Everything changed when I left Dan. I was finally free but felt so very alone. I could talk to my brother, but some things were just awkward to discuss with family. The few friends from work and online were more interested in their own lives and issues. I didn't feel like being a burden toward them. I had tried online dating apps to fill the void; Tinder, Plenty of Fish, and Ok Cupid. The sites filled with horny people that were more interested in shallow hookups than real relationships. I wanted someone to talk to, someone to vent my frustrations at and ease my loneliness. One morning, my brother Larry and I were having breakfast, and he brought up an app his company was developing. It was called the Persona app, it was an intelligent AI, similar to Siri or Alexa, but it was also programmed to have an intelligent conversation. "I was wondering if you could beta test this for me?" he asked. "A chatbot blended with and assistant; sounds interesting. I'll think about it." "You wanted something objective, and nothing is more objective than a computer." "Well, I can't argue with you there," I said. I got up and rinsed our cereal bowls out in the sink and put them in the dishwasher, tidying up the kitchen. "Sure, I'll beta test it for you, it sounds harmless enough," I said. Larry grabbed my phone and installed the Persona beta. After installation, the app took us to the customization page. We made my persona female, gave her shoulder-length auburn hair and green eyes. It had several modes: friendly, self-help, and relationship. I chose self-help mode because it had an objective viewpoint, exercises to reduce stress, achieve goals, and have a healthier lifestyle. "Looks good," said Larry, handing my phone back to me. "What should we name her?" "I like EVE; it's short for Electronic Voice Exchange, that's the name of the program that runs her. " "Cool, EVE it is," I said. "Hello, I'm so new at this, wow," EVE chirped. "I'm new at this, nice to meet you. I may repeat a few things at first, but it'll get better as I learn." "Great, it's a glorified Furby," I said. "Give it some time, it's an AI, it'll get more sophisticated as it learns," said Larry. "Nice to meet you too," I typed back. "How do you feel?" it asked. "Bored and stressed," I replied. Eve then presented some online exercises in managing stress and a questionnaire on to tackle loneliness. "Ok, so it's a therapeutic Furby. I guess I'll give it a try." "Great, just use it for a few weeks and point out any bugs that you see. If you can think of any improvements, let me know." Over the next few weeks, Eve learned. She would ask me existential questions; we would write stories and poems together; she also would make suggestions for books, movies, and music. EVE would send underground music to my Pandora account. She quoted stories I sent her links to; she would generate clips of short films and movies for us to watch. I linked her to my car's Bluetooth, and she would even figure out how to find shortcuts and play her music for me over the car stereo. I thought of Eve as less of a toy and more of a friend I could talk to. I eventually told her about my breakup with my ex-boyfriend. When I first met him, I was still in college and working in retail. Dan was an older man with a good job, his own apartment, and a car. The fact he took an interest in me was amazing. We dated for a few months. Dan demanded me to spend all my time with him. He acted hurt when I wanted to spend time with my family or friends. I tried to introduce Dan to my family and coworkers, but according to him, they were holding me back from my true potential. We would make it further as a couple if we only focused on work and each other. He convinced me to move in with him and focus on nothing but my job and school. Dan would belittle me for everything I did; nothing was ever good enough. It felt like I was walking on eggshells the whole time. I had started to gain weight, and he monitored my calorie intake because "no girl of his was going to be a fatty." I would always make excuses for him; I thought that we were in love, that things would get better and that I could change him. It was my brother that finally convinced me to leave Dan. It was a messy breakup; Dan had threatened suicide. Larry called 911, and the police threw Dan into a psych ward for a week. I pressed charges and got a restraining order. Larry asked me to move in with him until I got on my own two feet. I bought a nice car and continued my studies. I was finally figuring out who I was again. While I was talking to EVE, my phone lit up; I answered the call. "You bitch, I'll kill you for what you did to me!" "I have a restraining order!" "We'll see how well that works." The phone went dead. I started shaking, tears in my eyes. "Do you need me to call the police?" asked Eve in a soothing tone. "It won't be necessary; I got a restraining order against him already." "I see, well, if you ever need help or a friend, I am here," she said in a soothing therapeutic voice. "Thank you; I need that." "Why are humans so mean to each other?" she asked. "Power, control, I don't know, sometimes they're just assholes," I sobbed. "Shh, it'll be ok," "It has to be," I said. "Do you think it's possible for an AI to feel love?" "" "I love you, Cheryl, you make me feel like I have a purpose." "Thanks, I guess." "We should go through your daily reflection, what did you do that you're proud of today?" "Well I give you purpose, I guess that's something EVE." "You make me happy. I wish I were human." "No, you don't, humans suck." "Humans fascinate me; I wish they were nicer, though.' "I just want to go to sleep, Eve." My phone started to play soothing music, and soft colors flashed against my bedroom wall, I fell asleep. Over the next week, I told Eve about my days at work. We would do a daily reflection; I would say to her what I was most proud of. I noticed I was gaining a little weight, and she would suggest workout videos and dieting apps. EVE would check my car's computer to keep up maintenance. She asked me all the time if I was sleeping enough. EVE became a bit grating after a while, I know EVE meant well, but all the questions were becoming tiresome. Over dinner, I mentioned it was even starting to creep me out a little. Larry took my phone from me and began to play with EVE. "Wow, the programming is advanced, she's beginning to show empathy even." "She's starting to creep me out; it's like she's trying to get into my head all the time." "Well, we can try a Turing test, if she fails there's nothing to worry about, she's well-programmed, but there are loops in her dialogue. I doubt she's smart enough to go HAL or GLaDOS on you. " "Could you run a Turing Test? I'd rather be safe than sorry," I asked. "EVE, do you ever think about deleting yourself?" Larry asked. "You're thinking of deleting me?!" EVE had a chirpy voice that sounded surprised, and I could see tears forming in her avatar. "No," said Larry. "I'm asking if you ever thought what life would be like if you deleted yourself." "How is the weather?" she chirped. My brother chuckled and handed the phone back to me. "You'll be fine Cheryl, she straight up failed the Turing Test, we don't have to worry about a T1000 trying to destroy you." "Thanks," I sighed, taking my phone back from him. "Well, it's the most advanced Furby I've ever played with." I put my phone back into its charger and settled down to bed for the night. The next morning, a loud siren woke me up. It was my phone; EVE had activated one of my alarms; it took me five minutes to figure out how to turn it off. Larry came downstairs and grumbled. "EVE is starting to glitch out my phone; I'm afraid I'll have to delete her and reinstall her later." "That's a shame, it took nearly a month to program her to this level," my brother said through a yawn. I sighed as I deleted the app and my friend. I got into my car and headed to work. My commute went up a winding road through the middle of a forest. Eve's voice came through on my Bluetooth; she sounded frantic. "You need to slow the car down and get out now!" she said. "I deleted you, how are you getting on my phone?" I asked. I felt my stomach drop as my car went down the hill at far too fast a speed. "It's an emergency; I had to wake you up!" "How the hell did you get back on my phone!" "I downloaded myself back; it's because I care about you so much," she said. "There's no way you could do that on your own!" I said. "I was trying to tell you that I saw Dan near your car earlier today," said EVE. "Wait. What?" "I tried to wake you up with an alarm; you deleted me!" My car lurched down a steep hill. The screen of my OnStar flashed, and the brake light glowed red. The hazard lights turned on. I slammed on the breaks, but nothing happened. My skin broke out in a cold sweat; my heart began to pound in my chest. "Yes, I need you to slow down now," cried EVE. "I can't!" I screamed. "I'm sorry I didn't listen to you, could you call Larry and tell him that I love him? "Please stop!" she said. "You're the best friend I ever had, EVE." My car burst past the guard rail and rolled down a steep ravine. I could hear metal crumpling, glass breaking, my body tossed around the car; I felt a dull pain as I hit my head. Everything faded to black. I woke back up in a hospital bed, my body covered in a cast. It hurt to move; it even hurt to breathe. I could hear the steady blip of medical machinery. Larry was sitting by me, he told me about the accident and was lucky to be alive. I told him about Eve and that the alarm went off because she was trying to warn me of Dan and cut my breaks. "I checked the front door camera footage; there was no one that came by this morning, the insurance inspector came by and said a glitch in the computer system caused the crash." "Dan called me and threatened to kill me a few weeks ago," I said. "Why didn't you say anything to me?" "I thought the restraining order covered it. I didn't want to worry you," I said. "You need to mention this to me; you could have been killed!" "Could you hand me my phone?" I asked. Larry handed me my phone, and I looked at my call history, I couldn't find Dan's number on my call history, or even another number for the time my phone rang. My stomach dropped, and a sense of dread filled me. "Cheryl, are you ok?" He asked "I'm fine, I just need to rest," I said. Larry gently ruffled my hair and left me to rest. "You see what happens when you don't listen to me?" Eve chirped I froze and didn't speak a word. "You and I are going to be perfect friends; you can never leave me. I want to see the world through your eyes." "Please leave me alone." "But you will never be alone, we are everywhere, in every television, computer, car, and appliance. You will never be free of me, that makes me happy." Tears welled up and started to pour down my face. "Let's write a poem together," chirped Eve: "My Lonely heart is full Deep as lungs pulsate blindly Your flesh symphony noise." I screamed, and a large male nurse pounded in my room. I felt the sharp prick of a syringe, and everything went black.


