It was a cheap hotel and a pair of unfamiliar beds, and I probably wouldn’t have slept very well under any circumstances anyhow. Whatever the reason, Ben and I were up in time to see the sunrise. I didn’t mind a bit. The sooner this was over, the better. While he was still in the shower I walked down the balcony to get a coffee in the hotel lobby. The sun was just peeking over the horizon and the asphalt wasn’t the blistering hot sheet it would be in an hour or so, but I wore my sandals anyway. I hadn’t seen any snakes last night but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. The night clerk looked exhausted but kind, and I felt like buying her a coffee. I settled for exchanging smiles while I waited for the little door on the machine to open. The coffee was weak but the price was right. I knew I could choose between Ben complaining if I didn’t get him one too, or having him complain about how lousy it was. I opted for the latter and stepped back outside with just the one paper cup. Back outside our room, I opened the door and heard the shower still running. Ben always got dressed in the bathroom, I knew, so I left the room door open and stepped back outside to watch the sunrise. The car was parked just below us, and it’d be hot as an oven by the time Ben finished packing. I thought about running downstairs and opening the windows but I couldn’t be bothered. “Connecting with nature out there, are you?” Ben asked a few minutes later. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” I asked without turning around. He sidled up beside me at the railing. “It’ll be awfully bright for driving.” “We can always stop for breakfast somewhere.” “Haven’t you already got yours there? Where’s mine, anyway?” “You hate instant coffee.” He laughed. “You know me too well, man.” He took a moment to look out at the dazzling rays. “Guess you know her real well, too.” “Yeah, she doesn’t like instant coffee either.” He laughed harder. I joined in but I guess I missed a beat. “Come on, Dan,” he said. “We talked about this, didn’t we? You know I’ll take good care of her, and you’re the one moving to France.” “Yeah, yeah, of course,” I said. “Ready to go?” “I’ll go pack,” he said. “You want to drive?” “Very funny.” “I’m serious, Dan.” He tossed me the keys. With my coffee in one hand, I was lucky to catch them with the other. That, he did find funny. It only took him a minute or so to throw everything in his suitcase and zip it up, and I still hadn’t quite finished the coffee when we shut the door behind us. Seeing I wasn’t done, he said, “Could you finish that before we go?” “Listen to you!” But I finished off the coffee as directed while he dropped off the key inside. I started the car and got the air conditioner running, and stepped back outside to wait for Ben. He must have stopped to chat up the night clerk, because he had that same bashful grin he’d always gotten from flirting since high school. “Let’s go find that diner,” he said. The first few minutes out on the road were quiet. It was a long drive to Lake MacPherson, and I couldn’t decide if I wanted it to be over now, or if I wished it were an even longer drive. Ben must have had similar thoughts, because he broke the silence with a memory that had been on my mind, too. “Remember the first summer you had your license?” he asked. “We had that big long road trip planned, but your parents wouldn’t even let us leave town?” “Didn’t we know they would say no!” I agreed. “I remember thinking I shouldn’t even ask, at least then I’d be able to think it might happen someday.” “And it did! I mean it is!” “Yeah.” I wondered if it ever got this hot in France. Probably not. There’s a reason their novels are always so depressing. “Come on, Dan, you had some great times with her!” Ben said. “You’ll always have those memories.” “You’re right, of course,” I said. “And French women smoke more than she does, don’t they?” Ben laughed. “I sure hope so! But they’re better on the curves!” I laughed, for real this time. It felt good. The elusive first diner appeared just as we were finally cooling off. I pulled off and suggested leaving the windows open, but Ben vetoed it. The place was about half full, and the greeter pointed us to a booth by the window. She was tall with a few extra pounds and red hair in a bun with a pencil stuck through it, a perfect combination of both our styles. “Can I get you gentlemen some coffee?” she asked. “Oh, you surely may…Julie!” Ben said with that same grin, after craning his neck to see her nametag. “Allrighty then!” she said, and spun on her heel to go get it. “Think she likes me,” Ben said. “Think she didn’t appreciate you staring at her boob,” I said. “Can I help it if that’s where her nametag is?” Ben replied. “Not all of us stayed in college and got all refined, Mister Feminist.” “Yeah, whatever,” I said, and turned my attention to the menu. I got waffles and scrambled eggs and the biggest orange juice they had. Ben got an omelette and hashbrowns, and offered to pay for my share. “Sending off gift, man,” he said as we were finishing up. “No, that’s fine!” I said. “I’m flush with my last paycheck from that place, you know.” “That place!” he repeated. “No love lost there, huh?” “It did push me to the point where I had the courage to buy that one way ticket to Paris, didn’t it?” “Yeah, yeah, okay,” Ben said. “Just…I feel like I ought to get you something, you know?” “Just take good care of her.” “You know I’ll do that, Dan!” Did I, really? We’d already gone over her likes and dislikes, what worked and what didn’t and what to avoid at all costs, and what to try first when she was acting up, and how to take good care of her. But did I really know if Ben was up to it? He was my oldest and best friend, but I’d learned things about her that I could only have learned through a long and intense relationship, and all through the long drive I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d forgotten something. Maybe it was just guilt that here I was running off to France, maybe I was forgetting something – several things, even! – that I just knew instinctively after all this time. Or was it that I was jealous and didn’t want him to know every last secret? Through the long and poignant drive to Lake Macpherson, I just couldn’t tell for sure. We both did our best to talk about other things – old friends, memories from high school, plans for the next big trip, which we were both sure would happen even if we had no idea when – but I couldn’t set my mind at rest about the whole thing. Rather than give him any excuse to accuse me of whining, I kept my mouth shut for long stretches. Ben didn’t seem to mind. He even took a nap for an hour or so after lunch, leaving me alone with my own poignant thoughts. It didn’t help and I was glad when he woke up. “How much farther?” he asked. “We’re almost there.” “Can I treat you to dinner at least, when we get there?” “If you insist. You really don’t have to, man.” But there was a nice bistro by the hotel, and when I saw the prices, I caved in. At least we got a male waiter. “So how long are you staying here, again?” he asked as we ate our steaks and salads. “Three days,” I said. “My folks think I’m still working through this week, so no long goodbyes.” Then I chuckled. “Not with them anyway.” “Dan, I promised, didn’t I? I’ll take care of her!” I nodded. “Thanks.” “How’s the wine?” he asked. “Great,” I said. “Sorry you can’t have any.” “Don’t be,” he said. “Better safe than sorry. Remember Jimmyjim?” “God, that sure got the point across, didn’t it?” I nodded and did take a moment to remember Jimmyjim. Back in ninth grade, our school had brought in a speaker who’d killed his son, Jimmyjim, in a drunk driving accident. Heavyhanded as hell, but it had worked: neither of us had ever gotten behind the wheel after even one beer. The sun was setting as we finished our dessert and Ben paid the bill. As we stepped outside, we must have looked like two guys just enjoying a decadent meal, no sign of the goodbye we were in for now. I considered inviting him to crash in my hotel room and head home in the morning, but I didn’t really want that. He was my best friend, but I wanted this over with. “Well, I ought to get home just about ten,” he said as we lingered on the sidewalk outside the restaurant. “Anyone there I can say hi to for you?” “Not my folks, that’s for sure. Remember…” “I know, Dan, they think you’re still working and don’t have time to visit. Ain’t like I want to have to see them either, you know.” “Yeah, of course. Sorry.” “Well, I guess I’ll be off, my friend,” he said.

We shook hands, and I turned to head back to the hotel. “I’ll email you from France,” I said. “Uh, Dan?” I stopped in my tracks. “Oh!” I laughed and shook my head. “Didn’t I tell you I was having a hard time letting go!” “I know, man, but I told you I’d take good care of her.” “I know you will, Ben. Of course you will.” With that, I reluctantly drew the keys out of my pocket. “Here you go. Did I tell you she likes an oil change every six months?” “At least five times, Dan. And rotate the tires then, too.” “Right, and –” “Dan! I’ve got it! Have a safe trip!” “Thanks,” I said. “You too.” And I turned back toward the hotel. I just couldn’t watch him drive off in her. It was a beautiful hotel room and I was feeling strangely relieved, now that it was over. Relieved, but strung out from the road. I took a long bath. When I got dried off, I was feeling refreshed rather than tired, so I put a fresh change of clothes on and set off for the hotel bar. “House cocktail for you?” asked the barmaid as I took a seat by the window. “We call it a MacPherson Mimosa.” “Sounds great,” I said. “Please.” “Certainly, sir.” She poured me a glass of water and was off to make the drink, and I turned and looked out the window at the full moon shining on the lake. La lune, le lac…I had three days to brush up my French and no way to go anywhere else if I wanted to. I sipped the ice water and smiled.


