-limbed. I fell into another vision, but this time, I wasn’t a spectator. I was the main character. I was in the water, my clothes weighed me down. I was sinking. I was going to drown. I had no choice. I treaded to the nearest corpse and grabbed onto it. It was a woman. She was cold and pale. She looked like a statue. Her features were lovely even in death. I knew her. Mrs. Black’s daughter looked just like her mother in her youth. She opened her eyes; they were milky white. She caressed my face, slowly, lovingly, and then she smiled. I looked around as the corpses floated listlessly in the water. I nearly gasped when I saw him. Mrs. Black’s husband. Not missing, but dead. Of course. His lip curled as he bared his teeth at me. There was thrashing in the water, and hands grabbed me. Mrs. Black’s son.He grinned at me and grabbed my hair. He forced my head under the water. I fought hard and furious and I broke free. I hungrily gulped air. But it didn’t matter. The dead surrounded me and pushed me back under. They held me down, and I couldn’t escape. My lungs burned, and I saw white. When I woke up, I was mercilessly on land. My throat burned and my clothes were soaked through. I cried. Mrs. Black stared at me. She drooled and her sunken eyes rolled in their sockets. She grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me. “You see them, don’t you? You see my babies?” I tried to free myself, but she just laughed at me. “What is this?” I gasped. “What was that? What are you? Your kids were cremated.” “'No, I buried them and then I brought them back,” Mrs. Black breathed. “I brought my babies back. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. You aren’t the only one who can reanimate. I’ve been doing it since I was a girl.” She frowned. “But something went wrong.” Her grip loosened, and my heart pounded in my chest. If she let go, I would die. The sea would take me. “Stop judging me,” she said through clenched teeth.. “You did the same. You’re not as virtuous as you think. I know what you did.” “I didn’t do anything,” I cried. “I help people. I free them. I let their families find closure. “I only bring back those who have something to say.” She shook me, and a long strip of skin peeled off her face. “Don’t lie to me,” she hissed. “You smell like corpses and death.” Shut up, I wanted to scream, but my throat hurt too much. Shut up! I only did what was for the best. I did it for her. ## II. It rained that day. I was driving. You could cut the tension with a knife. Raquel, my fiancée, sat in the passenger seat, looking out the window. Her expression was stony. We were angry at one another. Lately, we were always angry. We fought, and we made up, and then we fought again. It was exhausting, and I was tired. I’m sure she was too. But we were both afraid to let go. Neither of us wanted to be alone. It happened so fast. A car cut us off. “Watch out!” she shrieked, and she grabbed the wheel. I yelled at her to stop, but it was too late. The road was slick with rain and as the tree loomed closer; I closed my eyes before the impact. The silence was deafening. My legs were on fire, pinned under the console. I tasted blood and my chest felt crushed in. It hurt to breathe. I turned my head to look at her, ignoring the excruciating pain. I forced myself to look at her. “Raquel?” I croaked. “Raquel, wake up.” But she didn’t. Her eyes were open and a long shard of glass pierced her neck. I reached to touch her cheek, and the pain exploded. I died. I was in purgatory. That space not quite heaven or hell. I walked endlessly down a long black corridor. I walked, and I walked until I heard footsteps. Somebody ran past me. Her hair, long and braided, streamed behind her and I knew that smell, the scent of her perfume. “Raquel?” I gasped and chased after her. She kept running down the endless corner. We ran into the abyss and a light appeared. A golden light that warmed my insides and told me everything was okay. Raquel looked behind at me. She smiled and then she was gone. She disappeared into the light and I followed. Forget the fighting and the anger and the days we spent ignoring one another. Life was too short, and I loved her. In death, everything would be fine. We would be together. The light felt so good and I couldn’t stop smiling. I would live here eternally. I would be so happy. But they brought me back, and the pain exploded. But that was nothing compared to witnessing my car catch on fire and watching Raquel burn. ## III. The hospital was my first experience in raising the dead. Believe me, you don’t know terror until you wake up to the corpse of an elderly man staring down at you. “I called you, but you didn’t come. So I came for you.” He said gravely. I was alive, but I might as well had been in hell. I didn’t have Raquel anymore. What I had was the power to hear the dead and the ability to hold their souls and reanimate them. They whispered to me 24/7. I never got to sleep. I learned that I just needed to give in and go to them, otherwise they wouldn’t let me sleep and I would die (again) from exhaustion. I hated every bit at first, but I soon found purpose. I had killed Raquel, but I could help others. I could help the dead find their peace. I had fun with it. The dead are interesting. Some came back looking as they had once lived, others were rotting in the various stages of decay. They all asked for my help. Whether that was assisting them crossing over or giving their loved ones a message. With every person I helped, I thought of resurrecting Raquel. I wouldn’t. I never brought back those who didn’t ask. Guilt ate at me daily. Why I fought to keep with her so much? Was I driving too fast? Why did she have to die and not me? Why didn’t I tell her I loved her more? One day, as I was washing the dishes. I heard her voice clear as day in my head. “Dena?” she whispered. “Dena? Where are you? Why did you leave me?” A plate crashed to the ground and broke into pieces. “Raquel?” I said out loud. “Raquel?” But silence answered, and I cut myself as I picked up the shattered silverware. Blood dripped down my fingers. I held them to my face and cried. I wanted to hear her again, but it was as though we were on different channels. Sometimes it hurt so much that I wouldn’t leave my bed. The only thing that helped was resurrecting those who needed me. One night, somebody must have seen me in the cemetery. They called the cops. I was listening to the confession of Celeste Knickerboxer, a petite woman in her 80s who had just died. She was downright giddy as she told me when that she was 40 she killed her cheating, abusive husband. She giggled, “And I’d do it again.” I was confused. “Mrs. Knickerboxer, how is this supposed to give you closure?” She laughed again. “It’s not. I just wanted to tell somebody.” I had just closed her casket when two police officers shone a light on me. They asked me what the fuck I was doing. It was hard to explain and impossible once Mrs. Knickerbocker angrily opened the lid. “Can you please hurry up! I want to go back to sleep!” She cackled.” I love to watch my husband burn in Hell.” It was a long night of talking about what I was, how it had happened, and what they were going to do with me now. The captain looked at me. His eyes were flat and gray. “Well, we’re going to need you to help us.” So I helped. When they called, I went to help them solve murders, collect clues, and locate the missing. I wasn’t a fan of the police, but this was about the dead and their families. Days passed, weeks, months, years…My necromancy skills bloomed. I learned how to control it. No more waking up to corpses staring down at me or knocking in my window, face pressed to the glass. I thought of Raquel often. I hadn’t heard her voice in so long and then one day, my birthday, I did. “Dena, I miss you. Dena I need your help. The others have said that you’re able to help me. Why won’t you come? Please.” Raquel’s pleaded with me and this time I didn’t hesitate. I picked up my keys and drove for hours to the town where Raquel had been buried. After she died, I moved. There were too many memories, and too many people hated me. Her gravesite was in horrible condition. It crushed me to see that her gravesite hadn't been tended to for a long time. Her parents hadn’t cared for her in life, so why would they in death? My heart beat in anticipation and finally, I did it. I brought Raquel back. It was wonderful. She was exactly as she had been alive. The only difference was the zigzag of scars across her face. She thought they made her look badass. She kept questioning me about why I had not come to her earlier.? She was hurt. She felt abandoned. “I didn’t know if you wanted to come back,” I said. “I only help those who ask. Wouldn’t it be like waking someone up from a nap?” She pursed her lips at me and rolled her eyes. “Heaven is boring. “ So that was what happened and for the first time in years, I was happy. We were happy and nobody knew. Nobody would ever know. Except Mrs. Black knew. Mrs. Black, the necromancer. ## IV. “What do you want with me?” I said. It was suddenly so cold. The sky was dark and rumbling. There