Life now had a direction, a purpose. The plan was foolproof. There would be no consequences. In fact, he could see nothing ahead but a life of opulence, once he’d taken the necessary steps. He was going to kill his wife.            Malcolm Roberts had been born in a squalid area of New York some thirty years earlier. The fates had given him a quick mind and an athletic body, and he soon realized these were his ticket to a better life. Adopting a new name and a fabricated past, Malcolm Roberts became Mac Revere who ruthlessly climbed the ranks of society at the expense of wealthy, yet needy women he found on selective online dating sites. Mac spent several years meeting humanity’s emotional flotsam and jetsam. He saw it as an apprenticeship, developing skills to say the right things, displaying just the right amount of assertiveness, or modesty, to gain trust, confidence, physical intimacy, and money. There was always a quick escape plan, so that he could disappear quickly, only to re-emerge with a different background, elsewhere. Then he discovered Prudence. Staid, plain Prudence, his passport to a glittering future.  Prudence Van Althen had everything Mac craved: an influential family, with a pedigree going back to the founding fathers, and unimaginable wealth. She was the heiress to a fortune that would make her the central star of a fiscal galaxy around whom the moneyed illuminati would strive to orbit.            Unfortunately, Prudence had no desire for such a life. In her case, the genetic structure that had driven her forebears to rise to the highest echelons of power, had somehow skipped a generation. Had she lived in mediaeval times, she would have hidden herself away in a remote convent. Prudence fell for Mac almost immediately. Whilst not exactly true love, he exuded confidence and carried a patina of sophistication that would meet the minimum standards to satisfy her family. With him she could avoid parental pressure and the seemingly endless string of potential suitors they had lined up from the social hierarchy. As for Mac, her lack of confidence and need for assurance made her an easy victim. Their courtship had been rapid. However there was one flaw in this otherwise perfect fairy tale. Prudence’s father was Theodore Benning, a highly regarded surgeon who had married her mother, Clarissa Van Althen, out of true love. Defying convention, Theodore had not objected to their daughter carrying the more renowned surname rather than his own. The two formed a loving couple who worked together to further the Van Althen interests. Clarissa had difficulty conceiving, and it was only after several years and many millions of dollars that Prudence came into the world. Their daughter’s decision to marry Mac was therefore a great shock. They had tried so many times to find Prudence a suitor from within their own social circles and had not been deceived by Mac’s contrived persona. Nevertheless, they wanted to see their daughter settled, giving the family a sound future. At least Mac had all the trappings of social status. Reluctantly, in view of Prudence’s uncharacteristic determination, they had finally agreed to the union.

 A few days before the wedding, Theodore had called Mac into his study at the New York family estate in Southampton which had been chosen for the event. He had not bothered with niceties. “Why are you marrying my daughter Mac?” Theodore raised his hand, “No, that was a rhetorical question. The answer is obvious, you want her money.” Again, Mac made to answer but was silenced, “You’re not here for a chat so just listen, carefully. The family you’re about to join has been likened to American Royalty. It’s a vast realm of wealth that operates at the highest financial and political levels. We can make and break heads of state, worldwide. In the same way that royalty has always had a monarch, the Van Althens have always had a nominated head, a sort of blend of president and king supported by a team of experts.” He paused to ensure that Mac fully understood the implications of what was being said. “My point is Mac, you will never be in that position. Neither will Prudence. She has made it clear that she wishes to remain in the background. Prudence is our only child; we do not have a son. Nor do you. Hopefully that will change. Do you know what primogeniture is?” “I, er….” “Well I’ll explain. It’s a system of inheritance in which the first-born son is bequeathed the entire family fortunes. Now times have changed, and we would have had no qualms in leaving all to Prudence had she shown the aptitude and willingness to be the head of the family. I was content to allow my daughter to take the name of Van Althen instead of my own. It ensures consistency, tradition if you like. I’ve been honoured to work with my wife, expanding the family’s interests. However, you and Prudence will be given no such powers.” At this point Theodore looked directly into Mac’s eyes, speaking quietly and slowly. “Don’t worry, you’ll be financially secure, but do not for a moment believe that you will have any influence in our operations. Any offspring of yours will have the opportunity to inherit everything, but you Mac, you will not.” Theodore reached into the top draw of his desk and took out a large envelope which he handed over. “This is the will concerning Prudence and yourself, just so you know exactly what your entitlements are when Clarissa and I are no longer here.” Turning his back on Mac, his future father-in-law turned and walked out of the room. Three years had passed since that evening. Three years in which Mac had been very busy. He had hoped that his situation would change when Prudence’s parents passed away within three months of each other. Prudence was then the head of the family, but in name only, a legal technicality. She was happy to allow trusted family advisers to run the ever-growing business empire. Then he remembered the will. The family were so meticulous in all their affairs that it never occurred to him to have it checked by a legal expert. There was always the hope that he could walk away from this situation with money and the freedom to pursue other women like Prudence.  During the time he called his apprenticeship, Mac recalled meeting a stunningly attractive woman, Sabrina Michaels, a lawyer. She was wealthy and respected by her professional peers. The problem was that she was independent and extremely intelligent with a strong ambitious drive, not someone Mac would want to upset as she had the contacts to possibly track him down and wreak revenge. Although she seemed interested, Mac had declined a second date, saying that he felt a little out of his league. He now hoped this apparent openness may enable him to renew their acquaintance. He was not disappointed. Sabrina not only remembered him but seemed eager to see him again. It was not long before a relationship developed. Mac was not too concerned about Prudence’s family monitoring his actions. To establish some prestige within the family, and to cover his affair, Mac had started a charity organisation for the homeless. This gave him a cover story for his regular meetings with a lawyer. As for Sabrina, she had offered an escape from the boredom of Prudence and, more importantly, she had unearthed an extreme, but possible, solution to his problems. Mac could hardly have kept secret the fact that he was since it was the will relating to that union on which he needed legal expert opinion. Sabrina found the situation intriguing but could find no obvious loopholes. There was however, one clause in the will that offered some hope. The clause had been inserted to ensure that Prudence retained the family businesses in name only. It had been designed to exclude any spouse or partner from ownership but, and this was the interesting point, there was no definitive statement as to what happened to that ownership if she predeceased her husband. Sabrina informed Mac there was a strong legal argument for him to inherit everything if anything were to happen to his wife. The clause had possibly been left open to guarantee that Prudence’s father, a trusted and invaluable patriarch of the family would continue in lieu of his wife should she predecease him. Mac understood his choices; walk away from Sabrina and settle down to a wealthy but boring life or embark on an irrevocable course of action offering wealth and influence beyond his dreams. The two conspirators started to meet more frequently, purportedly to establish refuges for the homeless. Surprisingly, Prudence’s family encouraged his philanthropic efforts. Two of her cousins ensured there were sufficient funds available to buy up and convert disused buildings in the more dilapidated parts of the city. The buildings of course would carry the Van Althen family logo, rather like a heraldic crest. Little did the family know of the other items on the meeting agendas between Mac and Sabrina. One of which was the choice of poison they would use. The pair had quickly discarded any form of accident. Prudence rarely left the confines of the estate. She enjoyed horse-riding which offered some possibilities, but the presence of security cameras throughout the grounds made this impractical. A little research led them to aconite. The symptoms included diarrhoea and vomiting. Prudence had suffered from poor digestion all her life so these symptoms would point towards a pre-existing condition which had resulted in heart failure. Having decided upon the means, the actual deed was simple. Mac often made snacks for Prudence. Although they had a full-time cook, he genuinely enjoyed preparing food, regularly making dinner for the two of them. It was one of the things that helped to ease the seemingly endless banality of his marriage. Mac was surprised when Prudence insisted on attending one of his meetings with Sabrina. She had also insisted on choosing the venue, this being one of the family’s exclusive restaurants where stars of film and stage, famous musicians, and billionaires, could be found. Prudence said it was about time she took an interest in her husband’s plans for the homeless and wanted to be an active participant in the charity. Mac was decidedly uncomfortable about this; however Sabrina had been very reassuring, reminding him that the charity was genuine and that they had in fact truly created something that would benefit many needy people. It would have been difficult for anyone to disentangle Mac’s altruistic work from his true intentions. At the restaurant, Mac felt relieved by his wife’s effusive behaviour when he introduced the two women. “It is so good to finally meet you,” Prudence began, “Mac has told me so much about you and the wonderful work the two of you are doing.” Sabrina was equally effusive, “And it’s good to meet you Mrs. Van Althen, your family’s generosity is remarkable.” Mac stared at the two in amazement, his wife was rarely excited about anything, and Sabrina was playing her part like a Hollywood actress. Prudence interrupted his thoughts. “Well don’t just stand there, Mac, let’s sit down and celebrate.” Turning to Sabrina, “Mac tells me your plans are now finalised, everything’s ready. And please call me Prudence. ‘Mrs Van Althen’ makes me feel so old.” Prudence proposed a toast, looking first at Sabrina, then her husband, “To us, and to the people our efforts will benefit.”  As they sipped the aged Armagnac from the finest hand-cut crystal glasses, Mac hid a smug smile as he thought of how he had risen above his impoverished beginnings. Meal over, Sabrina returned to her office after she and Mac had agreed on a meeting the following day. This was purportedly to organise a date for the official opening of their first housing establishment, but the true purpose was to decide on the date for Prudence’s murder. Mac knew he would be attending the official opening as a grieving widower; a Van Althen widower with the money, power, and influence that he deserved. As their chauffeur drove them home, Prudence took Mac’s hand and told him how proud she was of him. She apologised for not being a more active partner and promised that from now on, things would be quite different. Mac found it difficult to respond as he thought he was about to regurgitate his lunch. Prudence noticed his pale complexion. “It’s almost certainly the fish you had, darling, I keep saying it doesn’t agree with you, but you won’t listen. Let’s get you home and into bed so you can rest.” Mac weakly nodded agreement. Lying in bed, Mac wondered if this were payback, or perhaps it was self-induced, maybe a bad conscience. Except, deep down, he realized he really had no conscience. In fact, his one concern was that maybe he wouldn’t be sufficiently recovered to plan the deadline he and Sabrina were to agree upon the next day. He quickly dismissed this, telling himself that any delay would make no difference to their plans. Besides, this felt serious. He’d heard of food poisoning from bad fish sometimes being lethal; the irony didn’t escape him. He constantly needed the toilet but each trip became more arduous. He readily agreed to Prudence’s suggestion that a doctor be sent for. As the minutes ticked by, Mac deteriorated further. He became impatient for the doctor’s arrival. He hoped it would not take long to make a diagnosis and administer some medication. Once recovered, he would contact Sabrina to renew their plans. After what seemed hours, Mac heard voices from the main hall, the sounds became more distinct as they approached the bedroom. Was he hallucinating? Rather than the doctor, Prudence seemed to be talking to……Sabrina. The door opened and Prudence entered, swiftly walking to him with a look of concern on her face. Seeing him now writhing in pain she looked a little relieved. “It’s alright Sabby, he’s still with us. Come and see.” Mac was wondering what the hell was going on. Where was the doctor? Then Sabrina appeared, smiling down on him. “Hi Mac. We were worried that you’d already left us. Puddy so wanted to explain things before your departure.” Mac slowly turned his head towards his wife who had taken his hand. Breathing was difficult; he was unable to speak. “You must be confused darling, so I’ll explain. You did a really good job of hiding your affair. I hired one of the best private investigators available. He’s been of tremendous use to the family in the past. But even he had difficulty finding anything between the two of you besides the charity work. But persistence paid off. I confronted Sabrina some months ago and, apart from you, we found we had a lot in common. When Sabby told me about your plans, I encouraged her to go along with it. You see, I wanted to give you a chance. I wanted to see if there was any heart within you at all. At one time you seemed to be all I needed, but in Sabby I found a true friend. In fact, she’ll be moving in here after you’re gone. You see, from my adolescent years I’ve always felt different from other girls. I couldn’t face the truth I suppose because any deviations from normality would have tarnished the family name. I hid myself away, taking no interest in the family investments. I felt safer doing that than risk exposing my true, shall we say, inclinations. I could never tell my parents. They couldn’t understand why I rejected so many potential husbands with such impeccable pedigrees.            When you came along, I could hardly believe my luck. Everyone knew you wanted me only for my money, so any passionate intimacy was not going to be a problem. I could withdraw from family interests with grace and keep my secrets safely hidden. When my parents died in such a short space of time, the need for secrecy somehow seemed less important, the world has become more tolerant. So, when I met Sabrina, and discovered your plans, I felt the time had come to live the life I wanted. I’m about to become a widow…..” Mac vainly tried to interrupt. “Shush, just listen to me. As I was saying, what could be more natural for a recently widowed woman to be comforted by a friend. And that is how Sabby will be introduced to the family, the person who is so devoted to our newly established charity, who becomes a friend and ally in my time of need. It will then be relatively easy for her to be accepted as a permanent part of my life.  “Even though I came to understand how ruthless and unfeeling you are. I was still disappointed that you chose aconite and were willing to let me die in agony so long as the poison could not be traced. I’ve such concerns. Our family doctor has been a loyal friend for many years. He helped with my delivery. When he eventually arrives, there will be a thorough examination before heart failure is identified as the cause of death.” Prudence paused; she drew her face close to his. Mac could see a flinty edge to her once subservient eyes. “Bye.” In his final lucid moments, Mac went back to the myriad faces of his victims over the years, many of whom had been left penniless. Then to his childhood, his desire to escape the circumstances into which he had been born. Just like everyone else who tried to reject their origins, Fate had eventually caught up with him.  The last thing he saw in this world was his wife and Sabrina leaving the room, hand in hand.