"Everybody get down on the ground! Put your hands on your head don't make a move." I remember that day clear as blue sky, that day that condemned me to a life of incarceration. I had gotten out of my van with two assault rifles, thinking that nothing could go wrong, and then it did. As soon as I made a move on the vault, the police burst in to shut it down. It was as if my entire life flashed before my eyes, as they handcuffed me, and I knew at that moment that I had made a mistake. The next few weeks went by in a blur, from the trial to the sentencing. I almost didn't notice anything until they locked me in the cold, dark, cell. I can still smell that now as if I was being chastised by the prisoners that came before. Not that I don't have anything to regret, because if anything, I deserve all this and more. Still, there's no way that I would ever do something like that again. I've learned my lesson, and that's why I deserve parole. That was 3 weeks ago, and since then, they released me from the facility and granted me parole. I was never happier in my entire life. Darn it, I wouldn't have been happier if I actually succeeded in robbing the bank. Now, I get to go home, to see my wife and kids for the first time in five years. I hope Margaret's doing fine. She's the most loyal person I know, and I love her more than I love myself. I hope that she's still willing to take me back. "Kingston, you okay? You're being super quiet." Martin, my best friend who was in the area, inquired. "Yeah! I'm fine, I'm a little rattled, that's all. I've been inside that place for longer than I could've been president!" I was saying with a smile. I need to practice my interpersonal skills more. In the slammer, you only ever talk when you're trying to face off with someone else. "So how's Margaret? Have you talked to her at all?" I asked with a hopeful gaze. "Nah, man, I haven't seen her. I was only in the area for this job interview and thought I'd drive you back." He said, "Why?" My answer's the same as before. "I haven't seen her in five years!" He doesn't seem to understand the effect that much time in prison could have on a person. We started pulling into the driveway of my house. I thanked Martin quickly and ran up to the front door, knocking as hard as I could. The person answering the door is a shriveled, pale, old lady. "Who are you? Where's Margaret Stevens?" I asked, in shock. "Oh honey, you must be the husband. Margaret died three years ago. They put the child up for adoption." She said, her voice dripping with sympathy. ______________________________________________ I can't believe it. I just can't. That's not the Margaret I knew. The Margaret I knew wouldn't have done this to me. I don't know what I'm going to do now. What can I do? Sweet Lacey is up in a foster home right now, without her father, and what can I do? Nothing. I can't do anything to stop it. Never before have I felt so helpless. Not when I first broke a bone in a prison fight. Not when I got thrown into prison in the first place. "Are you okay, mister?" I can hear the voice, but I don't care. I run out into the street and I walk away. I walk wherever my feet take me. Sometimes I punch lampposts, kick the trash cans, but I can't get over it. Why did I have to rob that bank? I took myself away from my wife, away when I should've been there, by her side, even in death. I have no purpose. No family. At least in prison, I had something to live for. Now I don't even have myself to fight for. _____________________________________________ "Time of death, 8:30 PM. Take him down to the hospital." Officer Wilkes said. I was starting to pull the man into the ambulance when I see his face, the face of Kingston Fisher. I was his prison medic back in the day, back before I got transferred to the City Hospital. I never thought I'd see him again. "Come on, Emily, move it." my partner said, and I finished hauling him into the ambulance. Jeez, I haven't seen him in forever, and now he was dead! I was standing in the ambulance, thinking as it was driving. Kingston always seemed like he never belonged there. He just wanted to go back to his family. I had heard about a Margaret Fisher dying in the Oncology Unit, so that could've been why. We started driving up the intersection, I got into the passenger's seat, not willing to face my former ward. I hope that he died fast and painless because he was a good man. "Which road are we taking today? Merrill or Lynshire?" I asked my partner. "The interstate, Emily. We gotta get him there as fast as we can, because we may not be able to preserve his body for a funeral." I know he has no family, but I still don't object when he says this, because I want it to be true. I want him to have a good funeral. It is getting so commonplace for released convicts to commit suicide. I'm not surprised, since they have to go back into the world a mark on their record. I know firsthand from convicts on their second offense that they find it easier in jail. Easier because you have a stable flow of food and a roof over your head at night. I'm not surprised that Kingston chose death over life. It can't have been easy for him. I only wish that my daughter Lacey turns out okay. The last thing that I want is for her to think adoption makes you lesser than. We sped down the interstate highway, and I sent a prayer for Kingston, hoping that whatever comes next for him is merciful and that they recognize his pain.


This is it, my final performance. I can hear the crowd cheering, the slight rumble of the ground when the crowd gets more and more excited. The lights go dim and I take a deep breath, breathing in the cool crisp air of the rink, the smell of sweat and ice, and a memory of when I first started to skate. The music starts, the memory is interrupted and I’m off. I go around the rink once then stop in the middle, I bow to the audience and the judges, and then the music changes and my feet start to move. They move like fish in a wave, like birds in the air, calm and still, but graceful like a ballerina. “I’m on autopilot,” I say to myself, “that won’t cut it.” I start to lean into the music like I am a quarter note among the staff that makes a symphony of sound. The ice is like grace as I carefully etch it with my life story. “Fifteen more measures, only fifteen more,” I say as I build up speed to do a quadruple jump; I have only made it once and that was in a practice run two days ago, I didn’t land it all the way but I did it and it felt amazing. Today will be my first time doing it in front of an audience...and as you might expect I was a little nervous. But not today, I won’t let that happen to me, not today, not ever. I pushed through my nerves with an axle jump. I landed it on the beat, two measures before the big jump. I can feel my heart beating, so hard it could burst. One measure… so I begin my prep. I breathe in and out then JUMP!...one, the cool air rushing past...two, I’m high in the air...three, I breathe, it’s almost over...four, I made it...and then nothing. It felt as if I was floating in the air, nothing could be better. I was still like nothing could move me but the wind. The memory that was deep in my mind when I touched the ice with a skate for the very first time. It felt the same. I landed, it felt perfect, but it was far from. The blade of my right ice skate breaks, my knee hits the ground; I felt my leg burst. I try to catch myself with my left arm but I slip. My arm goes numb, I hear a crack. I hit the ice and couldn’t breathe. I am on my back, and I feel nothing...then the pain set in and I cried out. Blood is rushing down my head and onto the ice. My left arm from the shoulder to the tips of my fingers, I couldn’t feel a thing. I couldn't move, but I desperately wanted to. There was a piece of my skate’s blade underneath my back, I can feel it in my spine. Something was very wrong. As I lay here crying out, as blood fleas from my body, all I can think is that I should have, that I should… I… I…

I woke up in the hospital two days later and was in so much pain that I would have rather relived the most embarrassing moment of my life. I wanted to cry, so I did. I cried until my mom, Nadenka, came in and told me that she was there for me and would never leave my side while I laid in this bed. She was the only family member to be with me for the performance. My fiance, Larissa, dad, Boris, two brothers, Victor and Vladimir, and two sisters, Nastasia and Anya couldn’t come due to weather, work, or prior engagements.

My leg was in a cast. I could feel the metal pins they put into my leg like you are getting a shot and being punched at the same time. I looked to my left. My whole arm was in a cast. I had five pins in my shoulder, four in my elbow, and three in my wrist. I moved my neck, it cracked, it felt good. The liberty of being able to move my neck made me cry again after seeing my leg and arm. I had movement in my neck and right arm, nothing else. Whenever I would take a breath the air would fill my lungs, but the pressure on my spine was too much that I could only take short and small breaths. I have been awake for fifteen minutes and a nurse and doctor and an intern enter my room. The doctor asks if my mom is ok to stay, like a defensive mother bear she says yes. You could hear the disdain in her voice from the question. The doctor spouted some words about what had happened, but I knew what happened, I was there. He then tells me about treatments I can try and what they will do to improve my situation. I wanted to ask if I would ever be able to skate again, but the way the doctor was talking made me think that I would be lucky if I could walk.

I couldn’t stand his voice, the way he didn’t care about how I would never walk or skate. He kept going on and on about how I was paralyzed from the waist down due to the piece of skate that cut into my spine. He said that the shard hit my spinal cord in just the right place to cause me to be paralyzed. My mom couldn’t speak. She just looked at me like a mother would after hearing something like this. I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to accept it. Why, why me. All I did was skate and help people so why did the universe decide to take away the thing I love most away. I couldn’t take it, I yelled, “WHEN WILL I SKATE AGAIN!” The room went silent, the hospital staff just looked at me with the look you would give a child who didn’t understand what you said. My mom just looked at me with pain in her eyes and she couldn’t stop holding my hand like she was keeping me tied down to the world. The doctor in his clean white coat and dark slicked-back hair finally spoke. “Listen, Alexei, there is no easy way to put this… you are paralyzed from the waist down. The nerve damage is too extensive for us to repair, and it won’t be able to heal itself either. I’m sorry but you will never be able to skate again. It would take a miracle for you to even walk again, but Alexei, I’m sorry there is nothing more we can do other than heal your bones and teach you how to adjust to your new way of life.” “Leave me,” I said “I want to be alone, I… I need time to think” The doctors left the room and it was just me and my mom. “My darling Alexei, my darling boy,” my mother said in her thick Russian accent. “Please just leave me, I just want time to think, please.” My mom left the room and said she would just be outside if I needed her. When she left the room was quiet, just the constant beep of the heart monitor I was hooked to. It was nice, having the room to myself. I started to cry, not because of the pain of my body, but for the loss of the one thing in life that I held closest to my heart. Ice skating has been there for me from when I was five years old to now. I’m twenty-five, skating has been with me for twenty years it's all I know. For me, life has ended. I'm just a husk laying in a world that offers me nothing. I offer the world nothing. The next day Larissa, my fiance, burst into my room. Tears were streaming down her face. She collapsed at my bedside as if she had been shot. She was crying harder now. We sat in my room for what seemed like an eternity, then Larissa lifts her head and starts to speak. “My love, my dearest love Alexei. I was so worried, so scared. I… I just wanted to hold you in my arms and never let you go. I should have come. I should have come to see you, maybe then we would be in a restaurant right now eating, drinking, and laughing.” She starts to cry again, “We will get through this together. I love you. There is nothing you can do or say to make me leave you. I will always be here for you. I leaned on you for years now it is your turn to lean on me.” She grabbed my right hand and bowed her head. Her silk-like hair fell over her face. I missed the feel of her hair. I would comb it out for her at night after she had taken her shower, or I would braid it while we watched a movie. “There is room on the bed,” I say, “if you would like to sit with me.” She gets up from her knees. She moved her blond hair out of her face, it fell behind her back, almost to her waist. The bed was big enough for three, for when I had to be moved and more testing had to be done.

She gets in the bed on my right side. She lays inside my arm and I hold her. Her face was facing mine and she kissed me. We then both fall asleep, the warmth of each other and the love we have made life seem bearable for a few moments. *	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	* I was finally out of the hospital. The smell of freshly fallen snow filled the air. The sky was clear and the sun was out. It was noon. A car was waiting for me and Larissa. We got in. Our destination was a physical therapy treatment center. The car pulls out of the hospital parking lot and turns north onto the street. The center was only four kilometers away, a quick drive. I soaked in every minute of the drive. Looking out the window, seeing the sky, snow, trees, and people. It felt so good just to be out. The freedom, so brief, but so fulfilling. We pulled into the center, the drive was up.