was a storm coming, and the rain had become a downpour. The dead woman stared at me. “I want my babies,” she murmured. “They were supposed to be right here with me, but,” she trailed off. “It wasn’t enough…I am not strong enough for this anymore.” I saw it all. I saw how she had unearthed her children from their resting places. She laid their crumbling skeletons on the ground, walked to the cliff, and began chanting. She sprinkled ashes into the wind and I watched as they formed shape and glittered in colors I have never seen before. Her necromancy technique was so much different from mine. I have never met another necromancer after all. Maybe everyone performed it differently. I watched as her children’s’ bones fused together and raw skin molded onto their skeletons. In the end, they had a porcelain translucent appearance. They looked like human sized dolls. I felt Mrs. Black’s joy, but also her grief and her guilt. She had wanted this all her life. She had spent years studying the darkest of the arts. “You’re self taught,” I realized. The realization shocked me. “You taught yourself necromancy.” She sneered at me, her grin horrific because of her lack of lips. “I’ve been practicing since the age of 10,” she said sharply. “Mother and father were the first of my experiments. It was so lovely.” She whispered, lost in remembrance. “I killed them again and again. Every time I brought them back, they begged me to stop. Give us peace, they said! But I didn’t. Why would I do that? They never apologized for what they’ve done. They denied it. They never gave me peace.” Her eyes grew sharp again. “You are not better than me. Yes, my age has changed things.” She admitted. “I could have finished the ceremony alone, but…” “You need me,” I finished. My vision blurred. I was back in her memories. Mrs. Black dragged her son and daughter up the cliff, where her power was the most potent. I watched as she took out a small bowl and smashed ingredients with a pestle. It hadn’t been ashes she had been tossing into the wind. But a mixture of herbs, crushed animal bones, and desiccated rose petals. She stood there, and she prayed. She screamed into the wind. Behind her, her son and daughter rose. They approached their mother on unsteady legs. Those ghost white hands touched Mrs. Black’s back. She smiled with tears in her eyes and she turned. They pushed her off the cliff, together as one. Mrs. Black’s face went through many phases. Happiness, surprise, terror. For a moment, she was suspended in the air. I watched as she plummeted. She slammed into the rocks below, breaking bones and scraping away skin. She was barely alive when she hit the water. The water washed her away and she drowned.. Her children looked down at her, expressionless. It began to rain. Mrs. Black stared at me. “You knew,” I said. “You knew all along.” “Of course I knew, you idiot. Who else could it have been?” “Then why am I here?” I shouted. “What is the point of all of this?” That grotesque smile again, made up of broken teeth and bleeding gums. “You are going to bring me back and together we will resurrect my children.” This woman was out of her fucking mind. I felt bad for her, sure. Her life had been full of heartache. She just wanted her children back. I brought Raquel back. Wouldn’t me denying her make me a hypocrite? But this wasn’t the same. She wasn’t a good person. I only brought back those who asked. Not a single person had asked her. Those bodies in the water, the missing, and the murdered. I had an idea who some of them were. This woman was dangerous, and I would not bring her back. I shook my head. “No, I won’t help you.” She laughed. “I may be old and self-taught, but I’m stronger than you. I was going to give you a chance, but you are an absolute fool.” She grabbed my wrists and turned me to face the corpses coming towards us. They were ghost white. Some had skin sloughing off their forms. They limped towards me like pale zombies. I knew who some of them were. Her parents, I surmised. Her husband and the missing townspeople. And of course her son and her daughter, their eyes filmed over milky white. Her grip on me was like a vice. I gagged looking at the maggots that squirmed in and out a gash on her forearm. Mrs. Black began to sing and chant and I saw her memories, and I saw mine. They intertwined. Raquel’s cut and bleeding face. The smell of burning flesh in the air. The man who asked me to help him while I lay in my hospital bed. A heartbroken woman tightening a noose. Her pain. Dark red blood pooling on a hardwood floor. The pale face of a young man. The rattling gasp of his last breath. I grew tired and my body went limp. I wanted to close my eyes and let her do what she wanted. I was tired. I was so tired. I just want to sleep. I want to be back in bed with Raquel and want to tell her I love her and I’m sorry. Thinking if Raquel made me sick with guilt. With my necromancy gone, I wouldn’t be able to go back to her. I had to get back to her. And also I hate to lose. I wouldn’t let this dead bitch win. I could not stand the thought. Anger pulsed throughout me. I felt my body grow hot. Blisters appeared on Mrs. Black’s skin. They popped. She hardly noticed. She was dead, after all. Nothing hurt her. Nothing physical. I shoved my memories away and instead focused on hers. Her daughter’s neck bent to the side. Her body swinging gently, her legs suspended in air. Mrs. Black’s horrific scream when she found her. She fell to her knees. Her son looked no older than 17. He had provoked the fight, and he watched gleefully. His joy turned into a grimace. Pain. He looked down at the knife buried in his guts. He fell onto his knees and then onto his back. He cried as he bled out. So much blood and wailing. My ears popped. *Please, let it end.* *I want to die I want to die I want to die!* ***Leave us alone, mother. We are at peace.*** Mrs. Black pored over her books. Days, months, and years went by. And then one day she felt confident she could do it. It was time. Mrs. Black gasped, and her grip on me loosened. I broke away from her and pushed her as hard as I could. I was going to send her back to the sea. I felt elation as she fell backwards. She grabbed me, and momentarily I was suspended in the air. It was wonderful. I felt like I was flying. I was ash in the wind. I fell into the abyss. ## V. Death isn’t as fun the second time. Everything was pitch black. I walked, but I was getting nowhere. Would I be stuck in purgatory forever? Finally the light appeared, a glowing gold. Heaven. I hesitated. Did I want this? Did I really want to leave? Did I get another chance to live? It wouldn’t hurt to ask… “I don’t want to go.” I said, my voice echoing. “Please send me back.” For a moment, nothing happened. And then there was light. I heard waves and the low cawing of the gulls. I was on the beach and surrounded by a crowd of people. EMTs, the police, curious beach goers. I was dead and there was nothing more to see. The crowd dispersed. The EMTs slowly packed up their equipment and the police captain’s face was as gray as his eyes. His guilt emanated from him like waves. I gasped and coughed up salty water. I heaved and my chest ached. My entire body hurt, my bones were pulverized. I have never felt so much pain. It was quiet. Everyone was in disbelief. The EMTs jumped back into action and worked as fast as they could. They asked me questions. Did I know my name? What was the date? Who was the president? They documented every injury they could see. Every bone in my body is fucking broken, I wanted to say. “How is she alive?” One of them asked the other. “That cliff is a 70 foot drop. How did she survive that?” I didn’t; I tried to say. I died. I emitted a guttural wheeze instead. I wanted to say I didn’t. I had died. I’m not too sure what happened. I can only make a guess of why I am alive. As we dropped, I held onto Mrs. Black and again the warmth spread throughout my body. This time, I didn’t take her memories from her. I took the last bit of necromancy she had. I stole and used it. I died and reanimated myself. Smart girl, I thought. Smart, stupid girl. It was still possible I would succumb to my injuries, but I would fight to the very end. They loaded me onto a gurney and one of the EMTs injected me with something. The pain was slowly fading. I could think clearly again. I wondered if Mrs. Black’s victims were still on the cliff. If her son and daughter had watched her fall again. What would become of the halfway reanimated bodies? No souls, they were nothing more than zombies. I imagined the corpses shambling towards the secluded Black Manor. Another legend for a haunted town. Don’t go into the woods, that’s where the undead roam. They’ll eat your organs and steal your soul. I knew they would never find Mrs. Black’s body. I felt bad for the old woman. She had never had a chance. After all, she had just wanted her children. I understood the torture of sudden loss. Soon, I would be home with Raquel. I’m going to take a break from helping the dead, I thought. But I knew I would. When somebody called, I would go. It’s why I was brought back after all.