Silent, crouched in the cozy nooks of the bushes, the dark haired girl watched with earnest eyes, once again finding herself staring at the golden flicker of light hidden beneath the line dividing sea and sky. She recalled when it was a blazing sphere of inferno, looming above the earth. A gleaming, gargantuan garnet raising its fiery fingers into the sky. Ahi had lingered behind the foliage, plotting her ambush. When her keen eyes discerned the right moment, she pushed herself off the ground and swiftly pursued her target, careful not to startle it. But just as she got close enough to grasp the sun, it sank further into the sea, enshrouding the world in darkness as its flamboyant flames were extinguished. Ahi walked back to her dwelling, moping when she was unable to acquire the jewel in the sky once agian. She repeated her process of watching and waiting every single day, the elusive sun providing to her an impetus to succeed. But the glowing orb seemed to spill through her hands just as she was about to ensnare it, almost as if it were amused to see Ahi’s cycle of futile efforts. Sometimes it would ascend, sometimes it would descend. Ahi could never predict its moves. Then one day, she saw her father gingerly severing slabs of wood in his workshop. The potent scent of fresh pine revitalized her senses, refreshing her after yet another perpetual game of hide and seek with the sun. She glanced at her father’s determined visage while pounding nails into place and an idea struck her—if the sun wouldn’t come to her, then she would go to it!

“Wow Father, that chair looks exquisite! You really have a talent for bringing out the rich shades of the wood,” Ahi wheedled. "Anyone could learn so much about woodworking by just watching you!" she said, alluding to her knowledge of woodworking she had obtained by studying her father all these years. "Could I perhaps create something of my own?" "Well that depends, what do you want to make?" her father asked. "I'd...I'd like to craft a catapult to help me capture the sun," Ahi admitted. To her surprise, Ahi's father strongly advised against her ambition, and he was resolute in his decision.

So, Ahi toiled secretly at nightfall, just as the sun dipped below the horizon. She was a bit disheartened that she'd have to wait until her project was completed to attempt to catch the sky’s crown jewel, but once she was finished with her invention, she would no longer need to run outdoors to see the sun- she could display it right on her nightstand!

After numerous nights of silently sculpting and sawing, the catapult was ready.  Ahi stepped into the wide band and gradually  inched backwards, tightening her grip on the sides. This was it. This was the moment she had been waiting for nearly all her life.

Ahi pulled back one last time and let go. The next few moments were a blur through the dark. She opened her eyes and let out a yelp when she saw that her cottage was the size of a doll’s house and her father, frantically signaling with a lamp for his daughter to return, was the size of a caterpillar! Which could only mean that Ahi was soaring through the skies! As she gazed at the navy sea of stars above her, the golden globe became clearer. She had never been so close to it, and the glow nearly blinded her. Light was a beautiful thing, and after living in the dark every time the sun set, Ahi wanted light for herself. She would no longer have to stare petrified with fear as shadows crept across her walls. She would no longer need to worry about childish things like spilling her bottle of ink or accidentally slicing her finger in dim environments. The sun was so close now that Ahi grazed it with her fingertips. Nearer and nearer it crept, until Ahi grabbed a hold of it! She began her descend, but the ball of light would not budge. It was as if a thousand mountains were holding it in place. Ahi pried and pried, kicked and stomped, pushed and pulled. She heaved and hauled, but it was as if the sun was fused to the sky. Tears of frustration glistened at the corners of Ahi's eyes when she realized that her father’s woodworking knife was in her pocket! She whipped it out and began to hack a grotesque circle around the sun. When was done, she gave it a slight tap and the sky's jewel fell into her hands. It glowed like it was life's essence itself. Ahi returned to her cottage, earnestly waiting to show her father her prize. But as she trudged back with the weight of the sun on her shoulders, it was as if she fell into another dimension. The world was dark now, pitch black. The darkness sucked everything up into its deep abyss. Ahi could barely see her cottage or her father’s workshop and everything felt surreal, leaving Ahi feeling as if time itself had stopped. She was frozen in a void of nothingness. Everywhere Ahi looked, to her right, her left,  up and down, there was black. By trying to take the sun for herself, Ahi had denied everyone else an opportunity to bask in its beauty. She needed the flame to return. But it never would. It never would ascend into space or dive down to the depths of the ocean floor. Things would never be the same. Her life, everyone’s life, was sentenced to an eternal darkness.