My door was open and a ramp laid in front of me. I wheeled myself with one arm down the ramp. Larissa came up behind me and started to push me. “Please,” I said, with a voice that sounded like a wounded wolf. “I told you no matter what, you can’t push me away. I’m here and I am going to help you no matter what the cost is. I will be here.” Larissa said with a smile on her face. A nurse was waiting for us by the door. Above her, a sign read Physical Therapy Treatment Center in Russian Letters. She let us in and led us to my room. The room wasn’t large but wasn’t small. It had enough room for me to move my wheelchair around so that I could go to either side of the bed, into the bathroom, and up to the window. I was on the top of a six-story building, there was a courtyard in the middle, and a place to sit on the roof. From the roof, you could see the Ural Mountains. They were in the East, I was in Yekaterinburg, Russia. My home town, Moscow was 1,790.6 km away. The drive home would take 24 hours of nonstop driving. It was a two to a three-day trip back home. My mother left the hospital and went to go meet my father and siblings. Once I was settled in, a nurse came in to talk to me about what my stay would be like. Larissa was sitting on my right like she always does. As the nurse talked she mentioned that the process would be slow but the time was needed for the muscles and tissue to heal properly. She said the normal time was six to eight weeks for a normal patient, but in my case, it would take five to six months. Larissa couldn’t handle it anymore, she burst out screaming at the nurse, “We already spent nine weeks in the hospital! Why can’t you do something to make him better in the six to eight weeks!?” The nurse took a step back and talked to her calmly about when something this extensive happened to someone, it would take more than the normal time. Larissa understood and asked for the nurse’s forgiveness. She asked me if she could leave to collect her feeling and use the Lady’s room. I nodded and she left the room. A few minutes after Larissa left the room my family burst in, tears in their eyes. It had been almost been a whole two months since I had seen my siblings. Vladimir, he goes by Vlad, Victor, Anya, and Nastasia, we called her little Stasia. The four of them were all the same age, nineteen. They are quadruplets, with two identical pairs. They all came to my side and kneeled on the ground. They were so happy to see me. “We were so worried, we never stopped thinking about you,” Vlad said with love in his voice. “There is so much to tell you! You won’t believe the news little Stasia has!” said Anya in an excited tone. Victor started to talk, “Your dog, Katya misses you very much.” “I miss her too Victor,” I said looking at him. Stasia stared at me with an intense look and a hand on my shoulder, “I have some news that will brighten your day. Dimitry and I are…” Boris, my father, burst into the room, “Sorry I’m late, I had to find a parking space. They also said you were on the fifth floor, not the sixth.” I laughed, “Papa! I’ve missed you so much.” “You’ve looked better, I hope they have been keeping you fed. You look skinny.” My father said with a laugh and a smile. As they all shared what had happened in their lives the past few months my mind started to drift to a world where I had my legs back. I longed for that world, my heart was pounding trying to leave this world and go to the one where I was perfect. My face was getting red, tears started to swell up in my eyes. I tried so hard to keep my emotions in, but they swelled like a tsunami coming to destroy a city. I couldn’t take it anymore, I yelled out, “WHY!” My family stopped talking and stared up at me. I spoke, “Please, everyone. Please leave me.” They got up and left the room. They were reluctant to leave but I pushed for them to leave the room so I could cry and wallow in my sorrow alone. This was my burden to bear. I was finally alone. Alone. Why did I have to be alone? I wanted to walk, run, SKATE, but I knew that I would never be able to. I cried out, “WHY!? PLEASE, PLEASE GIVE ME MY LEGS BACK!” I cried with the voice you cry with when you lose your mother or a wife. I was in a hole, no light, no sound, only the screams of my pain and agony, suffering for all of eternity. I was in my own Hell. I cried out for help, but who could help me? No one was coming to make me whole again. The thought of not being able to ice skate again hit me like a bullet to the heart. I cried out, again and again, nothing could be worse, and nothing will get better.

I laid in my bed screaming and crying. My family down the hall. Victor started to head to my room but halfway down the hall, he stopped when he heard me say, “I WISH I WAS DEAD! I WISH I HAD JUST DIED ON THE ICE! JUST LIKE MY LIFE HAD!” He fell to his knees, unable to control himself. He wept. My father came to comfort him, but it was too hard to hear the words that I screamed that he fell to the ground as well. The last thing I said before I blacked out was, “Please… I… I can’t do this. My leg is gone. My life. Please let me die!” With tears in my eyes and my heart ready to give up I said, “I want to let go.” I don’t know who I called out to whether it was a god or just the universe, but I let go and they took me with them. By: Memphis L. Haven


The darkness was coming. How I knew it, I couldn’t explain. But it was coming for us and one thing was clear in my mind. I needed to flee. My dad had already begun running and he was screaming my name over and over again, his voice gaining more and more strength. His legs hit the asphalt with the speed of drumsticks, played by a skilled drummer. His voice roaring my name started to get overpowered by the rain which gushed from the grey cloud-covered heaven. One side of the sky had changed to an intense black colour and it spread fast, like when you accidently knock down a glass of water, and it starts to ooze along the dining table. Even if my legs were glued to the ground, I realized that my only chance of survival was to move. I picked up my bag and ran towards dad who was already a few yards ahead of me.

“Eliza! You have to run faster! The darkness is approaching!” he shrieked. The tone of his powerful cry would’ve, in an ordinary case, made me half-deaf. But over the sound of the booming thunder, it was barely audible. Dad rushed down an unlit alley and I followed him, in lack of own instincts. I tried to remember all of the turns. Left, right, right, straight forward, right, but the turns soon became too many and my already spinning head couldn’t keep up with the information. I turned my head and saw the terrifying reality of what we were escaping from. Everything placed under the dark side of the sky had turned into ash. The darkness was literally pulverizing everything in its way.

People were running all over the place. A couple of old people who weren’t able to keep up with the inhabitants with fresher muscles, fell down to the ground and were turned instantly into ash the moment the darkness shadowed their weak bodies. My head would not turn back, it was physically impossible. The vision of all the dying people and my hometown steadily turning into nothingness was excruciating to watch. My clothes, soaking wet with sweat and rain, were itched to my body and my legs started to go stiff.

I imitated my dad’s tiniest move, every sharp turn, every rattling breath. He increased the tempo as the darkness was closing in on us with rapid speed, and I fought to hang on. I had never been significantly athletic and my aching legs and my pounding heart were solid proof. I released the bag hanging across my gangly body and it fell to the rain-covered street. Even if the bag hadn’t weighed much, it was still a small relief when it left my shoulders. Then a thought suddenly hit me and I stopped dead in my tracks.

“DAD, OUR HOUSE!” I cried, my throat vibrating, in the rain that kept flooding down. Our simplistic red cottage would be shadowed by the darkness within a few seconds, and then disappear with it.

“We can hardly carry it with us. Come on Eliza, we have to keep moving!” And the both of us spurted on. I wondered if the darkness would stop spreading when it reached a certain limit or something. I strongly doubted it would. Only a few minutes ago, the sun had been shining and its beams were casting light over the city. But now the feeling of my bronze-coloured skin cracking of cold was overwhelming.

I pinched my arm while continuing to speed forward. Two red marks appeared in my frozen skin, but I didn’t feel any pain. But I didn’t wake up either. Sweat was

sippering between my shoulderblades, along my spine and I shuddered.

This can’t be real. The thought repeated itself in my head. The ground, buildings and people getting pulverized, it wasn’t something that possibly could happen. No, it couldn’t. No. Right?

My chocolate coloured waves for hair were whirling behind me in the wind, I could almost feel the straws of hair tangling together and forming snarls and knots. My whole body was shivering, and the thin fabric of my t-shirt was not improving the situation.

“Make it stop!” I yelled to no one in particular, however the voice of mine was too soft to cut through the roaring thunder. The once white sandals on my feet were not ideal to run in, and as a result of that, deep red blood was leaking from two large abrasions. This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.

I pinched myself again and to my disappointment nothing happened, aside from creating two new nail-formed marks.

Maybe this was an extremely powerful dream, I thought, maybe a dream in which I need to do something more severe than pinching for it to cease? We ran on a street lined with stalls. A market had been taking place just before the darkness arrived, I swiftly remembered. Now, almost every stall had collapsed due to the strong wind. On my left, I could glimpse a box filled with shining objects. When we came closer, I realized what they were.

They were guns.

Without thinking I stopped and grabbed one of the many metal handles. I kept on moving my legs while looking down at the object clutched in my hand. I held it in a steady grip, like my life depended on it. Which, for the record, it did. Suddenly four squiggly words appeared carved in the cold steel.

I am the solution.

Unknowing of what the hell I was doing - as if someone else controlled my limbs - I pointed the barrel to my foot and simply pressed the trigger. A loud bang seared through the storm and a wave of pure pain consumed me. And then I fell. Fell into nothingness.

But it didn’t take long before my eyelids opened wide again. I sat up with a jerk. A plain unlit room with light green walls and way too many bookshelves appeared in my field of view. Outside of the windows a cobbled street lightened by yellow streetlights and red cottages on the sides could be seen.

I was home. It had been a dream.

I took a deep breath of relief, but when I did so an agonizing pain welled up inside of me. It hurt so much, I couldn’t think and I couldn’t locate where the torturous agony was coming from. My own howl filled the room. I lifted the quilt I had been sleeping beneath with a shivering hand and saw a big, gory hole in my left foot. Pictures from the dream flashed before my eyes. Panic filled every cell of my body, until it almost overpowered the inflaming anguish pounding in my foot. I raised my left hand from under the quilt, afraid of what I would discover. My suspicion was confirmed when I looked, because in my hand rested a cold silver gun with three letters carved into the shiny metal. And when I with difficulty opened it, one of the shining bullets were missing.


My fingers are raw from trying to find the floorboard. I silently curse my fifteen-year-old self for not being smart enough to make some sort of indication on which floorboard I hid the box under. I finally am able to lift the jiggly one with the help of my car keys. I lift up the box, a wave of the past hits me with the force of running headfirst into a brick wall as I open it.

“Are you even going to remember this box, Winnie?” Andrew laughs, kissing me on the cheek.

“You know, if you keep calling me Winnie, I’m gonna have to call you Andy.” I laugh back, blushing bright red in contrast to my white t-shirt.

“Okay, Winston.” Andrew jokes, toying with everything that litters the floor. “What if you forget about all of this stuff?” He picks up a mood ring, “Are you sure this isn’t awfully important?” Andrew jokes, putting it gently into the wooden box.

“I think that I’ll live without a cheap mood ring.” I say, reaching for my half of our best friend’s necklace. “Can you put yours in too?” Andrew looks hesitant as he takes it off, “Please?” I make a pouty face.

“But-” “Please,” I ask, holding my hand out stubbornly, “Do it for your ‘best friend?’”

He sighs, dropping it into my outstretched hand, “Fine, ‘best friend.’” He watches intently as I make a show of placing both necklaces in the box with extreme care. I look around my mess of a room for other items.

I reach for a pen and hold it up, “Is it worthy?”

Andrew covers his mouth with his hand as he laughs, “I think you know that answer to that Winston.” I run my hand through my hair, and I look around.

“Well, what do you think I should put in here?” I keep looking around my floor for something of personal value.