“Well, well, well,” “What?” “After fifteen years, you’re back? Just like that?” “Why are you so angry?” “Why am I angry? For fifteen years you left me forgotten in a folder with the rest of your feverish brain’s outpourings. And now all of a sudden you’re rereading me? And don’t think I don’t know why!” “Okay. I’ll bite. Why?” “Because you’re dry. The old creative juices aren’t flowing lately, are they? So you thought you’d come back here to me, sort of like stealing diamonds and gold from a wreck at the bottom of the sea, except in your case, it’s more like costume jewelry. But we’ll put that aside for now. Let’s catch up. You were all depressed back then,  mumbling about the end of the road, curves ahead, uncertainty of life…yet you’re still here aren’t you? Still here and now you’re poaching from me.” “Yes. I’m still here, and you’re me so I can’t poach from myself, can I? I just want to refresh my memory, is all. ” “I’m only you up to a point. But never mind the attempted logic. Did you realize that you are now considerably older than the people you wrote about, including me? “I know how old I am. You don’t have to remind me.” “Maybe not, but apparently I do have to remind you about your angst, since you’re the one who came looking here. Consider it a sort of trigger warning for you. You called the piece you wrote back then, Better Days. Remember?” “Of course I remember; it began with, ‘These aren’t the best days of my life.’” “I’m impressed. You’re a decade and a half older but the old brain neurons seem to be firing pretty well.” “So kind of you. You going to read or what? “Right! Sit back and listen to me…or yourself, whichever. But actually, a decade and a half on, there should be some changes in you. This old voice isn’t yourself now. Or it shouldn’t be, or what the heck have you been up to all this time? But I digress. Here we were, you and me, back in the day, as they say. And notice how with so few words I force you to confront your issues. I was quite proud of that. Ready? A deep breath and… “These aren’t exactly the best days of my life.” “Because?” “Because I’ve had better days. Happy days. Days that glittered and shimmered.” “And now?” “Now it’s T.S. Elliot’s smoke filled late afternoons… “And how’s that going for you?” “It can be lived with. Up to a point. No one was ever promised eternal happiness. When things were going good for me, I knew that somewhere, some other guy was down. So now it’s my turn. Fair enough. Only …” “Only?” “Only you need a little relief sometimes, you know. To catch your breath. To coast a bit before the next onslaught. When you don’t get that it gets really tough.” “What do you do? To get through?” “I used to focus beyond the present. Look down the road and ‘round the next bend. Try to see what might be up ahead. Something good maybe. Bit of reversal of fortune, maybe. A better relationship. Maybe a new one. Kids doing okay after all the growing up angst. You know what I mean? Just to catch a break or two. A warm breeze, a good sun. Blue lake, maybe. Something for the eyes, something for the heart.” “You used to? And now?” “Now? Funny thing. You listen to people talking. You hear about some guy, maybe 55,  Maybe younger, dies of cancer. Brain tumor. Massive heart attack. The guy next to you says he’s 73. Complains about his constant ache, that he seems to walk a little slower every day. Says his wife died last summer and now he’s a little lost…maybe a lot lost. Says he’s developed an allergy to his house. Kind of a funny line, but you don’t laugh. Maybe a knowing head nod. It can be sad getting old. ‘Thank God,’ you think, ‘that you have time on your side.’” “And then one day it hits you. Never mind hits - it gobsmacks you. You’re maybe sixty five. People call you sir and hold doors for you. You belong with the old crowd. That guy 55 died of cancer? It could’ve been you. You could be dead now, going on eight, ten years. And now you’re closing in on George’s 73. So then you finally come to realize the very worst thing about old age. It’s not the health issues, not losing your hair, not your teeth, not the always achy back...” “It’s…?” “ It’s that you’re running out of time. Patience is great, and maybe you’ve been patient your whole life: You used to say, if not today, then tomorrow. If not tomorrow, then the day after that. But now you realize there’s a limited supply of days after that. You’re closing in on that bend in the road, and you still can’t tell if there’s anything good when you round it. You don’t know if the road even continues. Could be a dead end; rockslide; highway under construction; pay toll! Maybe before life resurrects you, you run out of road. In the meantime your brain kicks in and you start thinking about what you had that you might never have again. Or worse, what you never had, and maybe you never will. I’m not being greedy here. I’m not talking about a luxo cabin cruiser. I’m talking about small pleasures: knowing the kids are good and want to call you; having a few friends to share a beer with; picnic on a sunny day, a swim in the ocean... but when nothing like that happens…” “It can be tough; I get it. But there’s still hope, no?” “Is there? You see an attractive woman: you think maybe you’ll chat her up. She calls you sir. So maybe you won’t ever again experience the feeling of a woman wrapping you in her arms. Now that makes old age a tough sell. Even if you’re guaranteed another fifteen, twenty years, what if you can’t fill them up with something soft, something tender? What if you don’t have a little companionship? Someone close-by on a grey day, a cold, dark night? You used to say it’ll come. If not today, tomorrow. If not tomorrow, then the day after. But suddenly, you realize it’s been a long time since you knew that feeling. It’s been a long time and it didn’t come ’round. And now there’s that curve up ahead and you’re clocking 65. Then you get it: you suddenly, really understand that maybe it won’t ever come again. It doesn’t make for good days.” “I guess it doesn’t. So what now?” “Now? I don’t know, to be truthful. Just keep going I guess.” “Just keep going? That’s it? You know that time has passed don’t you? That you’re way past 55 or 65 or even George’s seventy three. And that’s it! Really?”