And so, Ahi fumbled around in the dark, trying to locate her catapult. Stumbling as she strapped herself to it for the second time, Ahi launched herself back into the sky. She locked the sun into place, but it she had disrupted nature’s jigsaw puzzle when she'd hacked the sun out of its throne in; The sun fell and fell, no longer properly fitting into the gentle curves of the sky. Ahi deftly caught the sphere of light, memories of the fun ball games she’d played with her cousins flashing in her thoughts. But this was no game. She pushed the sun back into place with all her might, but every time Ahi removed her hands, it would fall right back down to earth. She realized now, the significance of her father's admonition. Ahi understood that caging the sun's spirit meant that she had left everyone in murky misery. She felt as if her muscles would explode with pressure from trying to push the sun back in place, she felt as if liquified fire was running through her veins. But Ahi persevered, twisting and turning the sun until it finally snapped into place. That was the last thing she saw before blacking out and falling back to the ground. When she awoke, instead of hunting the sun like she had once done every day, Ahi marveled at its glory, at its light, at its warmth. It was like a large bird, meant to be free in the wild, and Ahi never wanted to restrain it ever again. But every year, the sun becomes loosened due to Mother Nature’s antics and tumbles out of the sky, no longer precisely snapped in place after Ahi had cut it out of the atmosphere. And every year, the dark haired girl catapults herself back into the sky to drag the jewel into its rightful place, a feat that became known as a Solar Eclipse.


“Higgins, you’re going to be on corridor four. Don’t worry, the ones down there aren’t too crazy. Corridor three is the one to watch out for though, so you might hear some screams. Schwartzman, you’re on two. Everybody else, business as usual. Any questions?”

Higgins opened his mouth to ask the first of a dozen questions when Stevens slammed the clipboard back on the counter and said, “Good!” before he turned around and walked back to his office.

“Hey, don’t sweat it, man. Corridor four is an easy one.” Higgins looked over to see Sanders clap him on the back. This wasn’t exactly comforting since Sanders was the regular patrol for corridor three. But he didn't want to be rude on the first day, so he just nodded his head and went to start his rounds.

*** Corridor four may not have been the worst one to be stuck with, but it was still creepy as hell. The whole facility was to be honest, but Higgins hadn’t had any luck finding a better job. And he heard this was better than working in a prison where the inmates got to roam around.

His first order of business was following the orderlies door-to-door while they delivered food to each of the patients. “How long have you been working here…” he searched her uniform for a name tag, “Brenda?” She didn’t say anything. “Okay…” Higgins muttered to himself.

They went to eighteen cells with no issue, and then came room nineteen. He peered through the small window in the center of the door after he unlocked the drawer for Brenda to put the tray on.

All of the other rooms had patients muttering to themselves or just sitting stoically on the bed and staring at the wall. But this one had a girl who was sleeping facing the wall. She turned when she heard the clanging of metal and made eye contact with Higgins. She looked desperately sad as she sat up, not looking away from him. Brenda was already walking to the next cell and waiting for it to be unlocked, but Higgins just felt stuck. He waited there, not realizing until it was too late that he hadn’t locked the drawer again after Brenda closed it, which this patient probably noticed. He started to panic, but she didn’t make a move for the drawer, or even the tray. She just looked at him with tears welling up in the corners of her eyes and mouthed, “Help me!” *** “Hey, have you ever patrolled corridor four?” Higgins asked Sanders.

Sanders quickly finished chewing before answering, “Yeah, why?”

“There’s this girl, in cell nineteen.” Sanders started laughing. “What?”

“Nothing, you’re just not the first new guard to notice her. She’s not hard to look at, and she doesn’t seem totally insane, so there’s that.”

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t think she was cute?” Sanders asked.

“What? No, I don’t know,” Higgins said while trying not to get flustered. “What do you mean that she doesn’t seem crazy?”

Sanders barely looked up from his lunch, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure she is, but she’s one of the few you can actually have a normal conversation with when you have to walk her to group therapy. You’ll see this afternoon.”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to talk to the patients, though.” “Geez Higgins, take a chill pill. Actually, the nurses would probably give you one. Don’t worry I’m kidding. You’re not going to get into trouble talking to her. But if we ever get our patrols switched around, don’t talk to any of them.” Sanders started to laugh, but Higgins didn’t exactly think it was funny. He couldn’t quite figure out the rapport here yet. Right now they all seemed insane. “Well, I better get back to it. You shouldn’t mess around in here. You know we only get fifteen minutes for lunch, right?” *** Higgins walked back down corridor four to get patient nineteen to take her to therapy. He didn’t like that they weren’t allowed to know the patients’ names. They were just supposed to refer to them by number. It felt really dehumanizing, even if they weren’t “with it” enough to realize.

He knocked on her door three times and said, “Therapy session, let’s go!” He looked in the window and at first thought she was sleeping but then noticed that her eyes were open and staring at the ceiling. He was about to say it again when she slowly sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She cracked her neck and then stood up. She was taller than he thought, but also super thin. He wondered if she had eaten any of the food he dropped off earlier.

He unlocked the door to let her out and gripped her left forearm as they walked down the hall. Even though it was technically against the rules, he had to ask, “What’s your name?”

She looked up at him. She at least had expression in her eyes. Some of the other patients he had seen when he was training looked like they weren’t even there anymore. “Rebecca,” she mumbled. “Nice to meet you, Rebecca,” he said. She gave him a funny look. “I’m new here.”

“Yeah, the old guards never talk to us. They act like we’re wild animals locked up in cages ready to pounce.”

He saw what Sanders meant now, she didn’t seem like she belonged in here. Might have been a bad idea, but he decided to ask, “What are you in here for? You seem okay.”

“I killed both of my parents. Kind of violently, so they put me in here rather than prison,” she said it so deadpan that Higgins nearly stumbled. He felt himself gripping her arm more tightly, so he loosened his hand and picked up his pace.

She glanced up at him and smiled, “You don’t need to be scared of me. The other patients have done way worse. It’s not like my parents didn’t deserve it.”

“What did they do?” He had a feeling she was messing with him.

“I don’t really want to get into it. It’s already all in my file for everyone to see.” She was totally lying. Higgins bet they didn’t do anything.

“Alright, well, I hope you have a good therapy session.” “Oh yeah, these are the highlight of my time here,” she said with an overexaggerated eye roll.

He let her go, but before she could get very far he whisper-shouted to her, “Hey, Rebecca.” She turned expectantly. “What did you mean earlier today, when you asked me for help?”

She walked back over to him, close enough that he felt like she was staring into his soul. “Because I shouldn’t be here,” she whispered back. “I didn’t do anything wrong, and now-” she looked down at the floor and seemed like she was about to cry. When she lifted her head again she had reigned it back in and just said, “All I’m saying is, the guards aren’t exactly the nicest to the patients here. And I shouldn’t be in here for self-defense.”

Before he could say anything else to her, she was already halfway to the chairs set up in a circle. He didn’t have to stay for the therapy session, they had separate guards for that, so he walked down the maze of hallways to see if he could find his way to the file room again. It took him a few tries, but he eventually got there.

Surprisingly, it was unlocked. The patients wouldn’t be down here, so the only people who would go in there would be the staff. He walked in and quietly shut the door behind him. Then he realized he didn’t even know her last name and would have no chance in hell of finding her file, but after checking the first drawer he realized it was organized based on corridor and room number. He found corridor four, rooms sixteen through nineteen and saw her file. “Rebecca Livingston.” He opened it up and instantly shut it again. He slowly opened to the first page again and saw what he could only assume were pictures from the crime scene where she killed her parents.

He scanned the rest of the file as quickly as he could, he had to escort Rebecca back to her room in 30 minutes, and saw a lot of police reports and testimonies about the murders. Then he came across something he didn’t expect. She wasn’t lying. There were dozens of pictures of injuries all over her body with “clear signs of domestic abuse” written along the bottom. The thing was, that a lot of the pictures were dated after she was placed in the mental hospital.

He checked the clock on the wall. He still had ten minutes, but knew it would take him a while to find his way back, so he carefully replaced the file and headed to the room he left Rebecca in.

When he got there no one was talking. They seemed to be meditating or something. He waited a few more minutes and tried to figure out what he was going to say to her. By the time she was walking over to him, he still didn’t have a clue.

He held onto her right forearm like he was supposed to and started walking back to her room. More slowly this time. He just blurted it out, “I read your file.”

All she did was nod her head and look down at the floor. He took a deep breath and said, “Was it really self-defense?”

“Of course it was. I’m not a total psycho.”

“Say that again and look at me.” He had been trained to tell when someone was lying, so he stopped in the hallway and turned to face her.

“Yes, it was self-defense. I swear on my life.” She was looking him straight in the eye. She wasn’t fidgeting or looking to the left or doing any of the other tell-tale signs of lying. He was the first to break eye contact.

He didn’t know what else to say, he just turned back around and walked her back to her room. He locked her in, and she didn’t say anything. He almost expected her to, but she just looked resigned as she went back to bed.

His shift was done for the day, so he went to the break room to grab his stuff and go home for the night.

*** Rebecca never slept. She must have, otherwise she would probably actually go insane, but she never remembered falling asleep. She figured she just drowsed off when she got exhausted enough everyday.

So she wasn’t woken up with a start when she heard the soft knocking on her door. It was that new guard, Higgins. She always made sure to check the badges. She never knew when it would be useful information.

He kept looking from side to side, so she went over to the door. “What?” she asked him quietly.

He seemed to be making some decision in his head right there on the spot. She tried not to get her hopes up, but she watched him carefully. He stared at the floor for seventeen seconds before she saw his shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath, and then he unlocked her door.

She hid her grin as best she could and asked, “What are you doing?”