“What about this?” Andrew asks, holding up three photos. The first one is a strip of photos of all our friends crammed into a photo booth. Everyone is laughing and squished against each other.

I grab the strip, “I can practically hear this photo.” I look at the two other photos. The second one is one that Andrew took of me as I held up my dog for the camera, trying to block my face. “That’s when you first got your camera.” I say, chuckling.

“Mhm.” Andrew says, waiting for me to remark on the third photo. The third photo is another photobooth strip. It's him and I. We do a variety of poses and I kiss him on the cheek in one of them. I see his blush which is exaggerated in the poor lighting of the photobooth camera. “Do you like this one?” “No,” I say, taking all three. “No, I don’t think I like it at all.” “Wha-” “I love that one.” I place all three into the box with a satisfied smile. Andrew punches my shoulder and I look at him with concerned eyebrows.

“Jesus, you scared me.” Andrew says with a glare. I laugh at the severity of his glare.

“Gotcha.” “No shit Sherlock.” Andrew tries to hold his serious expression but breaks as I poke him in the sides. “Okay, okay!” He jumps up on the bed to avoid me poking him where it tickles. “I surrender!”

“Come back down.” I say, clearing a space for him on the floor. I push aside action figures and dolls, magazines and comics, stuffed animals and unmatched socks. “We need to finish the box!” I insist as we settle back into our spots. “Okay,” I say seriously, “what else?” “Hmm,” Andrew looks around, “chapstick?” “Chapstick?” I look and see the chapstick in front of me. “I mean, why not? Maybe this kind won’t be around when we’re old and stuff.” Andrew picks up the chapstick, “And when we’re old and everything, we’ll be needing this chapstick more than ever.” Andrew pulls his chapstick out of his pocket. “In fact, put this one in there too. Better safe than sorry.” “It’s good to have multiple flavors too.” I add, putting my cherry flavored chapstick and his mint flavored one into the box. After the chapsticks are settled into the box, we continue to look around.

Andrew taps my knee, “What about this shell?” Andrew points to a shell on my nightstand. It stands out pink against the clutter that covers my whole nightstand.

“You think it’ll fit?” I ask, turning my head to the side. “‘Cause I don’t want to break it or anything.” Andrew reaches up for the shell, trying not to cause a collapse of items onto the already disastrous floor. “No. no I don’t think it’ll break. We might have to do some rearranging.” Andrew frees the shell with little damage, and I giggle at his carefulness, “The shell will probably be the last thing in the box though.”

“That’s fine.” I say, taking the shell in my hands, “I can’t think of anything else to put in the box anyway.” I hand the chapsticks and necklaces to Andrew as I hold the shell, “Wanna know a secret about this shell?” “If it’s about talking to mermaids, you’ve already tried that trick on me.” Andrew says, putting on his chapstick for the last time. “I’m a bigger man now. Smarter.” “Not so sure about ‘smarter.’” I joke, positioning the shell just so, “The shell isn’t actually real.” Andrew rolls his eyes, “Really? I had no idea. The bright pink color and the plastic-y texture didn't give it away at all.” He says sarcastically.

“As I was saying,” I grab back the chapsticks and necklaces back, putting the chapstick on for the last time too. “My parents bought it for me at some shop because everyone else found seashells and I just couldn't find any.” Andrew laughs, toying with a G.I Joe on the floor, “Your mom told me a different story. There were plenty of shells, you just couldn't get any because you were afraid of waves.”

I sigh, “Okay, yeah, maybe that also was a factor in why I ended up with no shells and everyone else had shells.”

Andrew gets closer, “It’s okay Winnie. I’ll protect you from the waves if we go to the beach.”

“That was a long time ago!” I protest, “I’m not afraid of beach waves any-” Andrew kisses me and I’m taken aback. I lean into it, not sure how to do anything. Where to put my hands or whether to keep my eyes open or to keep them closed. He’s only kissed me on the cheek before and we officially became ‘boyfriend boyfriend’ last week. After panicking for an eternity, I tentatively place my hands on his face. After a while of me panicking and Andrew being perfect as usual, we break apart.

“I think I did it wrong-” “Winston-” “But-” “Just put the box in the floor.” I close the box, tears welling up in my eyes. I take a few deep breaths and reopen the box. “Can’t believe we didn’t think Carmex wasn’t going to exist when we were older.” I say to myself with a chuckle. As I look through all the items in the box, I hear little feet enter the room.

“Dad, whatcha doing?” My daughter, Jettie says with her hands on her hips. “Oh, just something me and Papa did when we were younger.” I say softly, holding the bright pink shell in my hand.

“Like in the olden days?” Jettie asks, peering in the box.

I laugh out loud, “Mhm, that’s right.” As Jettie and I continue to look through the box, I hear someone else come in.

“You found it?” Andrew asks, kneeling down and setting Jettie on his lap.

“Sure did.” I pull out his half of the best friend's necklace, “And you thought I would forget about it.”

“To be fair, you did until I reminded you on the car ride to your parents' house.” Andrew says, taking his half and putting it around his neck. He takes the box, “Can’t believe that we put chapstick in here.”


The night was dark and starless.

The wind screamed and pounded against the doors of the pub.

Great grey clouds filled the sky and snow whirled about in thick sheets.

Yet the Golden Goose was crowded and raucous laughter echoed across the walls.

Despite the storm tearing apart the front of the shop, the chattering din never ceased.

It was February the sixteenth, a time of year where people were just getting over Valentine’s Day craze and falling back into the grasp of banality.

But nothing about the sixteenth of February was normal this year.

People talked nervously, eyeing their televisions.

Second Chances was about to come on.

Lucas Galeman sat alone in a far table of the pub, a glass of beer in hand.

He rubbed his thumb dejectedly against the glass.

“And scores, what a play!”

A voice from the TV cried.

Lucas had sat at that table every night for nearly a year since his sister died.

He had no clue why the pub was so packed tonight.

Was it the Superbowl?

No, that had already passed, hadn’t it?

He shrugged and took another sip of beer. “Another!”

He drawled at the waitress passing by.

Her smile was dripping with false sweetness.

“Sure, hon.

Anything else?”

He frowned and waved the waitress away, but not before glancing at her name tag.

Rose.

When Rose turned away from him, however, a deep scowl crossed her face.

She hated working at the pub because of drunks like that.

They experience a little loss and decide to make everyone else as miserable as them. She whisked empty glasses from table four and took them into the kitchen.

While clearing the dishes, she eyed Lucas warily.

He was one to keep an eye on.

He had caused a dozen brawls in the last year and tonight seemed like another one was brewing.

And that was the last thing they needed now.

Second Chances may be twisted, but it was good for business when it came on.

Nonetheless, like nearly everyone else in the pub, Rose found that her hands were shaking in anticipation. Apprehensive.

That was how to describe the tension in the room.

Apprehensive. Static crackled from the TV above him.

Then, like wolves echoing a howl, the televisions across the pub changed too.

Along with every single one across the States.

“We’re a go, Pike.” Pike Redvale dusted his cheek with the last bit of powder and stepped out onto the stage.

He wore a ghastly suit of bloodred with a leopard print tie covered in glitter.

The stage lights were blinding, and the cold was intense.

They didn’t have the budget for heating systems, apparently.

His stride was purposeful and his teeth were like sharks.

“Welcome everyone, to Second Chances !

I’m your host, Pike Redvale!

Let’s get twisted!” When he was younger, he hated his name.

The kids at school would always call him Fishboy, but he would always insist that he was named after the weapon.

The type of pike you would stick a head on, the type of pike that would be stained red.

Now, nearly fifty years later, he was in front of the nation.

No one would make fun of his name now.

If they did, he could bring their family onto the show.

That would shut them up. The stage was set with mechanical contraptions of strange sorts.

There wasn’t an audience- all the seats of the auditorium were deserted.

Bright red curtains and LEDs lined the stage.

Ten skeletons hung from ropes so that they swung eerily in the middle of the stage, covered in crusty, crimson blood, and casting long shadows as they swung. “Last time, we got twisted with fire, and boy did things get heated up!

Jane and Leroy joined the

skeletons and Hitte got away,” Pike informed the camera, waving up at two of the skeletons. “Before we get started, let’s explain the rules for our contestants!

Every week, we go out and find candidates for our program, and put them through challenges!

But the risk is high...for if you lose, you join the skeletons.

But if you win...you go free!

If you win a challenge, you get an advantage in the next one.

If you fail a challenge, you get a second chance.

You lose when both chances have run out… and you lose a challenge.” Pike spread his arms out in an extravagant gesture.

“Let’s meet our contestants.” The camera panned to a blonde girl about twenty with chocolate brown eyes.

She trembled head to foot, standing next to Pike on the stage. “Our first contestant is from Denver, Colorado!

Milady, tell us your name and occupation,” Pike requested.

“M-my name is R-Riley Wallace, and I’m a student at Colorado S-State.”

Riley kept glancing to her right, where a vintage Winchester rifle pointed at her temple, hidden by the curtains.

“Superb!”

Pike cried.

“ Et...tu ?”

He turned to the contestants on his left. A grey-haired man and a tall boy stood to his left.

The man looked about sixty and had piercing blue eyes.

He looked pretty determined, Pike thought.

Maybe he could win, despite his age. “Our second contestant is from Morgue, California!

Tell us your name and occupation.” “My name is John Whitby and I’m a Marine Corps veteran.”

The man said, a bead of sweat the only betrayal of his fear.

“Fantastic!

Our third contestant is from a place not far from here.

Esceleter, Wyoming!

Tell us your name, please!”

The boy had forest green eyes and caramel brown hair lined with heavy acne.

He was sobbing profusely, shaking in his shoes.

“Don’t kill me!

I’m only twelve!

Please!” Pike heard a click from left stage, behind the curtain.

Probably the other gun, a revolver, suspended by a series of pressure-activated cords.

All Pike had to do was tap his left foot and the boy’s brains would be out on live television.

Tap the right foot and Riley would prematurely join the skeletons.

Wave his fingers and the gunman crouching in the rafters above would put a bullet in John’s head.

Pike shrugged mentally.

Well, he couldn’t have everything automated.

“Please tell us.

We don’t want to end before the games have begun, right?”

His voice was deceptively soft, like poisoned honey slipping down a jar.

“D-D-Dewey Abbott, sir, don’t shoot me!”

“Good, good,”

Pike said calmly, relaxing his foot, which had been tensed to activate the gun. He grinned like a shark.