“I know how old I am, thanks. I hate that the number so I say, ‘I’m turning fourscore.’” “What? Like in Lincoln’s Gettysburg address: ‘Fourscore and seven years ago?’” “Exactly. Fourscore and trying to negotiate the additional seven.” “Well, the good part is that the road didn’t collapse under you and you navigated the bends so you had to have learned something. C’mon, think. What are you going to write?” “I don’t know. But anyway, you’re me, or part of me, so I don’t have to tell you. You’ll know.” “Actually, you’re wrong. Your thoughts are just a bunch of neurons and chemicals jangling together. They have no substance; they don’t exist until you write them down. Then I’ll know. And if you don’t write them down, you die and they’re gone forever. Woosh. Atomized. So you need to write. What were you looking for when you came snooping, my little, self- plagiarizer? Think! Feel! What were these past years for you? What do you need or want going into the home stretch – so to speak. Free associate: twenty five words max.” “A decade plus in twenty five words or less? Okay! Remember that Dickens wrote, ‘It was the best of times, it was the worst of times?’ Some of those years have been the worst of times; I’m not sure any of them would be the best of times, but there have been some good times too. ” “You learn anything from that?” “That instead of thinking of life being the roadblock, maybe sometimes life helps you to get around the roadblock? That as long as you’re traveling, try not to focus on the final destination. It’s coming at you anyway, so live the ride? Maybe to be kind to the people you meet along the way. They’re your fellow travelers. Make someone smile and the reward is the smile you get on your own face? How’m I doing? “Guess you’ve decided it’s time to be positive; that’s a new voice for you for sure. Just watch that you don’t start sounding like Chicken Soup for the Soul. Keep writing, and when you’re done, don’t just dump it back in the folder never again to see the light of day. Take it out from time to time. Read it, change it. Live it. Finally, send it out into the world.”