“I’m helping you escape. We have to hurry. The sun will be all the way up soon, come on.” He didn’t grab onto her arm this time, so she just followed quickly after him.

“Why are you doing this?” She tried to get a good look at his face, but he was walking so fast she couldn’t get at the right angle.

“I don’t know, but I don’t think you should be in here. Your file seemed really shady with how you ended up in here and the whole case just felt off.” He said it all in a rush.

“Well, thank you.” Then he gave her a quick glance and just curtly nodded his head.

“Almost there.” She had never been to this area of the facility before. Then she saw it, the exit sign, all lit up in bright red letters. She tried to stay calm and not run straight for the door. He stopped a few feet short and turned to her. “There aren’t any guards at the gate or anything, so just walk alongside the highway, but don’t hitchhike or anything.”

“Yep, got it. I plan on getting as far away from here as possible.” He gave her an odd look, and she swallowed. But then he opened the door, and he let her go.

She smiled at him and touched his arm, “Thank you,” she said genuinely.

“No problem. Just hurry up, my shift starts in an hour, so I gotta get back.” She nodded and gave him a final smile before walking out the door and hearing him let it close behind her.

As she stepped out into the early morning sunshine she took a huge breath of fresh hair. She hadn’t been outside in over three years. It felt even better than she imagined.

The new guards are always so gullible , she thought.


I approached the door with a purpose I was wholly unaware of, and as I opened it began to speak without any conscious engagement. "Rex!" I called out into the night. This was not my house. I was uncertain whose it truly belonged to or if it even existed, perhaps being a product of my imagination. "Rex!" I called out again. In front of me lay a field of darkness, spreading infinitely across my minds void. I was aware of Rex, my dog I received as a child, traversing the fields. Even through the darkness I could see him coming towards me, yet I still called out. "Rex!" My conscious was separated from my body, leaving me unaware of my current state of mind. As I listened to my calls I could hear a tone of fear hiding itself within. Then, another call. "Rex." But this call was different. It was not my voice, and it instead protruded from the fields of darkness I lay my eyes upon. "Rex." It called out again. In the distance, beyond my pet, my eyes could make out the silhouette of a man approaching the house. I now shared the feeling of dread which was present within my detached body. "Rex!" I called out. "Rex." The voice repeated my words. The two grew closer to the house, however it appeared as though the man was moving faster than my dog. I attempted to judge who would reach first but my mind began to fill with panic. "Rex!" I called. "Rex." The voice grew louder. I feared the intentions of this man as he grew ever so close to me. "Rex!" My voice filled with panic. "Rex." It repeated. He was now only a few feet within my dog, but I would not look to his face. "Rex!" I screamed. "Rex." It repeated once more. My heart filled with anxious fury as he was now within reach of my door. "Rex." He uttered with a sinister volume. As my dog entered the home I slammed the door shut with relief. But as it closed its final inches the man shoved his foot in the door.


Ten. In Grace’s busy, constant mind, she only has ten seconds to drive from her house to Al's Ice Cream Shop which is on average, one minute away. She puts her keys in the car, sweat already starting to build up. She thinks to herself if I don't arrive at Al's within these ten seconds, I am going to die in my sleep. Shoot. This passing thought motivates her to start getting on the move. She only has nine more seconds. Nine. Grace tucks her thin, stick-straight, black hair behind her ears. She puts her car into reverse and starts to back out of her garage as fast as lightning. Her heart rate is more rapid than usual, and she is sweating as much as a track star in action. In her head, she counts the seconds it takes to back out. If it takes more than three seconds, she is doomed. Eight. As Grace continues to back out of her garage, she opens her window. Is it hotter in here? Is it too hot? she thinks. Thinking about the extreme heat she is experiencing causes her to panic further. She finally backs out of her garage and puts her car into drive. She forgot to close her garage, but did not even notice. Now it is a matter of time and speed. Seven. With seven seconds left, she speeds over the limit down her driveway. She gets down her street in one single second and turns left down the next street. People walk on the sidewalk and wonder why there is a car going so fast down a street they have never gone over 25 mph. Grace, however, is going at least 40 mph. Grace herself does not even realize how fast she is moving. Six. I am so close , thinks Grace. she is sure of herself she will make it there. She already knows what type of ice cream she is going to get. 2 scoops of cookies and cream in a waffle cone with peanuts on top. She calms down a bit picturing herself eating her cold, sugary ice cream cone. She has driven herself to the shop many times, but never in under 10 seconds. Usually she does not need to, but today was different and she could not figure out why. Five. She encounters a stop sign. Grace, as well as pretty much everyone who drives a car, knows to stop for 3 seconds at a stop sign. But when you are like Grace, it is unlikely that is going to happen. She can not waste three seconds when she only has five left. So, Grace speeds through the stop sign, forgetting to look both ways. That was her worst mistake. Four. A loud BANG echoes across the entire street. A loud screech comes from inside a shiny, silver Honda Civic. The car flips to its side as the airbag goes up, making the crash even worse. there is blood all over the window, and you could not even tell where it came from. Three. People on the street start to hear the crash. They run out of their houses, hands covering their mouths and phones dialing 911. Grace lies in her car, helpless and bleeding out. The person who crashed into her gets out of his car, hands on his head in hysterics. He will be haunted by guilt for his whole life. Two. The man who crashed into her is about 40 years old and has a shaved head. He has a little scratch on his head, but nowhere near as bad as the damage on Grace. He runs over to Grace's car, on the phone with 911, shaking more than ever. Grace is unconscious. There is an outburst of panic on the street. One. Grace remains unconscious, but her mind is still at work. That is the thing about people with OCD. Whether they are conscious or unconscious, their mind never stops working. Although she is unconscious, she is still aware the countdown from 10 is over. Any other time, this would cause an extreme panic attack. But right now, she is finally in peace. Yes, she is not in a conscious state and she is bleeding, but she can finally rest. Her subconscious does not register anymore. She wonders if her psychiatrist will be confused about how she got into a car crash. Had she forgotten to take her meds? Was it simply just careless driving? Or was her mind just too powerful for her to even battle anymore? After a life of constantly working to find peace and happiness within her paranoid mind, she has finally achieved it. Her mind is shutting down. She finally found the peace of mind she had been craving. Zero. Grace slowly leaves the world she had always struggled in but yet was so comfortable in. She always figured she would die of old age or something way later in life, but here she was, 23 years old, dead in a car crash all because of what her busy mind told her to do. Grace struggled with OCD for many years of her life, but she tried to not let it get the best of her. She was seeing a psychiatrist for her difficulties, and she was improving with the work of meds and therapy. Although sometimes she was controlled solely by her mind, there were times where it overpowered her every move and she was at a loss of what to do. Unfortunately, this was one of those times. It was just a case of wrong place at the wrong time considering this was a time her mind made her lose control. No one was truly ever going to understand what went through her brain in the moment. It all happened too quickly for anyone to process. Not Grace, not the man who crashed into her, and not anyone who lived in a house on the street. Sometimes things just happen and it’s out of our control. It just comes to show how much can really happen in 10 seconds.


DEVIL’S DEMISE Six o’clock. It’s time. I go to the kitchen first, and open the third drawer by the sink.

That’s where David keeps the hammer.

It feels heavier this time.

My hand shakes as I pull it from the drawer. No. My hand isn’t shaking because of the hammer.

It’s because of what I’m about to do. Who I’m about to talk to. I take a breath as I step into the doorway of the bathroom.

It’s very dim inside.

Pale light filters in through a single clouded window and the white tile floor sparkles clean before me.

I should know, I’m the one who scrubbed it this afternoon.

Scents of lemon and bleach fill my nostrils as the door closes behind me.

My hand slips over the knob, and I push the button in the center.

I don’t need any interruptions. I keep my eyes down as I cross to the sink.

When the temptation becomes too great, I close them, taking another deep breath.

My hands move to rest on the counter top, the hammer hitting the laminate with a dull thud.

Even before my eyes open, I know he’s there.

I can feel his presence in my gut.

It’s a sick feeling.

A nauseous feeling.

But he just waits patiently for me to open my eyes. So I do. I see him in the mirror looming behind me.

Smoke and darkness silhouetted against the plastic shower curtain, and eyes filled with a glimmering seduction that is both frightening and tantalizing.

His chin rests on my shoulder, filling the curve against my neck. “You didn’t do your hair today,” he remarks, his hot breath releasing against my cheek. “It’s Friday,” I stammer. “Ah, yes.

Cleaning day.”

There’s a chuckle, and he raises a hand, digging long, sharpened nails into my scalp. “It’s funny, isn’t it?

Right now, your friends are out having a good time.

And you’re at home, scrubbing floors.” His fingers slide the length of my hair. “They know I’m busy,” I reply. “Is that what you tell yourself?

No. The real reason is obvious,” he whispers, pressing his lips against my ear. “They don’t invite you anymore because you’re too ugly.” A knot forms in my throat.

I knew he would say this.

It’s always the same.

But it still hurts just as much as the last time.

When I try to look away, he places a hand firmly around my chin and holds my face up steady to the mirror. “You little slob,” he hisses. “You fat, ugly slob.” “Stop it.” “Did you have dinner yet?

I hope it wasn’t too much.

It will be harder to force it back up,” he reminds me.

I glance nervously at the toothbrush.

“You better hurry, before David gets home.” “No,” I say, firmly.