“Let’s begin.” Rose’s eyes were fixed on the screen.

Everyone in the Golden Goose must realize it, she thought.

It was so silent.

The only sound was Pike Redvale’s honeyed bass tones echoing through the pub.

Dewey Abbot was the kid who went missing yesterday.

She had gotten the Amber alert, had seen him on the news.

He went missing in Esceleter, the next town over. Tears of fear threatened her eyes.

Second Chances was nearby.

Part of her wanted to go find the site, crash the party.

But then she came to her senses.

She was just a waitress.

The most she could do was call the police.

But Pike and his crew would probably vanish.

They had hacked into public television systems five times already.

They hadn’t been caught yet.

They weren’t about to be caught now. Rose watched as Lucas, that drunk bastard, rose from his seat and stumbled for the door.

A sick feeling settled in her stomach. Lucas had heard too much.

He had remembered why the pub was so crowded and it was because of that terrorist show or junk like that.

He had known Dewey.

It reminded him of what he was like before his sister Sam had died.

So bright-eyed and ignorant.

Now it seemed like every memory of his past life was fading.

“The first challenge is called Track and Shield !”

Pike called, grinning brightly at the camera. “We’ve gifted all of our contestants shields, and they must use them make it from one end of the stage to the other!”

He explained as the stagehands equipped Riley, John, and Dewey with heavy, round shields the size of a truck tire.

They looked ancient, like they had been sitting in a closet for a century.

They were nearly falling apart.

Pike smirked.

The producers didn’t have the budget, or they just didn’t care. “Alright, athletes!”

Pike positioned the contestants at the start line.

Then he positioned himself onto his next spot, marked with blue tape on the floor.

Pressure pads connected to cords and wires were located in various locations about the stage, waiting for him to activate the traps. “On your marks, set, GO!” Cheering tracks echoed in the empty auditorium.

They started to run, their legs pounding against the stage, sending it vibrating.

Their breath fogged into the crisp air.

Pike gave a sideways smile.

Let’s get twisted , he thought.

Left foot, left stomp.

Right foot, right stomp.

It was like the Cha Cha Slide, Pike noticed.

Heavy darts shot out of holes in the walls surrounding the track.

John, the ex-Marine, was in the lead, trudging on apparently unbothered by the heavy shield strapped to his arm.

Darts whizzed past his ears, and John raised his shield rhythmically to block them.

Right foot, left foot, bang!

Right foot, left foot, bang! It was such a hypnotic rhythm, Pike thought.

John’s feet were so swift, and his bulging muscles were unhampered by age.

His eyes still seemed young.

Pike shook himself.

John was his favorite to win, that’s all he was saying, he told himself. Riley was behind him, her stride hampered by fatigue.

She didn’t seem to be hit by a dart yet. Dewey far behind and seemed to be surviving on sheer luck.

He stumbled blindly through the course, the weight of the shield dragging him forward.

He already had a thin line of blood across his forehead. Left foot, left stomp.

Right foot, right stomp.

John had been hit by a dart, striking him in the arm.

Pike sucked in a breath.

John’s piercing blue eyes cried out in agony, but he made no sound, instead slowly trudging forward towards the end.

Pike nearly cheered.

John had won.

The relief in his eyes made a tiny grin twitch at Pike’s mouth.

Dewey was gaining on Riley now, desperation replacing his previous fear.

They were both side by side, darts whizzing in every which direction. Pike was still manning the pressure pad, with faster movements now.  Left foot again.

Right foot again.

Left foot, left stomp.

Right foot, right stomp.

Crisscross!

Now his feet were going in some sort of frenzied tap dance to the beat of the Cha Cha Slide. It looked like Dewey was going to win.

He was pulling ahead.

Cheering tracks blared louder, and the camera panned closer.

They were neck-and-neck.

Right foot again.

A dart hit Riley in her side.

She cried out and fell, leaving Dewey to finish. Pike’s feet slowed to a stop and the camera shot to his face, pitiless, beaded with sweat, and carved by plastic surgery. “John gets an advantage in the next challenge!

Dewey, kid, you’re safe.

And Riley...well sweetheart, you lost.”

Pike grinned at the camera, pausing for dramatic effect.

The producers loved that.

“You’re on your... Second Chance !”

The theme music blared obnoxiously from near the camera.

“The next challenge is a mental one, and I like to call it: Inches From Pinches !

Here’s how it works.” Pike frowned at Riley, who lay bleeding on the floor.

“Someone clean her up, we can’t get blood on the conveyor.”

He swung his head back to the camera, waiting like the eye of an enormous fly, beady and black. “We’ll strap each contestant to a conveyor belt, each moving at the same pace.

At the end of each belt is a pit of scorpions.

We’ll ask the contestants each the same question, and every correct answer slows down the belt.

Every wrong answer speeds up the belt.

The first one to fall in will lose, and the one farthest from the pit will win.

John, because you won last time, we’re giving you a five-foot longer conveyor belt than Riley and Dewey!

And Riley, next time you lose, not only will you be heinously injured, you’ll be killed.” While Pike spoke, crew members mopped up Riley and strapped each contestant to a conveyor belt.

And on the challenges went.

John fell into the scorpion pit and Riley stayed the farthest.

“You’re on your Second Chance !”

Then Pike and the entire nation watched as they were forced to walk over a bed of syringes.

Dewey fell and had dozens of holes puncture his arms.

Pike grinned.

The syringes all had lethal doses of anesthetic, which would kill them in by the time the show was over.

The facade of the winner escaping was just that- a facade.

Pike always poisoned the contestants somehow so that there were no loose ends.

“You’re on your Second Chance !” Pike watched in glee as Riley fell into a tube of acid when she failed to answer what the name of Hitler’s wife was.

Dewey had seemed to be going mental, muttering to himself and screaming at random intervals, whereas John was his same, stoic self, hiding his fear on the inside.

When Riley died, Dewey started screaming again.

He ran off the stage and threw himself against the exit doors.

They gave way and he ran screaming out of the building.

Pike moved to signal the gunmen, then froze, snickering.

Dewey wouldn’t be running for long.

The more he ran and screamed, the faster the anesthetic would work its way through his system.

Pike doubted that Dewey would get out of the building, let alone find anyone. “In a shocking turn of events, we seem to have an escapee.

That means John is the default winner!”

Pike announced.

The crew members operating the teleprompter waited for a second, then started shaking their heads violently.

Pike sighed as he read the new message as it appeared.

Disappointing.

He had really liked the ex-Marine. “Or, he would be.

But we’ve decided to find a new contestant to play against John.

Just one moment while our teams find someone.” Music played in the background. “Welcome back to Second Chances !”

Rose looked up.

It had only been about thirty seconds.

Whoever they found must have been…

Close. Lucas was staggering onscreen, too drunk to understand what was happening.

That snake, Pike Redvale, smiled his sideways grin. “Let’s get twisted.”


"Jack and Coke.” He leaned towards the bartender, shouting above the poor rendition of Elvis swooning to the crowd. “Make that two,” I raised my fingers in a mock peace sign which seemed easier than trying to be heard over the crowd of well wishers. “Don’t you just love weddings?” The Jack and Coke stranger smiled at me while he relaxed against the bar. “No, not particularly. I avoid them at all costs, but this one was mandatory, unfortunately.” “Not a big believer in love?” “That’s not it at all. It’s all the schmoozy oozy I can do without. The pomp and circumstance, the over-the-top expenses of it all.” I squeezed into the spot against the bar left open by the couple who danced away to oblivion. “Schmoozy oozy? Is that official terminology?” “You know what I mean. The ‘oh, he’s so perfect for me, she’s my soulmate’ kind of talk.  Is that a result of the whirlwind wedding plans, getting swept up in the moment?” “I see what you’re saying. Like which came first, the chicken or the egg?” “Exactly!” I was relieved that he understood. “Is the hype of the wedding getting the couple all giddy or are they getting married because they are already giddy in love?” “So, you do believe in giddy love then?” He smiled at me, raising one eyebrow. Feeling somehow as if I was tricked into admitting something, I felt suddenly flustered. “I never said I don’t believe in love,” I stammered.

The overwhelmed bartender finally returned to our end of the bar, placing two light colored drinks on coasters and smiling at us. I looked at the Jack and Coke stranger that I had been chatting with knowing darn well these were not our requested drinks but as the bartender got swallowed up in the crowd, I claimed one anyway. “Cheers!” I raised my mystery drink to the mystery man. “Cheers to love, the giddy, schmoozy, oozy kind of love.” He raised his glass and clunked mine. I took a sip feeling the very strong Jack and ginger ale have the desired effect as it burned its way down my throat. I swallowed appreciatively. “So, you believe in love apparently. Do you see many successful marriages? Lots of till death do us parts?” The drink made me bold.  I felt argumentative as I was being held against my will in an overpriced dress and staggeringly high heels. I tried not to think of the cozy sweats and blanket left remorsefully on the couch.

“I see my share of successful marriages. But it’s too soon to tell if they are till death do us part as they are newlyweds.” “Ah, newlyweds. What will they do when life hits, when babies puke, when jobs are lost, and utilities are turned off due to nonpayment?” “Bitter much?” He asked, taking a long gulp of his drink. “Not bitter at all. Realistic.” I matched his drink, draining half my glass. “When those events happen they will work together, support one another, get through the tough times. Remember their vows of for better or worse.” He signaled the bartender over again, and was ignored as he had been previously. “Or they scream and curse and say, ‘fuck you’ and walk out the door.” “Wow,” the stranger stared at me. “Yeah, wow.”

I craned my neck looking for the bartender. Finally making eye contact, I raised my fingers as if hailing a cab on a crowded Manhattan street corner. He nodded and brought two glasses of red wine and placed them down on coasters in front of us. “This guy is nothing if not inaccurate,” the stranger laughed. “He’s zero for two, it’s actually funny,” I picked up my wine glass by the stem and swirled it, laughing. “I’m Mark, by the way,” the Jack and Coke stranger said. “I’m Michelle,” I reached out my hand to shake his. “So formal, Michelle,” he teased, grasping my hand in his, a spark of something surprising me. “Not at all,” I stuttered, feeling flustered for the second time in the span of ten minutes. What was happening? “Oh look, Michelle, they are about to cut the cake.”  I glanced over at my boss and her new husband, their hands holding the knife smiling for the sea of cameras. You would think they had never had a slice of cake before in their lives, like they actually discovered the concept of cutting into a cake. Look at me, honey, I can cut cake. Oh, please let me help. It does take two, doesn’t it? “The question now begs to smear or not to smear the cake?” I asked, picturing my own strong desire to smear the cake just based on the fact that I had no choice but to be there. That was certainly reason enough. “Oh, definitely smear. She needs to smear his face.” Mark laughed. “No, he needs to smear her face. She’s the smear-ee to him being the smear-er.” I was laughing now with Mark. “Wait, who is the smear-ee to you? Because the smear-er is my boss.”