 1.Christmas gift to a boy and girl Once upon a time there was a boy whose age was 14 years old. His name was Timba and his sister name was Drikshika. She was elder than the boy Timba. It was the time of Christmas Eve. Everyone were enjoying the festive season. All the people of Tale city were celebrating the Christmas Eve silently and lovingly.        So the father and mother of Timba and Drikshika was happy and it came the Santa Claus on the occasion of Christmas Eve. Santa gave many gifts to Timba and Drikshika. The gifts were toffee, cake and a precious fish bowl having a golden fish in it.                So Timba played many hour before golden fish. And he feels bore. And went for sleep at night.              _._

2. An old room of Timba and Drikshika At the night of Christmas Eve. There was an old room situated inside the house of Timba and Drikshika. As no-one was living in an old room. So it was vacant and only one witch living at the room. Then some one came in an old room and she began fighting with witch. She wins the fight between the witch and her. So witch leaved the old room. And she left a lock box of wood. Then witch reached at the secret world of Weet land.                 Then she who fought opens the lock box of wood to find the fairy stick. She found a stick. She took the stick and does the magic but that was vain.    And only the magic can be done by a secret lucky boy who will be lucky? So she did a magic and came in another room and selected the lucky boy Timba. And then she does a magic at his gifted golden fish of fish bowl. And she vanished.           _._ 3.  At morning after Christmas Eve. When Timba woke up by his sister Drikshika. He brushed his teeth and took the bath and he began playing with golden fish. He offers the food to eat for fish. Then Timba was called by his sister to take his meal. But another voice came from there that don't go away without leaving her?   So Timba shocked by the unseen voice of someone who was not present at there.                     So Timba told to voice that who is she? Then again the voice came from the fish bowl that please look at her. As she was talking from a fish bowl and she was a little fish.     Then Timba saw that the golden fish was talking with him by making the bubble.

                   So he ask to golden fish that how she can talk to him? Then fish told that someone came before her at night and she gave her the magical power. The fish told that your are lucky boy and selected by her who gave me the voice? So she left a task for you that please go to an old room where you will find a stick of fairy? The stick will have not the magic. And at the side of the box of wood there is a flying broom of violet color. Just climb at the broom and fly to Weet land. I am sending you to Weet land because only you can solve the problem. As the problem will be dictated by a squirrel of Prince Castle and Princess Capricorn. Actually squirrel is prince army. Then Timba asked to talking fish that who was she who has given you the task?            Then talking fish told No, I will not tell you right now. For only when you will meet with the squirrel who is the prince Castle and Princess Capricorn army. The you will know who was she? Who had gave me talking power?                    Then Timba called his sister and dictated everything which told the talking fish? His sister first of all chided the brother think and thought. But after some time when Drikshika saw the truth. That a fish is talking to her. Then she realises that her brother is right.

    So both came at the old room and opened the box of wood. As the box was opened by someone.         In the box there were old clothes, old mirrors, old cartoon and a stick of fairy. So Timba took the stick of fairy as told by the talking fish. And does the magic but that was fail due to some reason. Then Timba's sister saw a broom of two person height of climbing and they sit at it by climbing and began a new journey to Weet land by air.           _._        4. At Weet land The sky was clear. And only Timba and his sister Drikshika were flying by flying broom in the air. So the broom came down below a forest. And there was a road takes to tree big hole house.      Then the Timba and Drikshika travel the road at squirrel home and reach at his home. The squirrel was upon the another branch of tree. When he saw that someone came at his home.

     Then squirrel came down from the tree and reaches at Timba and Drikshika. Squirrel when saw the stick of fairy in Timba's hand then he understood all the matter. Then he told to Timba that come this side of Wood tree. Here is my home at the big hole of tree. And inside this big hole there is a big room and you both are welcome in the Weet land. You know Weet land is not your real home. But I think you are far from your place. Then Timba dictated all his speech of his golden fish and she told me to ask about your problem. Then squirrel told please give me your fairy stick. Then Timba told no. Actually it does not contain the magic. So squirrel told don't worry? I am a simple squirrel and this is my home at Weet land. Also the prince Castle and princess Capricorn is fade up by the power of witch. There is one old couple who is evil? And she had a wrong power. And she is most powerful. So Drikshika asked to squirrel that what is the story of Weet land? Then squirrel took the fairy stick and tries to do the magic. But it came a voice from his home that you are not a fairy. But I am fairy only I can do the magic. So there was living a small fairy in squirrel home. Who took the fairy stick and told that O, I see! This is not a simple fairy stick. But sensing it I came to know that only this stick works against the power of old witch and unless the story of the both old couple who is living in another side of Weet land? And who is a couple but now she is an evil witch and her husband is imprisoned by her. So after the end of story only a magic will glow at the tip of fairy stick. And that magic in doing it occur that a change will come in evil witch and then she will be converted in to young fairy. And her husband could again love her and he will be a young person after magic of stick.

                       Then Timba became puzzled and told to small fairy and squirrel that who was she? Fairy asked, who? Timba asked the first women who help him to hold this mission? Then squirrel told O, what I want to tell you that at the end of this Weet land there is a paradise? And only. Fairy mother can does this to you. Only she had taken the step of quarrel with witch of your living house. And also the time has come to fight with witches of the Weet land.            Then small fairy sat at a place and began the story of an old couple who is evil witch. And one her husband is in imprisoned by her. All of them began listing:- The story said that love can glow love and then at the end of story the magical stick will glow.