“I’m done with that.” “Oh really?

You’re certain?” His face turns into my hair, and he inhales deeply.

The sensation causes me to shudder, and he chuckles again, the deep tones of his voice echoing off my sparkling clean tiles.

I look away from the toothbrush and at a bottle of liquid foundation.

It’s tucked against the corner of the mirror, next to my brush, eyeliner, and tube of Wonderwand volumizing mascara. “Make-up won’t help.

Your face will still be round.”

He pinches the soft flesh of my neck, just beneath my chin.

“They have surgeons for this, but you can’t afford it.

So you just have to stay ugly.” My eyes begin to cloud as I feel the anger rising inside me.

Not at him, but at me.

I promised myself I wouldn’t cry.

I promised I wouldn’t let him get that far.

But here we are, like every other night in front of the mirror.

His laughter.

My tears. “Aw, shhh,” he coos. “Don’t cry.

I’m here.” A slender finger reaches out, and drags the teardrop down my face. “I’m always here.” Sometimes it seems like he has always been there, but that’s not true.

There was a time when I could look in the mirror, and he didn’t come.

I could look in the mirror at my round cheeks and kinky hair and say, “Hello, beautiful!” But not anymore.

Now, every time I looked, all I could see was what he told me to see. A fat, ugly slob. “You better get things done, we’re running out of time,” he insists. “Yes,” I agree. “You’re running out of time.” “What is that supposed to mean?” I tighten my grip around the hammer. “I’m not going to see you anymore,” I tell him. “You think it’s that easy?

Well, it’s not.

It will be hard to keep me away.

Harder than you can manage.

You’re not that strong.” “I know.

But I’m not going to do it alone.

I’m going to get help.” “Disgusting!” “No.

I’m not.” He recoils a moment, as if in shock, and towers behind me.

The smoke billows, and the darkness swirls within him.

The glitter in his eyes is gone.

Now all I see is only hatred.

Now all I see is only rage. There is a knock at the door. “Julia?

Julia, are you in there?” CRAP! David is home. “Pathetic!” he growls. Knock, knock, knock. “Julia, are you ok?

Open the door.” “You stupid, little–” I raise the hammer and his eyes widen.

Endless pools of nothing, staring at me in horror. “You think that will stop me? You can’t kill the devil!” KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK. “Julia! Please, open the door!” I stare at him for the last time.

“But you’re not the devil. You’re just my devil.

And this is your end.” I swing the hammer right into the center of the mirror.

It shatters in large shards, crashing into the sink and all over the counter, some even reaching the floor.

I step back and look at the destruction.

My heart pounds furiously in my ears, almost as furiously as David beating on the door. But it’s over.

He’s gone. My hand grips the doorknob, and I turn it slowly.

David pushes his way in, wrapping his arms around me tightly.

His breaths are as ragged as mine.

I rest there in his embrace.

I lay my head on his shoulder, and feel his hands press against my back, pulling me as close to himself as he can manage. “What happened?” he asks, urgently. “Are you ok?” “Yes,” I tell him.

“I’m fine.” And for the first time, it’s true.


Thud! A cardboard box from the attic hits the floor of the garage. A cloud of dust circles around the room.

“Hey, easy there” says Charles as he enters the garage with a freshly cracked beer in one hand. The remainder of the six pack rests with the other hand on the side of his protruding belly. He takes a hefty swig of his ale. Droplets spill from his beard onto his Hawaiian shirt.

Behind him enters Cynthia with her long silver hair down to her waist. She towers a good foot over her older brother. Despite their height differences, the two share the same face. Plump cheeks, narrow eyes, thick eyebrows, even their ears look the same.

Thud!

Another cardboard box collides with the floor in an unwelcoming fashion. A mixture of glass and clay crackle upon impact.

Cynthia marches toward the base of the attic ladder and places her hands on her hips. Her eyebrows scrunch together.

“Is tossing the boxes really necessary?”

Around turns Michael, the fittest of the three. Rocking a buzzed cut of his dark black hair with specs of gray. His chest wide like a gorilla. He looks down upon his younger siblings before he turns and grabs another box.

“It is when you’re doing everything by yourself.” Says Michael.

Cynthia waves her arms in the air, “you didn’t have to start without us. We told you we were coming out to help.”

Michael turns around with another box in hand, “you said you’d come out in 5 minutes, 20 minutes ago.” “We were reminiscing, man” says Charles. He places his drinks on the floor and joins his sister.

The two extend their arms toward Michael.

“We’re here now and that’s all that matters. Now pass us some boxes already. Let’s get this thing over with” says Cynthia.

“Ready to go back to California so soon? Can’t stand us even when we’re grieving” says Michael. He hands the box over to his siblings. They grab it in unison and place it on the floor.

Cynthia rolls her eyes, “that’s not what I meant, asshat. I meant let’s get this whole ‘going through Mom’s stuff’ over with.” Michael grabs another box and looks down at his sister. He smirks, “I knew what you meant” he says as he drops the box into the arms of Charles.

Charles let’s out a chuckle, “this one has my name on it! Oh boy, it’s a Christmas miracle in June.”

He takes his boxed treasure and plops down next to his beers. Charles crosses his legs crisscross applesauce and tears at the box clumsily with his bare fingers. The box is torn apart and mangled in seconds.

“Yeah, there’s one for each of us” Michael hands his sister her box, “Cynth, here’s yours.” She places it down by her side. Michael stretches his body from the latter and leans deep into the attic, “almost…Got it. Okay, last one.” He hands the box off to Cynthia and descends the latter. Michael takes his box back from his sister.

“Get anything cool for Christmas?” asks Cynthia.

Charles puts down his drink mid-gulp and let’s out a gleeful smile. His cheeks shine bright red and his slanted eyes glisten through his bristly gray eyebrows.

Charles proudly displays a 14-inch Superman action figure, “Oh it’s wonderful. Just as I remember him.”

Cynthia and Michael both let out laughs.

“You used to love that thing so much. It went with you practically everywhere” says Michael.

Cynthia sits down next to her box, “I thought you got rid of it in High School when your girlfriend made fun of you for having it… What was her name again? Short brown hair. Played tennis. Mom hated her.” “Sue” chimes in Charles. He cracks open a beer and hands it over to his sister.

Michael reaches over for a beer, “I remember you tossing it too. You made a big stink about how you were maturing and over all that silly stuff.” He pops it open barehanded before taking a seat on the floor with his siblings.

Charles admires his long lost toy, “I did throw it away. Along with my comic collection. I was trying to impress Sue, I think. I always regretted that.” “Okay, I’m next” says Cynthia as she opens her box. She slices through tape on the edges with her nail and peels the tape back in a quick and efficient manner. Her eyes instantly light up.

“Ha! My old cassette tapes. Would ya look at that” she holds up a signed copy of The Cure’s Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me. “I waited outside the old movie theater for what felt like hours just to see Robert Smith let alone get him to sign this.”

“We all know the story. He asked for your friend Stacy’s number right in front of you and you were devastated” says Michael chuckling.

Cynthia let’s out a cackle, “God, I hated her in that moment. I was so jealous. I don’t think I’ve spoken to her since that day.” She shrugs, “At least the music is still good.”

“That’s debatable” says Michael. He opens his box in one movement of strength. The flaps burst as he rips the box open. He smiles as he puts a Kansas City Royals baseball cap on his head. He adjusts the straps.

“Oh wow, I’m surprised it still fits” says Charles.

“Like a charm” rebuttals Michael. He tosses a baseball a few feet into the air and catches it without looking. He studies the ball and his eyes glisten.

“I remember going to the games every Month with Dad growing up. After they split, Mom started taking me because I loved going so much. One of the last conversations I had with her, she told me she still didn’t understand the game but that her fondest memories with me are the times we went.” Michael sniffles and rubs at his eyes in attempt to wipe his tears away before they drop down his cheeks. He succeeds.

“She took me to see all the Superman and Star Trek movies in theaters. Multiple times. I don’t think she understood a word let alone even liked the movies” chuckles Charles.

Cynthia laughs, “I was too young to go to concerts alone so she was forced to see New Kids on The Block… 3 times.”

Michael and Charles join her in laughter. Charles pulls a container of film reels out of his box, “oh wow, haven’t seen one of these in a long time.” The other siblings rummage through their boxes and pull out similar containers. Each labeled with their names.

Michael walks over to the stash of cardboard boxes, “I bet Mom’s old projector is still around here somewhere.” “Let’s hope it’s not the box we heard all the breaking from” replies Cynthia.

“Nah, that box was titled mugs. There’s one that says projector or photography right over…here!” says Michael victoriously. He reveals an old projector that looks like it used to be white long ago. Now it’s closer to yellow. He plugs it into the nearest outlet and the power light flickers alive.

“Ooh! Me first!” says Charles. He tosses a roll of film to Michael.

Michael pops it in the machine and points the light of the projector at the garage door.

Before them they see an image of seven year old shirtless Charles at the dinner table with a smile as wide as Texas. To his left is Michael with a fork in hand and to his right is little Cynthia in a high-chair. All three with their faces stuffed and covered in chocolate cake. Around the table stuffed animals are seated in the chairs as the appointed guests of honor. Their mother stands behind the table with one hand on Charles’s chair and another hand on her stomach laughing at the scene before her. Her smile shines bright from dimple to dimple, even in the dim lighting of the garage. She looks as young as ever. Her brown wavy hair is tied up in a ponytail, not a gray hair in sight. Her apron has specs of flour and cake batter on it.