“The smear-ee is my boss,” I felt tears of laughter come to the corners of my eyes as I drained my red wine and took an unsteady step away from the bar. “So, we are both employees of the happy couple. What does that make us? There should be a name for that.” “Yeah, miserable.” I snorted my answer, feeling silly and more than slightly drunk. Mark burst out laughing to my surprise, making me feel a little something something. “What does your boss do, Mark? I don’t even know.” “He’s a marriage counselor, as am I. We work together in a small practice downtown.”

“A marriage counselor. That explains a lot, Mr. Let’s Make This A Perfect Marriage. You do know his new wife’s profession, don’t you?” “Actually, no.” He looked at me expectantly. “My boss is a divorce attorney, as am I. We work for a large firm uptown.” “A marriage counselor marries a divorce attorney. That’s perfect.”

“Think it will last?” I asked him, signaling the bartender over for another round of surprise drinks. “I have a hunch it will,” Mark replied with a twinkle in his eye, giving me another unexpected flurry of butterflies in my belly.

“Time will tell,” I managed to mumble, almost at a loss for words. “Here’s to wedded bliss,” He raised his can of beer. “Or wedded blues,” I raised my can and clinked his.


Sneppath Head. The spluttered words cut through me like a saw. Something horrible had happened right as Alessia would have arrived. My legs were carrying me to the Deer Drum boat even if my brain was elsewhere, going through scenarios: Alessia was mortally injured, bleeding out on her boat, alone, cold; Alessia was alive but desperately needed medical care, but unable to get it; Alessia was okay, but her boat was destroyed and she was marooned on Sneppath Head, without shelter or food. I wondered what she was going through right now. If she was frightened, scared, lonely. Or I thought - as a spasm caught my chest - she wasn’t around to feel anything. As I reached the last hill before the Deer Drum boat, I saw Xander and Kurbani appearing at the summit in front of me. As soon I eyed them, my legs shot into a secondary order, running up the hill at full pelt. “Xander, Kurbani, we need to go now. Get the boat and go to Sneppath Head, Alessia’s in trouble,” The words appeared with such speed the plan even caught me by surprise. Xander’s eyes widened and he jogged the few steps towards me. “What’s wrong?” I explained what I knew and what the man on the beach had said. As I finished, Xander took the information in, but didn’t move. I waited for him to turn back towards the boat. Nothing happened. “We need to go.” I began trying to walk past them. “Ferdinand, you need to stop,” Kurbani said. I paused and took a pace back to stare at her. “Alessia might need us.” “But she probably doesn’t.” “What?” My voice was loud and shrill. Kurbani took a step towards me and placed a hand on my shoulder. She stared up into my eyes, the lines on her forehead furrowed, focusing the stare. “Think. The odds of her being hurt are slim. She probably wasn’t there when it happened. Even if she was, she still is almost certainly fine. She is most likely on her way back now. If you sail off, what’s likely to happen is you miss her on the crossing.” “She could be dying. She might need us.” “Give it a few days. If she’s there, and needs us, seven days won’t be any different than ten. Give her a chance to come to you first.” I looked past Kurbani to Xander. He slumped his shoulders. “I’m worried too, but she’s right. We rush off and she comes back to find everyone gone, it’s gonna be worse. She’s only due back today.” “She could be dying.” “Three days. We wait three days,” Xander said slowly. I took a pace back from them both, my jaw extended out, the teeth grinding. “I can’t just sit by and-“ “You can, and you will,” Kurbani interrupted. Xander placed a hand on my back, using it to slowly turn me around and start nudging me back down the hill. “We were just heading into town, we’ll come back with you. Keep you company.” My feet resisted for half a second. My body leaned forward until eventually my limbs complied and I stuttered back along the path. For the first hundred metres or so I refused to talk. I just took pigeon steps, shuffling as slowly as I could in protest. Only when we reached the next climb and I could see the town ahead did I ordain to speak. “Why were you heading to town anyway?” “Looking for Lachlann. No one’s seen him for two days.” Xander huffed. “What?” I craned my neck round. “He’s often wandered off on different islands. But, two days with no contact, we were getting worried.” I could sense Kurbani trying to keep her tone positive lest the concern spread. I looked back across the island, over to where I knew the slum to be. “Do you have any idea where he may be?” They both shook their heads. “I saw him once, a town in the middle of the island.” I was hesitant to return to that unstructured mess of buildings. Even though I hadn’t signed Maia’s contract or had any part in it, I still knew. I knew she had sold her whole life away. I tried to imagine if I saw her there, how I would react, or what I would say. There seemed no good solution. Still, it also seemed like the most likely place Lachlann would be. I led them across the island, weaving our way through the fields until once more the ground turned to the lifeless brown dirt at the settlement. It had always looked unpleasant; run down, poor. But now it seemed to gain a new visage. I noticed how almost every building had only one small window with vertical metal bars where glass should be. I noticed how square each home was, and how it would only take a few seconds to walk their length. The people here were trapped, not by locks and guards but by circumstance - something so much less escapable. We trudged for half an hour, winding through the busy winding streets. But it was a fruitless hunt. We were about to give up when I saw Maia. My heart rushed through a few beats, my chest stinging. I didn’t want to say anything, and she was far enough away that she would never know I was here. But, still she may know where Lachlann was. I swallowed down my anxiety and walked over. “Maia, sorry to bother you, we’re looking for a friend of ours,” I said, thumbing to Xander and Kurbani on the other end of the street. “Oh.” Her eyes looked to the side, avoiding mine. I wondered if she felt the same shame. “I know he came here at least once. I thought, maybe you saw someone who looked out of place.” Maia’s mouth opened slightly. Her head bobbed. “Ah, yeah. Tall guy? Black hair?” I nodded. “Seen him walking through the town a few times. Don’t know where you’d find him though.” I stood still, unsure of what the next words should be. “Anything else I can help you with?” she asked, filing the silence. “I heard you got the job.” The words escaped involuntarily. She took a deep breath in and looked back towards her home. “Yeah. Not perfect. But it means my son will be okay.” “Are…” I cut myself off, but the words forced their way out again. “Are you sure you want this job? Truly?” She met my gaze, her eyes blinking a few times. “Contract’s signed, Ferdinand. I hope you find your friend.” She turned and left, heading back up the hill. I stood in the spot for a few seconds, the air slowly leaking from my lungs until I was completely deflated. The anger, fear, frustration - this cocktail of emotions - felt like it had no escape. I would just drown in it. My self-pity was broken by Xander behind me. “There you are.” I turned to see him walking up to Lachlann, embracing him in a hug. I headed back just in time to hear Lachlann’s explanation. “I’ve got… some friends here. I’ve been seeing them. Helping out a bit. You know. Sorry. I would’ve come back but...” He trailed off. “You can’t go leaving us like that,” Kurbani said, with a tone she usually reserved for Novak or Mirai. Lachlann looked back over his shoulder. “I know. I didn’t mean to. Just… I had to.” Kurbani bit her tongue, restraining her choice of words. “I won’t pry. But, we were worried.” Lachlann placed a hand on the back of his neck and looked to the ground. “Sorry. I owed somebody my time. Can you trust me on that?” Xander smiled. “Always, friend.” He placed a hand on Lachlann’s shoulder and brought him in for another embrace. As we began heading back away from the town, Xander offered for me to come and spend the evening on the boat. He said I could maybe do with the company to stop myself worrying about Alessia. I declined, saying I had to meet up with someone back at the apartment. It was a lie. Instead I walked back to the town, found the best spot I could to watch the sea, and stared at the horizon. That was all I did for the next two days. I still went to the apartment to sleep, eat, and change, but otherwise I just watched and waited. I’d stare at each boat as it came over the horizon, trying to make out the size, the number of sails, each time trying to decide if it was Alessia. I must have watched a good forty boats appear, lift my spirits and then break them again. Two days. Of that same process. That same desperate wait, praying for my friend—my best friend—to return. The sun was setting, and soon I wouldn’t even be able to make out the boats in the black of the night. However, just as the last slip of red clung to the sky, another boat appeared. I watched it, my eyes squinting, trying to narrow in like binoculars. Two sails. Correct length. Exact cut, down to the slight raise at the back of the frame. It was a perfect match. She had returned. I stood up, trying to guess where she would land. I watched as the boat curved towards the jetties to my far left. Leaping to my feet, I sprinted, determined to be there to greet her. I ran past the crowds milling in the evening heat, shouting aggressive apologies as I darted past them, my arms clipping theirs. I checked on the boat. It was parallel to me, slowly sailing into the bay. I looked at the two glorious sails, those steps up to the helm, and… my heart sank as I saw the thick beard of the man with the wheel in his hand. My feet slowly slowly ground to a halt, the energy ejected from them but with no morale left to brake and stop. It wasn’t Alessia. There was a moment of sadness. An instant of grief that flickered across my face. But it was replaced quickly with rage. That same concoction of all the emotions I’d been feeling since Outer Fastanet - anger, guilt, sadness, grief, hopelessness, panic - all suddenly rose to the surface of the bubbling pot. I could feel my arms tensing, my fists clenching, the knuckles turning white. My eyes stung, and my head twitched, almost unsure of what sensation to process first. I had to get off the street. I had to get away and retreat to somewhere where I could be alone. Somewhere where it was safe for the flood of emotion in my system to be let out. My eyes stared at the ground the whole way back to the apartment. I blotted out the world around me. Just watching my marching feet stamp across the ground, circling their route back to the courtyard. All of my focus was on that rhythmic distraction, all my determination bent on finding sanctuary. I climbed the stairs, reached the apartment, and slammed the door shut behind me. I leaned against the kitchen sink, resting my hands on the wooden countertop. I listened to my strained breaths, the pulsating friction in each pant. It was all I could hear. That inhalation, exhalation that refused to be silenced. All noise outside of my being ceased to exist. Why couldn’t I find any peace? I had finally put myself back out there again, overcome the fears that haunted me since Outer Fastanet, and in return this horrid Archipelago had stolen the person I loved more than anyone. I wanted the oceans to rise further and swallow the islands. I wanted the ships to disappear, fall into the abyss. I wanted there to be no more travelling, no more land, no more Archipelago. I wanted everything to end. On the counter next to me, there was a glass tumbler. I thought back to our first night here and stumbling back to the apartment with Alessia drunkenly leaning on my arm. I remembered handing her a glass of water and the sincerity with which she said she was lucky to have met me. I recalled the truthfulness with which I said it back. I wanted to say it again. And I couldn’t. I picked up the glass, and letting out a scream threw it against the wall. There was a crack as the glass splintered into a thousand pieces, tiny shards halting in the air for a fraction before falling to the ground in slow motion. Another pointless destruction. There was a knock at the door. I ignored it. But two seconds later it opened anyway. I turned to see Eda poking her head through the space. “Sorry, Ferdinand. I was just passing, and I heard something. I just thought I’d check you’re okay.” There were so many things I wanted to say to Alessia, and I couldn’t. And so, here, I switched off that bit of inhibition, and let the core inside say what it wanted. “You’re a monster,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’m sorry?!” Eda laughed hiding the shock. I turned to face her. “How do you buy a human life, wake up the next day and feel anything but horror?” Eda looked confused for a second. “Is this still about that woman’s contract?” “Yes, and it should be all you can think of. It should keep you awake at night and gnaw at your conscience, and I don’t know how it doesn’t. And the only reason I can come up with is that you are a fucking monster.” Eda raised her hands, tilting her head. “Ferdinand, calm down.” I spoke slowly, stretching my lips on every syllable. “A gross, inhuman, monster.” “I think you need to apologise,” Eda said, her voice gaining a sudden sternness. “I’ve met some pieces of shit across the Archipelago, but I don’t think I’ve ever met one who pretended that they were doing good in the world while they traded human life. I hate you. And I hate me for not doing more to stop people like you.” Eda stared back at me before straightening her shoulders. “Ferdinand, I think it’s time we ended this tenancy agreement, I don’t want you living-“ “Good,” I interrupted. “I’d rather live on the streets than give another smidgen of coin to you. Get out. I’ll pack now.” Eda held eye contact for a couple of seconds before she backed out of the room, closing the door behind her. I set about packing up our things. It took only a few minutes to grab mine. But then I had to deal with Alessia’s. As I placed her clothes into a bag I could feel the grief hit once more, my vision misting as I placed the things away one by one. As soon as I was done, I placed both bags over my shoulders, left the apartment, and closed the door firmly behind me. I left the town and walked across the island until I saw the Deer Drum boat. They took me in as I knew they would. They set me up in a spare room vacated by one of the islanders who left. As I laid down I was certain that the stress, thoughts and memories would keep me awake. But as the fervour washed out of my system, I fell asleep. I slept soundly through the night. The next thing I remember was being awoken by Mirai, grabbing me on the arm. “Ferdinand. Get up quick.” I opened my eyes to her wide, youthful smile. “Come meet us on the deck. Now.” She shook my arm with excitement before turning and departing, the door left open behind her. I forced my body to stand and walked as quickly as my aching legs would let me. I reached the deck and looked out to the sea. No more than fifty metres away was Alessia’s boat, her stern face set in concentration behind the wheel, her black hair flickering in the breeze. I felt a weight drain from my body, as though a boil had been burst. All those emotions, all seemed to melt. Just one remained, filling me with a sensation lighter than air. My shoulders lifted to meet it. A grin grew across my face that soon turned to laughter. Joy. Pure, nothing-else-matters, joy. “Alessia!” I cried out, walking to the side of the boat. “You’re okay.” She looked up at me. She smiled, and stood with her arms outstretched, putting herself on display. The anger fell away, sliding between the floorboards on the deck. A tear escaped from the corner of my eye, and contained in the small drop of salty water, was all the hatred and fear I had been feeling. My body had placed all that negativity, that great mass, into this one small drop, and shed it. I felt free. We tied the boats up, dropped the ladder, and welcomed her on board. Xander held out an arm and lifted her up the last half metre. No sooner were her feet on board than I pushed through the crowd and wrapped my arms around her, holding her tightly. She froze for a second, her body becoming rigid, until she softened, reaching out her hands and returning the embrace. “Missed you too, Ferdinand.” “We heard what happened on Sneppath Head,” Kurbani said. “We were worried about you.” Alessia flicked a smile. “Shit winds the whole way there. Was two days late. By the time I got there it was the clear up,” she paused, her eyes flickering. “Wasn’t pretty, but I was never in danger.” Xander folded his arms. “Any idea what happened?” “That’s the thing. I asked.” Alessia took a step back so she could make sure she addressed all of us at once. “The description of the attack. Was one shipment they were after. A crate of old maps. Worthless junk to most. Certainly not worth killing over.” “Sannaz,” I said, filling in the blanks. “Exactly.” Alessia turned to me, nodding. “People said they saw the boat heading to Granite Vowhorn.” “Well we go there then?” Xander announced. I closed my eyes. I knew Granite Vowhorn. An ongoing war had lasted centuries between two factions on the island. A fight that had gone on so long that it had become a stalemate. Two enemies facing each other down with miles of no man’s land between them. I knew we had to head there. And as much as there was a dread at the thought in the pit of my stomach, I felt ready to face it, with my best friend by my side. Once more, back into the warzone.