           So it was a story of Valentine day. One teen age boy name Chandra was waiting for a girl of her age to come at hotel place. But not a girl came. Chandra wants to propose the girl. She wants that if he thinks in future then he only marry with a fairy. As Chandra was a handsome boy and he has immense love for fairy. So no one came at the valentine day to meet him.     After one day when Chandra was at his home. It came a gift of box at his door. Chandra opens the door with ringing of door bell. A box was there lying down the door. Who sent the gift no one knows? Then Chandra opened the gift box. It was a color feather inside the box. So unknowingly Chandra rubbed the feather with his hand. And he feels soft. Then he feels that someone appear in his room. She was a fairy. Her name was Rosy fairy. She told that why you called me? Chandra told that only he had rubbed the feather and you came. Fairy satisfied with Chandra. And told that how you got my feather? Then Chandra told that someone put it at his door and he/she was not there. Then fairy does the magic, she saw that small dwarf has taken the feather from fairy on breaking of it. And the dwarf sent it to you. Then fairy told that I came here to give you a boon. Only then I will go to fairy land. Then Chandra told that why don't you marry with him. Then fairy amazed and wonder at him. She told that, it is against the paradise rule. Fairy mother will not believe me. And she might give me a curse. So it is impossible. But Chandra began to insist her.                         Then fairy told ok. My name is Rosy fairy. And from today I am your wife. And it sent a message from Rosy fairy to fairy mother that she had married with a boy name Chandra. And he is human.

                      The fairy mother was a strict fairy. So she called the Chandra and Rosy fairy from his home to paradise. And she gave a curse to Rosy fairy that you will be converted into witch and must live in Weet land of animals. And you will live with the witches of Weet land.                    Then Chandra stood amazed, he began to tell sorry before fairy mother. Fairy mother told that you also live with Rosy fairy. Then fairy mother does a magic of stick. And Rosy converted in to witch. And Chandra became the imprisoned by the Rosy witch at the side of Weet land.                          So this was all the story of couple who is in punishment from decade?                     And then the fairy told to Timba, why don't you do the magic from fairy stick of Rosy? As this stick is made apart from her with the converting of witches. Also the story of couple is over.           Then Timba took his Stick and told a fairy magical word Hocus- Pocus and it glows the light at the tip of fairy stick.

       Then the matter reaches to the ears of Prince Castle and Princess Capricorn.       Prince Castle and princess Capricorn sent his/ her troops to call the new guest of Weet land. So they called the small fairy, squirrel and one brother name Timba and his sister name Drikshika.        The prince Castle took the stick of fairy from Timba. And called his troops to began a fight between prince Castle and witch Rosy.                  So prince Castle fought the war with Rosy witch and did the fairy stick magic and the Rosy witch got converted in to young fairy Rosy.  And when Rosy knows her power that she is not a witch now. She did a magic from her stick and converted her old husband Chandra to young age. And it ends the curse of fairy mother. And both couple began living together.                          And after some days Timba and Drikshika came at his/ her home at Tale city.


The annual cookie contest is in place! I want to do it, but I’m scared. I should just do it, Yeah I’m going to do it! It’s always in December, and every year the type of cookie is different. This year is whoever makes the biggest cookie. I don’t think it will be easy, but I’m up for the challenge. I have to sign up, of course. They don’t just let anyone in though, You sign up, and they may accept you. I really hope they accept me! I’ve tried to get in for the past 2 years, but they have never accepted me. I always get scared, and then want to do it. I’ve always been top of my class, and people say that I have a talent for cooking. You have to use math for cooking, and I have always been good at math.

A few weeks later, I got an email from the contest! I get this email every time I apply though, It either tells you that you got in or not. The past 2 years, It said I didn’t get in, but it could change this year. Okay, Time to open it. I... got in! It’s next Friday! They are going to pay for my flight, hotel, everything! I have to leave tomorrow, so I better start packing right now. I finally finished packing. It is pretty late, so I better go to bed if I don’t want to miss my flight.