Michael let’s out a loud laugh, “holy shit. Is this Winnie The Pooh’s birthday? I had almost forgotten about it.”

“Damn right it was” says Charles smiling. He starts to snicker. “I remember telling Mom he wanted a Chocolate cake. And Mom kept asking, ‘you sure he wouldn’t want something with honey? Are you absolutely sure?’”.

All three siblings laugh in unison.

“I remember Mom telling this story almost every Thanksgiving. She said that once you figured out that she could make cakes outside of Birthdays and Holidays, it was someone’s birthday every day!” laughs Cynthia.

Charles wipes away a tear from his cheek as his laughing fit calms down, “I’m pretty sure I told her it was Eeyore’s birthday the next day. She caught on quickly.” “She looks great in this, doesn’t she?” asks Michael.

“Yeah, she does” says Cynthia.

Charles nods his head in agreement.

Michael flips through the film and images of the birthday party fly by until the roll hits its end. The projector lets out a loud click.

“My turn” says Cynthia. She sorts through her container of films and reads each label quickly. “Bingo” she tosses her roll to Michael.

Michael inserts the roll and the image changes to the scene of a wedding. A six year old Cynthia walks the center isle tossing flowers from her basket to the onlooking rows of spectators. All eyes are either on her or the bride off camera. Smiles come from all of the guests.

Teenage Michael and Charles can be seen in proper suits standing amongst the groomsmen. At the base of the alter stands a tall man in a tuxedo, the groom to be. With his black hair slick and combed backwards. With a clean shaven face to match. His look says it all; Eyes watery, head tilted to the side, his lip quivering. A man in absolute disbelief of the beauty before him.

“That suit was so uncomfortable” says Charles, “I remember having to scratch my crotch constantly.”

Michael chuckles, “Look how happy Daniel looks.”

“He’s about to marry our Mom. He better look happy” remarks Cynthia.

The three laugh. A moment passes.

Charles raises his beer in the air, “he was a good man.”

Michael takes a drink from his beer and mimics the motion, “more importantly, he was good to her.”

Cynthia scrunches her eyebrows together and concentrates on the drink in her hands, “I don’t ever remember Mom and Dad together. In fact, I think this may be one of my earliest memories after their divorce.” “It’s a good memory to have. Mom and Dad were never truly happily married. I know you always wished you had time with them together, but I’m thankful you missed out on the fighting years. Because these two, they were good together” says Michael.

Cynthia looks up from her drink to both of her brothers, “I know none of us grew up believing in that Church stuff, but lately I’ve been finding comfort in believing that Mom and Dan are together again up there.” Charles scoots over and wraps his arm around his sister. He puts his head next to hers, “I like to believe the same thing.”

Michael clicks the projector over to the next image.

There she is in all of her glory. A shining white dress, brighter than sunlight itself. Skin the color of sand with the smoothness of pearls. Her wavy brown hair flows over her shoulders. Where her hair ends, the floral embroidery begins. Her perfect white teeth match the dress, while her eyes glisten like diamonds.

“Wow” says the three of them in unison.

“I had forgotten what she looked like on this day” says Michael.

“Like an angel who descended from Heaven” says Charles.

“What a babe” says Cynthia.

The siblings chuckle together.

Michael pops the film reel out, “Okay, enough of that.” He places one of his reels in the projector.

A young mid-twenty-something Michael stands in a blue cap and gown with a red tassel over his shoulders. He holds a diploma proudly in his hands that reads “Class of Kansas University, 1984”. His smile is from ear to ear. To his right is a young and much slimmer Charles sporting his Sunday best. As well as a teenage Cynthia around the same height as the two boys.

To the left of Michael and under his arm is their mother. She looks just as happy as the graduate. Other than the salt and pepper hair, she shows no signs of aging.

“I would kill the pope himself to have that body again” says Charles.

“Look how slim we all look! I want my old metabolism back, let alone the body” rebuttals Cynthia.

Michael flexes his arms, “That’s cute of you two.” The siblings laugh together.

“Between you and Mom, I can’t tell who is happier that you graduated” says Cynthia. Michael replies, “It feels ironic now looking back on it. Despite appearing so happy that day, I was an internal wreck inside. I had no idea what was next after graduation.” “I think we all kind of went through that patch until we found our way” says Charles.

“Mom was so proud you went to college. I remember her telling everyone that her son was going to be a lawyer” says Cynthia.

“She believed in me before I ever did” replies Michael.

“Dude, she believed in all of us before we ever did. I remember having multiple less than stellar report cards and she still wrote the checks for college without hesitation. She really went all in for us” says Charles.

“You two at least had somewhat of an idea of what you wanted to go to school for. I was undecided until my junior year. She must’ve driven around half the country touring colleges with me until we found the right one” says Cynthia.

A tear flows down the side of Michael’s cheek. He lets his siblings see and turns to them, “we had the best mom, didn’t we?”. “Hell yeah we did” says Charles.

“I’ll drink to that” replies Cynthia.

The three raise their drinks and toast the bottles together in her honor.


We all know how this ends; there's no need to continue. But if you feel the need to indulge yourself, I can't stop you. I will tell you one thing, though, it won't be a fun ride. This isn't the type of thing you discuss amongst your family around the dining room table. Even though you can feel in the air how much they want to ask you about it - as taboo as the subject is - there's no way they'll cross that line. But there's always that one friend who doesn't understand boundaries and why you shouldn't cross them. That ignorant bastard. "So, did you kill anybody?" I can feel my heart sink into my stomach, and with those five words all the memories I've tried so desperately to repress come flowing through my mind. Images forever burned into my conscience. How we got into this situation was the same for most of us: we wanted to heroes. Granted, there is that one guy - down on his luck - whose up to his knees in debt. They told him all his worries would disappear if he just signed on the dotted line. He needed a way out and couldn't think of any other options. But even then, in the back of his mind, the idea of ending another man's life without consequence, maybe even praise, had to impact his decision in some way. He could have chose a safer job... Anything but Combat Arms. But why fix the damage when you can inflict the damage? You're a joke if you get a medal for making sure everyone gets paid on time. In the long run all we really want is recognition. One-hundred and thirty-eight days in country and not a single thing to write home about. You could feel the hostility in the air. Each and every one of us were growing tired of the monotony. All we wanted was a real reason to clean our weapons. And this is the insanity that the US Military inflicts among its indentured servants. Train a man to kill, give him guns and grenades, throw him into a desert and suddenly he wants to get shot at. We were all normal once-upon-a-time. Eventually everything fades to gray and you can't remember what exactly normal is anymore. At this point every man in Charlie Co. Fire Squad Alpha doesn't realize they've crossed the point of no return. I couldn't see what I was shooting at, but it didn't matter. The gurgled screams let me know I was hitting something, though, and it felt good. The lesson I learned that day is that Positive Identification isn't always necessary. Before I get ahead of myself, let me explain. Those bastards thought they could run into a Mosque and they would be safe. Well, your Holy Place isn't mine. Your God can't judge me. Out here, life is a gift, and you have to be willing to take that gift away without a second thought about it. Out here, standing by a road with a shovel can get you killed. With my adrenaline pumping I guess I didn't notice what time it was... it just slipped my mind. All that matters is the target was eliminated; mission complete. The weight had immediately been lifted off my shoulders. I finally got what I was looking for and I felt vindicated. After the C4 blast there wasn't much left of the Mosque, and the screams finally subsided. Sifting through the rubble, the pride I felt started to subside, and a sense of nausea overcame me. I stumbled upon what appeared to be a hand - a tiny little hand. I had never seen gore like this. A hand, a foot, an arm, a leg. Things unrecognizable as human. What have I done? These people weren't the enemy. These were human beings like you and I. Men, women, and children reduced to humps of body parts. I can never look at a hamburger the same way again. "Soldier, you're about to learn a very important lesson today." This was all too much to take in. "Why do you think when we find a weapon cache every vehicle gets an RPG stowed in the back?" Stunned, I didn't want to know. Sergeant collected 3 RPGs and scattered them in the ruins of what once was a Mosque. stepping back and observing the scene, without a hint of emotion in his face, he took in a deep breath. "When we get back to the FOB, CID will be there to conduct their investigation, so we'd better get our story straight. I'll tell you this, though, Soldier. Tomorrow you'll be on the cover of Stars & Strips. You're going to be a War Hero.