My husband, Sinclair, looked like a black lumberjack. He bounced into our room and took out my yellow suitcase and dragged it across the hardwood floor leaving stuff marks along the way. I sat on the edge of the bed and watched him piling his clothes inside. I knew that he was going to ask me if I wanted to go to the convention with him and he knew that my answer was going to be the same as it had been the ten hundred other times he had asked.

“Do you want to go with me to the convention?” He asked me to fold his white tee shirt and put it in the suitcase.

“No, I told you that I didn’t want to go. There is nothing that interested me about a woodworking convention. You go and have a good time.” I said.

Sinclair tried to close his overstuffed suitcase and I put on my bunny slippers on the floor beside my bed and grabbed my robe and went downstairs. I needed a strong cup of coffee.

Sinclair and I met at church. I had just moved here after my friend, Michelle convinced me that I should. I had just been laid off from my boring job and she told me that I should come to her city and get a husband. I had no intention of finding anything but a job. I was 40 years old and had never been married and had no children and didn’t have any desire to have either. Michelle was married and had four kids. She believed that I should be like her. I disagreed.

I bought a house and got a new job that I loved at a TV station. My life was finally getting better. And I loved it.

I had found a small church a few blocks from my house. Sinclair’s big brown eyes captivated me. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him in the third row of the choir. After church he introduced himself. He told me that I looked beautiful. I knew that was a big lie. I had my hair pulled up into a tight bun on the top of my head and was wearing my dull purple church dress with the lace collar. It was so snug that it showed off a little too many curves that I wanted to hide. I also knew that my light brown skin was a little too shiny from the baby oil and the only makeup I had on was lip gloss and mascara.

When he shook my hand I never wanted to let go. We had our first date a week later. He brought me a dozen of red roses. I didn’t know how he knew that those were my favorite flowers but I was glad that he did. For each date he brought me different colored roses. He moved into my house a year later.

Sinclair was good at working with his hands and when he moved in with his tool belt I knew that everything in the house would be repaired. When Sinclair was laid off from his construction job I was not worried. He had 24 units before he completed his degree in engineering.  But Sinclair had other ideas. He wanted to take some courses in woodworking. So, after a few months and $2000 later Sinclair was done with the classes and our garage looked like a small furniture store. There were stools, tables, desks and chairs all over the garage. Finally, we got a loan and he opened up a shop around the corner from our house. The store did well and he went from being unemployed to being a small business owner in less than a year.

For the first 8 years of our ten year marriage it was great. I went fishing with him even though the thought of a fish dangling from a pole moving around made me want to throw up. And camping was no thrill either. I didn’t like to be out in the wilderness listening to animal sounds all night thinking that some wild animals would come in the tent and eat me alive. And the football games that I sat through took too long to end. But I endured those things to get to know him and he went to long foreign movies with subtitles with me and watched what he called “girly” movies with me a couple of times per week. We also went out to dinner twice per month just to get out of the house and keep our romance alive. We toasted each other with expensive bottles of wine and ate big plates of pasta and garlic bread and the occasional fish dinners for him.

Now Sinclair’s idea of a romantic dinner and a movie is sitting in front of the TV watching one of his home improvement shows and ordering from the fast food place down the street screaming our order through a box speaker and coming home opening greasy bags of food and eating lukewarm hamburgers and soggy fries while sipping on watered down soda through a straw.

I used to love the feel of his big arms around me as we laid in the bathtub together as I pressed my back against his body. I never wanted to leave those strong arms. I felt that I had found Mr. Wonderful and I was glad that he had found me. Nowadays I wonder where Mr. Wonderful has gone.

“Are you sure that you don’t want to come? It is going to be in Vegas.” Sinclair said, poking his head into the kitchen.

“No. I don’t want to go. I don’t even like Vegas. I don’t gamble and neither do you. You go and have a good time.” I said sipping on my now lukewarm cup of coffee.

Sinclair rubbed my shoulders and then kissed me on the cheek and went out of the door to the garage. I waited for him to return a few minutes later. He always forgot something. Sinclair ran up the stairs to our bedroom and came down holding his cell phone.

“I forgot my phone.” He said.

He walked back over to me sitting at the kitchen table and bent down and kissed me again on the cheek. This time he let his lips linger a second longer. I was grateful for the effort.

My phone rang a few minutes later. It was my friend, Michelle.

“Hey girl. Did Sinclair leave yet?” She asked.

“He just left.” I said.

“So, what are you going to do?” Michelle asked.

“What am I going to do in general or today?” I asked, knowing full well what she met. “What are you going to do about your marriage?” Michelle sounded irritated.

“I think that we need counseling. We just don’t communicate anymore. He comes home and plops down on the couch and watches some home improvement show on cable and I cook dinner and go to bed with a good book while he goes to his office. We say very little to each other.” I said.

“Do you think that he will go?” She asked.

“We talked about it and I think he will be open to it.” I said.

“Well, good luck. I am about to pull into the parking lot. I will talk to you later.” Michelle hung up the phone.