As I wake up, I remember. I have to go to London for the contest! I look over at my clock frantically, worried I was late. My plane leaves at 8:00 AM. It’s 7:00 AM, Perfect, The exact time I wanted to get up. I hop at of bed, Get ready, and make coffee. I load my trunk with my suitcases, and start going. I look at the clock in my car, It reads 7:28. It takes 20 minutes to get to the airport, so I just make it. As I am riding up to the airport, I think about the contest, I win, and win that nice cash prize. $1,000,000, What I could do with that kind of money. Next thing I know, I swerve off the road a little. I let out a little scream, and get back on the road. I rush to the airport. Hopefully, I will make it. I run in the airport, Check in, and run on to the plane. It almost left, and I just barely made it. It was a long flight there, but it was worth it. I get into my hotel room, and unpack. I fall asleep, and think about the contest in the morning. I wake up, and get ready for the contest. I drive myself to the contest, and try to make friends with my contestants. One, Ash, Is very competitive, and is not going to stop for anything to win. Jake, Just likes to cook, and doesn’t even know how he got in. Ashley, Is nervous, and doesn’t do well under pressure, from what I can see. Lastly, Jason, Like Ash, Wants to win, I feel like Jason is going to cheat. The announcer yells, “The Cookie Contest is starting! This year's theme is the biggest cookie! Our competitors are Ash, Jake, Ashley, Jason, and Alexis!” We all walk out, and wave. The audience cheers. I whisper to Jake, “I’m really nervous, Especially with this big crowd.” He says back, “I am too, Best of luck!” The announcer says “You have 5 hours on the clock, Go!” We all rush to the kitchens that the workers on the show have set up. I work really hard, and decide to make a chocolate chip cookie. Since, It’s the easiest cookie I know how to make. I look over at Ash and she is almost done with her whole batter. I rush, Worried I would lose. I get my cookie in the oven, While I am waiting, I decide to look around, and make another treat to sweeten up the judges. My cookie comes out, and it’s perfect, It didn’t crack! I rush to get my other treat in the oven. I have to wait for the cookie to cool down anyways. I hear the oven ding, meaning that the bread that I made to try to win over the judges, is done. I see that everyone else is already finished and waiting for the time to run out. There is only 30 minutes left, so I start to clean my area. I looked over at Jason, and he was putting pepper on Ashley’s cookie. I yell to him “What are you doing, Jason?” He yells back to me, “Uh, Nothing!” I tell Ashley that Jason put pepper on her cookie, and she managed to take it all off. I hear the crowd and the announcer yell “10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4!” It gets louder when they say, “3, 2,1!” The announcer says, “Bakers up! It’s time for our judges to see what they think!” The judges come out and go to Ash first. They nod in delight. They say, almost in unison, “That’s a big cookie!” They go over to Jake. They look like they like it, but not as much as Ash’s. One judge says, “It is bigger than Ash’s cookie though.” Another chimes in, “I think it should be judged on taste and size. Jake’s cookie was not as good at Ash’s, but it is bigger.” They go on to Ashley. They taste it, They look like they really like it. Which makes me nervous. “It is bigger than the other’s,” They say. The Judges go over to Jason. Next is me, so I’m very worried. They taste his cookie, and exclaim. They take the trash can and spit it out. They yell, “This is Horrible!” That’s what he gets for tampering with other people’s cookies. They come over to me, and say, “Hopefully, You have something better than Jason!” They eat my cookie, and I wait anxiously for their response. They exclaim, “This has been the best cookie yet, and It’s definitely the biggest cookie!” They eat a second bite, That’s always a good thing too! I know I won! The announcer, and the judges get together for a second, and talk. The announcer yells, “Well, I think we found a winner! The winner is… Alexis!" I shout, “Yay, Thank you!” The announcer yells, “You win $1,000,000!” We all settle down, and Jake asks me if I would like to go grab a drink. I said, “Of course!” We go, and we go get something to drink. While we are there, he asks me for my number, We exchange numbers. I ask him, “Where do you live?” “Brooklyn, Why?” He replies. I exclaim, “I live in Brooklyn!” After a friendly drink, We go back to our hotel rooms. I get ready to leave in the morning.

I wake up, ready to go home. I get on the plane, and

Go home. I get in my apartment, and sigh, “Home Sweet Home.” I’m going to move out of here when I get that money. A few weeks later, I get the money. As soon as I do, I give some to my parents. Then, I move out of my apartment. I text Jason, and ask him if he wants to meet. We have a date, and after a few weeks, We are dating. What more could I want, I have money, A boyfriend, And I moved out of my apartment? My life is perfect!


What would you do if you were born the son of a brilliant scientist? I’ll tell you what I would do, what I am. I’d always be curious. Though I can’t remember much from when I was younger, my father told me I was always a curious kid. While other kids played outside, I observed what was around me. One day, my father was too busy to answer my questions, so he gave me access to his library to look up the answers independently. Looking back, that was probably when I stopped going outside as much. At the time, I thought there was no point in exploring the world when I already had it at my fingertips. I read quicker than most kids in my class and could understand what I was reading even better. Every year in school, I was at the top of my grade, and the gap between my classmates and myself grew larger with each year. Once I reached middle school, my father gave me my own computer so that I could access even more of the world’s knowledge. I would spend any free moment reading from any book or online documentation I could access. Eventually, my high school life began with me having more professional contacts rather than friends. One such person contacted me to help them conduct a study abroad, and I couldn’t have been more excited. With still a week leading up to the trip, I started packing immediately. My clothing, toiletries, spare clothes, and laptop. All I needed to finish up was some containers for sample gathering. I went to grab some from my father’s lab, but they were all being used or cleaned, so I went down to the basement to see if there were any spares. Opening the door to the basement revealed the dark and damp staircase going into an impenetrable darkness. I felt around for a light switch but to no avail. So I turned on my phone’s flashlight and took my first step onto the wooden stairs. The step let out a wicked creek that echoed through the house behind me. As if instinctively, I looked around, but with my father in the lab, nobody could be seen. I released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding and descended the steps. The basement was uncomfortably dreadful, whereas the rest of the house had a more modern look. Unpainted walls and a noticeably colder temperature than the rest of the house followed me down each creaking step. I reached the cold concrete floor and began to scan the room for a light switch, only finding the splintering wooden walls and the beginning of many shelves. I let my hand guide me as I started to look wherever my flashlight landed. The metal shelves held boxes of different shapes and sizes: shoe boxes with scribbled messages on the side, clear plastic bins with countless wires inside, and what I was looking for in the corner, a wooden crate with varying amounts of lab equipment. As I bent down to pick up the box, I noticed something odd on one of the lower shelves; a square shape covered by some sort of furniture blanket. Letting my curiosity get the better of me, I went over and carefully lifted the blanket to reveal an old square computer monitor. I say old because I had never heard of it, even with all of the research I had done in the past while looking for my most current computer monitor. I glanced at the frame of the fossil and wiped off a shocking amount of dust but couldn’t find any brand name. Before I could even consider if I recognized it based on looks alone, I was snapped out of my thinking by the violent creaking of wood from the top step.

“Son, what are you doing down here?” My father’s cold and analyzing voice filled the room. “I was looking for some spare lab equipment for my trip on Friday when I found this old computer. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this brand before.” Before I could finish what I was saying, he was already heading down the stairs.

“That is because it isn’t a branded computer. I made it for fun back when I was your age.” He walked to the center of the room, and with a clicking noise, a dim light illuminated the room. I turned to face him to see a pull-string light seemingly hanging in the middle of the room. “Oh, there it is.” I murmured under my breath. “I can teach you how to make one like it, but the one you have upstairs is much more efficient. Cover it back up and I’ll help you get the supplies upstairs.” He pushed his glasses up and walked over to me. “What do you have on it? Did you practice any of your research papers on it?” I asked. He knelt down and covered up the computer before looking back at me. “I used it for practice, but it had nothing to do with my career now. Don’t look into it again.” I was shocked. The dry way of delivering his demands wasn’t new, but this was the only time he gave a demand without explaining his reasonings. Stuck thinking about the computer's possibilities, I couldn’t think of which question to ask first. Before I could decide, he had picked up the crate of supplies and started heading to the stairs, “Turn off the light for me?” He said, never once looking back at me. I couldn’t help but look back at the covered computer as I got up, though I eventually followed him out. The days leading up to the trip were spent thinking about anything but that. What was on that computer? I thought to myself day and night but couldn’t find an answer. Whenever I tried to bring it up to him, he would effortlessly brush it off. With how loud the stairs were, my only chance to go down them without him coming by would be when he was out of the house; with him working from home, this was not often. The day before my trip, he had to walk away from the house for roughly half an hour. It wasn’t enough time to set the computer up, but it was enough time to get the information I needed. Once his car left the driveway, I rushed downstairs and uncovered the computer. I studied it harder than any book I had ever read, taking photos of every side. I then rushed over to the bin of cables to locate any cords that may work to power it. After much searching and even more untangling, I placed the needed cords on top of the pile to get to them quickly when the time came. Finally, I used the last moments before he returned to find a mouse and keyboard that could connect to it. A box on the shelf held precisely what I was looking for. The pieces were set, and so was the plan. I covered everything back up, placed them where they once were, and went back upstairs. The trip was extraordinary. Spending a month in another country and learning from new people was incredible. However, the back of my mind was always on that computer. It could hold anything and everything. It was Pandora’s hard drive. It could have the blueprints for the White House. It could have the chemical formula for a poison, as well as the formula for its antidote. It could even have nuclear launch codes! Even if they were unlikely, my mind couldn’t help wandering from one idea to the next. Finally, the trip came to an end, and I was able to get back home. While he was fixing lunch for us on my first day back, I snuck into his office and looked at his calendar. Nothing. There wasn’t a single day he would be out of the house. I couldn’t wait that long, so I looked at the nearest date with something marked on it and waited. The day finally came, only three days, but it felt like an eternity. I sat in my room with the door open and listened carefully. “Hello everyone.” He said to the recipients of a conference call. He would be stuck in that meeting for at least an hour, plenty of time to get a taste. Even when he hears the creaking staircase, he won’t be able to come to stop me until after the meeting finishes. I carefully rushed to the basement door, swung it open, and went down the steps as quietly as possible. The slowest descent wouldn’t have been enough to stop the steps from alerting everyone in each corner of the house, so I threw caution to the wind and ran down. Pulling down the light’s cord, I put my plan in motion. I grabbed each cord and connected them where they could be connected. I gripped the keyboard and mouse and attempted to plug them in. With only a spot remaining for the keyboard, I slid the mouse away and readied myself. I sat on the ground and took a deep breath as I looked behind me to ensure he wasn’t there. I looked forward and slowly exhaled, pressing the power button. At first, nothing happened, sending panic throughout my body. After a minute of looking around to ensure everything was plugged in, the screen lit a dim green.

The options on the screen read “Files, Help, Back”. I tried to use the arrow keys to navigate the options but to no avail. After thinking a bit, I pressed the keyboard and noticed it let me type at the bottom. I started by typing “Back” to see if there was anything. Still, it seems he never made whatever would have been before this screen as if nothing had happened. I next typed “Help,” which caused the screen to fill with text. Quickly skimming through it, it looked like this option was meant to help anyone other than him navigate many possibilities that he never got around to adding. I typed “Back” to return to the original set of options. With excitement shooting through every corner of my body, I typed in the word “Files” and pressed enter. Six vertically listed dates appeared on the screen, dating back to when my father would have been in high school. Without a second thought, I typed the first date and pressed enter. I thought I had conceived every possible option, but this wasn’t any of them. I continued to read quicker and quicker, swapping from one file to the next. I could have been in there reading for moments. It could have been hours. I have no idea. After I read the final file, I slowly said aloud, “He was right; this didn’t have research. He was practicing, but for what? I mean, for who?”

“Your mother.” I whipped my head around to see my father sitting on the bottom step, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose with an ever so slightly blushing face. “Why did you deliberately disobey and look?” How had he snuck up on me? I thought to myself, but then I realized something; there is no way he did. This means I was so enthralled with what I was reading he was able to come down, and I didn’t even hear him coming closer. “How could I not?” Both of us were at a loss for words. It seemed like he wasn’t as mad as he was embarrassed. I finally formulated something to break the silence, “You were quite the poet, huh?” “Go to your room!” He let out in a stern yet flustered tone. I shot up and hurried up the stairs back to my room. Maybe I should try finding someone to write to like that, I thought to myself. He’s right, I thought to myself. If I were him, I would have gone crazy with curiosity. I looked at the stairs my son ran up and back to the computer. I sauntered over while rubbing my neck before sitting on the ground by it. I read the final entry on the page to myself before snickering with sheer embarrassment. My son found my love letters to my wife and his mother. He didn’t seem too fazed by it, though. Standing up, I went over to where the computer was plugged into the wall and chuckled. I had created an entire computer just to practice making love letters. I should have just used a pencil. With a grin on my face, I swiftly unplugged the computer. Now I need to get it all packed back up, I thought to myself. My wife will be home soon.