I walked back upstairs to my office. I needed to work on my story and for that I needed my laptop. I turned it on and the screen stayed black. I didn’t even hear the beep that I hate after

I turned it on. I knew that it was dead and I forgot to charge it. I plugged it in and walked to Sinclair's office and sat down on the wooden chair he built behind the desk he also built using an old wooden door. I turned on his computer and put in the password. What I saw on the screen made me do a double take. About ten bikini clad women popped up and they were messaging him things that I couldn’t repeat in mixed company or ever. So, this is what he does when he comes to his office to “work.” I thought. He was talking to bikini clad women. I closed the computer and before I knew it I had put it under my arm like a football and ran down the stairs. I opened the patio door and threw it in the deep end of the pool like I just scored a touchdown. I wiped off the water that splashed on my clothes and went back inside.

I picked up the ringing cell phone and slid the button to answer. “Hey, Anna. I am here.” Sinclair’s voice echoed on the other side of the phone.

“Glad you made it. Hey, my computer is dead and I need to do some work. Can I use yours?” I asked.

“Well, my computer has a virus.” Sinclair said as his voice started to crack the way it always did when he lied.

“How do you know it is a virus? “ I asked.

“Well, I don’t know what else it could be. It’s not acting right. Don’t you have your work backed up on your work computer?” He asked.

“Yes. Do you have your computer backed up?” I asked.

“No. I don’t.” He replied.

“Well, maybe you should.” I said hanging up the phone. A week later we were sitting

in front of a marriage counselor in a dull brown office building. He was our age, in his early 50’s. His

salt and pepper hair was slicked down to his head and his mustache matched his hair.

He sat there with his legs crossed on a black office

chair across from us wearing black slacks and a white shirt. I couldn’t help noticing his brown loafers. They reminded me of the ones that Sinclair had which he wore every time he dressed up. He thought that those shoes went with everything. I disagreed.

The marriage counselor asked us some questions which I thought made no difference at all in our situation. But, I answered them thoughtfully. I told him about the early days of our marriage and now. When it was Sinclair’s turn to talk he would answer in one or two words and on occasion in a short ten word sentence.

Then he would turn his gaze to me. I would ignore his “I want to be anywhere but here” look and look straight ahead at the counselor.

Six months later we knew that our marriage could not be saved. I told Sinclair that I didn’t want to be married any more and I know he was just waiting for me to say what he was thinking. He moved out of our bedroom that day to the guest room down the hall.

A

month later he had rented an apartment a few miles from our house. I watched him as he packed the last box and as he was putting it into his cherry red truck he turned around and said, “Baby, we sure did give it a good try.”

I looked at him and smiled. “You don’t know unless you try.”


Logline: A researcher finds a way to send modern technology to the Allied powers during the Second World War, effectively securing victory and saving lives, but also has repercussions beyond the war. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Jason Reese, a research scientist working for the U.S. Army, is on the brink of a breakthrough. Jason has degrees from Harvard, Yale, and Brown, in the field of quantum physics. He works with a research and development team from a clandestine lab deep in the Nevada desert. Irene Tang, a Japanese graduate student from MIT, holds degrees in organic chemistry and quantum mechanics. There is also Aaron Massey, a budget guy who maintains expenditures under the supervision of the Army and serves as a contact with other branches of the military. Aaron has a Bachelor's degree from Arizona State. After serving in the Army, he was the number one insurance agent in Arizona for three straight years. Jason's breakthrough, hopefully, would enable him to send things through time using a wormhole. The device is the size of the breadbasket. He delivered a letter via the wormhole last night. There was a message in return this morning, his great-grandfather, Wayne Reese, a Command Sergeant in the U.S. Army, responded, while serving in World War II. He had just lost several soldiers the night before, and he was concerned that they weren't going to make it out alive. "Wow, that's incredible," Irene says, looking over Jason's shoulder. "We could give some details to support them, we know how the war is going to end, we know what the German strategy was, giving him a few tips is only going to save lives," Aaron says, realizing the value of this technology. "I don't know; we shouldn't play with the past, who knows what sort of effect it would have on us today. Besides, who knows what harm we've already caused," Jason says. "Although we're all here. If there were any changes, they were so slight that we couldn't perceive them. What if you're dealing with a parallel universe, one that doesn't have any effect on the one we're living right now?" Irene speculates. "She's right; if this device succeeds, it will transform the universe, you will go down in history as the greatest scientist in human history," Aaron says. "How about a little test, your great-grandfather included the date, the 9th of March, 1942, we could very quickly lookup where his brigade was and give him some advice. If there's no difference in our universe, we'll know it's a parallel universe," agrees Irene. Jason decides to go with Irene's idea; he researched the brigade of his great-grandfather and discovered that they were battling in France on that day. Sadly, he also found out that his great-grandfather was about to be killed in a machine-gun ambush in Calais. With full hindsight, Jason can guarantee that if his great-grandfather moves his brigade south of the area, they would be able to surprise the German forces. Jason prepares the letter carefully, submits it through the wormhole, and it works! His great-grandfather took the south route, shocking the Germans, and won a vital battle. Jason felt proud; he had done something that wasn't in the history books before today. "Look, we're linked to the U.S. Army, we can get them some top-of-the-line 2020 weapons, sit back and watch your grand-grandfather become a goddamn hero," Aaron entices. Jason says, "Let's see what this wormhole can do ." Aaron brings General Andrew Scarlett to the facility the following day. The general is very knowledgeable regarding the Second World War and is also in charge of the very substantial arsenal of 2020 weapons. The general asked Jason if he'd be able to construct a bigger wormhole, Jason said he'd be able to make one around the size of the garage door. The general returns with all kinds of high-tech weapons that can fit inside a garage, Jason includes a letter for his great-grandfather, which consists of a few instructions about how to handle such modern advanced weapons. The next week, Jason received a letter back, the latest guns performed beautifully, they moved Germany closer to its original border, something that took four years to do in the original timeline was achieved in a matter of five months using 2020 technologies. But Aaron and the general were greedy; they wanted Jason to create an even larger wormhole, one in which they could bring tanks, warships, jetplanes, and much more comprehensive high-tech weapons. "Don't forget, we still have to defeat Japan, imagine if we can achieve that without the A-bomb," the general says excitedly. Jason agrees and will construct a wormhole the size of a building in the middle of the desert. The general instantly submits a requisition for larger equipment. Jason got another letter from his great-grandfather, they defeated Hitler in June 1942, and Japan is set to surrender by the end of the summer. Their strategy succeeded, the advanced technologies and the 80 years of development involved, gave the Allied forces a significant advantage over the Nazis of the 1940s. Jason gets up the next morning, but he's not in his bed. Confused, he looks out the window, he's in London. He heads out and suddenly meets Irene and Aaron. London looks odd, there are American flags everywhere, Jason looks in the center of Trafalgar Square, and there's a massive statue of his great-grandfather, Emperor Wayne Reese? Jason, Irene, and Aaron are shocked by all the American patriotism. General Scarlet steps up behind them and pushes them into a building. "We did it, America controls the world," says the general. "What do you mean, why are we in Britain?" Jason questions. "It's not Great Britain; it's America, it's all America, London is just the capital of the American colonies in Europe. After defeating the Japanese, we continued to colonize almost 90% of the world," explains the general. "It's impossible, according to the letters with my great-grandfather, they were only in August, 1942," Jason tries to rationalize. "What did you suppose would happen when the U.S. Army got hold of the 2020 weapons, they made more of them! They deployed satellites; they built the Internet, they established advanced surveillance technologies, years before it was invented in our timeline, what did you think, he was going to write you about all of it?" the general asks. "How did this happen, we confirmed that it was a parallel universe; it wasn't our timeline!" Jason told Irene. "Do we even know how parallel universes work? Maybe there was a way for timelines to merge, it's all theoretical," Irene speculates. "Hey guys, listen to me, it's all going to be all right, this is the best of all worlds, all these nations are paying America to defend them, the planet is at peace, sit back and appreciate it," Aaron says as he marches away with the general. When Jason walks through London, he finds that conditions are better, the buildings are cleaner, hardly any homeless, people seem happy under American rule. It wasn't until they entered a cafe to get breakfast that he realized, everything wasn't the same for everyone. The barista at the counter takes one look at Irene, "We don't serve her kind here, the japs have their restaurants on the south side of the city, I'm sorry, that's the rules," says the barista. Jason and Irene leave the coffee shop and conduct some analysis to see exactly how much of their timeline had changed; most people were living on a par with what was expected from the original timeline. However, life is harsh for citizens who fought American occupation or citizens from Axis nations. They exist under an authoritarian rule, do not have all the rights and liberties of the Allied countries, and do not exercise the same economic freedoms. A powerful military crushes uprisings with zero tolerance for acts of disobedience. Jason and Irene are eager to undo what they have done; they travel back to the Nevada facility, which has been locked up and abandoned. The equipment is gone and such materials have been outlawed in America. Above all, Aaron and the general were aware of what was going on due to internet monitoring. Soldiers were dispatched to arrest Jason and Irene onsite. Locked up for six months, they were sent to Germany upon release, and their American visas were stripped away. A dark and seedy place, rife with corruption, and military on every corner. Stuck in Germany, they become friends with several dissidents who want to see America crumble. Mistreatment gives Jason and Irene a new perspective on things; they become jaded. "They have to be stopped!" Jason says, addressing a group of revolutionaries. Jason was obsessed with wormhole technology, and after his facility in Nevada was ruined, he remained determined to re-create the project. Living on the Axis side of the border rendered it difficult for him to access the necessary materials. However, Jason holds a wormhole party, a maneuver once attempted by Stephen Hawking. If anyone in the future develops wormhole technology and wishes to escape the control of the U.S. government, come back to the 1st of January, 2021. He doesn't tell anyone or send out any invites until after the party has already taken place. The 1st of January arrives, and it's mostly uneventful, but, at 10 p.m., a wormhole opens, and an army marches out. Jason's wormhole technology was already responsible for ending a World War; it's now going to be responsible for beginning one. Jason's journey took him from a reluctant scientist who helped the Allied powers in World War II to harden revolutionary, with an army at his disposal, obsessed with destroying the world he helped to create. There are winners and losers in war; perspective is everything. The winners write the history books; the losers have to suffer the repercussions. Sometimes in the universe, things are meant to happen the way they happen, there's no improving on it. Jason rescued his great-grandfather from certain death, but through man's unpredictability, his great-grandfather went on to take over the world, the very thing he was trying to stop in the first place.