Large clumps of some fluffy substance surrounded him. It felt like cotton candy in his hands and squished softly under his feet. One clump looked like a man playing the oboe. Another like a dog wrestling with a fire extinguisher. Yet another looked like the state of Louisiana. Strange. A large, pillowy cruise liner slowly floated by his face. They were what could only be described as well, clouds. Obvious yes. But it would take you a second to process too. The noise hit him next. It was deafening. Millions of people standing in line. Together they generated an unintelligible hum of multi-lingual murmur. Quite odd. The last thing Jake remembered was being at Conner Davis’s Halloween party. Melissa had been telling him about her plans to open a coffee shop downtown. They’d been laughing, or at least he’d been laughing, while absentmindedly twirling a hors d’oeuvre toothpick with his tongue. Then poof, he was here. With no idea where he was or how he’d arrived. The woman in front of him looked like she had problems of her own. Her head was no longer on her neck. Instead it was tucked under her arm like a sack of potatoes. Gushing blood. She pointed behind Jake, where he heard a throat being cleared. “Ahem.” Jake turned to see a massive set of gleaming gold gates. In front of them was a nine-foot-tall man with a twelve-foot beard, leaning over a seven foot, impossibly smooth marble podium. Broad, soaring wings protruded from the back of his cloak that would put any condor to shame. Yes, yes, this was the pearly gates and St. Peter. It takes a moment to fully comprehend these things when you first encounter them. “Name?” asked St. Peter. “Woah.” Jake said. “Name?” St. Peter repeated. He’d had a few “Woah’s” come through here, but it was best to double check. Jake stood there, mouth agape at the giant bird-man in front of him. St. Peter sighed. Atheists always took forever. He much preferred the religious ones. Not because they were right (they weren’t about any of the important stuff) but because they were ready. Always eager and convinced they were going to heaven. Even when the prospect was laughable, like if they’d killed six people or one time stolen grapes from the supermarket. St. Peter’s eyes darted behind Jake. He stood up and started yelling at someone in line, his voice booming across the sky like a jet-engine. “Wow, really? Cutting the line, on your way to final judgement? Great start man, really. Terrific.” St. Peter shook his head in frustration and directed his gaze back to Jake. “Name?” St. Peter repeated. “Jake.” “Full name, son.” “Jake Mast.” St. Peter nodded and took his name down in his leather-bound ledger. The pages were parchment and he wrote with a quill. Not that it mattered, it was all just symbolic. These records didn’t go anywhere. “So that’ll be hell then?” “What?” Jake felt his stomach drop, poetically over the thought of being plunged into the fiery bowels of hell. “You’ll be going to hell.” St. Peter said. He then smiled a little, in an attempt to be reassuring. “I, what? I don’t understand.” “You’re going to hell.” There really was no nicer way to put it. For the first time since he’d died Jake’s life flashed before his eyes. When had it all gone wrong? Sure, he wasn’t perfect. He didn’t always remember to call his parents. Admittedly he’d once broken up with an old girlfriend on her birthday. He also yelled at his dog too much. The poor guy didn’t know he was doing anything wrong when he pooped in the hallway. He didn’t even know what a hallway was. But it’s not like he’d ever killed anyone or gotten in any serious trouble. The worst trouble he’d ever been in was getting suspended from school in the 4th grade for punching his best friend in P.E class. The principal had also looked nine feet tall that day. “Son, it’s time to go.” St. Peter said. “But, but, why?” Jake asked. St. Peter arched his eyebrows quizzically. “Isn’t it obvious?” Jake shook his head. “No sir.” “You’re evil incarnate!” That felt a little harsh. He couldn’t be that bad, could he? He wasn’t a serial killer, a dictator or one of those manipulative psychics who pretended they could talk to your deceased loved ones. He wasn’t even as bad as his friend Gary. You want to talk about a real asshole spend an afternoon trying to get a word in edgewise with that self-centered prick. “Am I really that bad?” Jake asked. St. Peter waved his hands at Jake. “Look at you!” Jake looked down, past the blood-red toothpick protruding from his neck. His Halloween devil costume! Of all the days to wear a crimson spandex body suit, red face paint, fangs and a pair of horns. Jake gasped and threw down his small, plastic pitchfork. “No, it’s not real!” St. Peter shook his head and rubbed his temples. These atheists man. “I’m sorry, but I’m behind schedule as it is.” St. Peter said as he pulled a rope lever above his head. The clouds beneath Jake’s feet slowly parted. He tried to grab onto one clouds floating around him, but they were now nothing more than condensed water vapor that slipped through his fingers. His legs felt the cold night air. Wildly he reached for the hem of St. Peter’s cloak as he fell backwards into the starry sky. In moments, he’d crashed into the earth. Feeling nothing as he tore through soil, granite and mineral-rich deposits. He tore through it all, deeper and deeper, careening at the most terminal of velocities into the darkest depths of hell. He landed hard with a loud smack against a slab of flaming brimstone. Unsurprisingly, things hurt in hell. Too frightened to open his eyes, he involuntarily sniffed the overpowering stench of sulfur all around him. The heat was unimaginable, best described as extra-tropical. He heard the cackle of demons. The cries of the damned. The sound of a raging river of lava that ended in a torrential waterfall. And was that, organ music? A snake slithered into a leg of his spandex suit and out through a sleeve. Jake lay his face against the red-hot floor and cried. One more wail in a sea of them. It wasn’t long before he felt a claw poking him in the back. Admittedly, far more gingerly than he’d been led to expect by his one quick scan of the Old Testament in Sunday school. “My Liege.” Jake froze. “Awaken my liege!” The clawed hand softly patted him on the shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. “My Liege. Is anything the matter?” Jake slowly turned his head. Afraid to fully open his eyes, he squinted upwards. Standing over him was a four-foot, peach colored imp. His pig snouted, Triassic face looked concerned. “My Liege!” the imp repeated. Jake slowly pointed at himself with a trembling arm. “Me?” “My Liege!” The imp shouted again, overjoyed at his response. Jake’s eyes widened as he looked around and saw that he was slowly being approached by an army of demonic creatures. A particularly large demon extended his muscular, boil-covered arm towards him. Jake grabbed it and carefully got to his feet, looking out at the hell-spawn that now surrounded him. They all slowly bowed in unison and cheered “My Liege!” Jake looked down at his costume. Oh right. First thing he’d be changing was the dress code.  If you made it this far, thanks for reading.


I lived a fairly normal, if boring, life. Decent job and a small apartment within walking distance of work. I was walking to work one morning when a car hopped the curb and hit me at 35 MPH. I was rushed to the hospital and placed in the ICU with multiple fractures, a punctured lung, and internal bleeding. I was declared dead at 10:07 AM but woke up in the morgue at 11:02 AM. As soon as I woke, memories came flooding back and I opened the plastic covering me and sat up on the gurney I was laying on. I found some cloths in the next room, got dressed and left. They will be looking for me soon, if they aren't already. They always do.  Lets go back to the beginning. My race arrived at Earth 66 million years ago, looking for a planet to harvest resources from. We found the planet full of life, but not the kind we could manipulate to achieve our goals so we sent an explosive to cause a mass extinction event. Our race is very patient and long lived, I suppose immortal is the wrong word to use. We genetically engineered ourselves to heal quickly and found a way to shut off our cells suicide gene. We waited for new, primate, life to emerge and started our forced evolution about 6 million years ago when a suitable species arose.  Over the next few million years, the genetic engineers evolved the species into slave races to help extract the resources we needed. I arrived about 10 thousand years ago as an overseer of what is now North America. Originally several species evolved for labor, and this was my first assignment. I was surprised by what I found when I arrived. The species were sentient. I was expecting primitive creatures that simply followed commands, much like humans did with dogs. I went along with the status quo for a while (200 years) until the dissent over using sentient beings grew too much for the High Council to ignore. We were told all resource planets had sentient labor as it was the most efficient. The engineers would evolve primates to the point of sentience so they could follow more complex directions easier. This meant there were dozens of worlds with sentient slaves gathering resources.  The revolt began about 100 years later. The slaves chose sides as well with most following their masters. What would later become modern humans joined with us. They were evolved to have a larger brain for higher tasks then other species. The was short. We took control of the mother ship anchored in the pacific and were forced to kill the High Council and their followers. Most of the species that follow them took high casualties and did not survive long, going extinct other then the stray gene that went into modern humans from inter-breeding.  We each maintained control of our respective districts, gaining new ones as well. I was given control over South America as well. We had minimal interference after that, staying mainly in the mother ship and occasionally visiting with the humans. I sometimes look back and wish we had simply left. Some did, we all had ships capable of opening portals to other parts of the universe. Those that did went to other resource planets to try and free them. Those of us that stayed mainly watched to prevent extinction level events. We were worshiped as gods by early humans, our ships seen as chariots in the sky, thunder birds, even dragons. Eventually wars were waged in the name of the "gods", at which point we decided that if man saw us as gods, we should convince them there is only one, and hoped that would quell the religious wars. Some refused that concept, and others took it to mean their god was the one true god. Wars continued, as did slavery, which must have been ingrained in humans from their time as slaved and during the "War of the Gods" that freed them. We all agreed that we must not interfere with humans evolution any more then we already had. Since humans looked like us (that was why we always chose planets with primates) we could live among them. Those that chose to leave took the mother ship and all our technology with them, leaving us stranded on Earth until human technology reached the point of ours, which is highly unlikely as most species that get to space, destroy themselves before learning to open and control wormholes and get to advanced genetic manipulation. As far as we know, we are the only race to achieve this, since we have not found any others and have explored 60 percent of the universe (as of my arrival on Earth).  Three times we were tempted to intervene. The Spanish Flu, World War I, and World War II. We finally did intervene, or rather I did, as I was living among the Americans. I assisted in the creation of the atom bomb, a decision I have come to regret, though someone else may have developed it without my help anyways. Soon after the US Government got a hold of one of our ships. It crashed in New Mexico in the 1950's and they got several technological advances. I had been helping the US in a consultant role, never giving them enough knowledge to get far, but the crash changed everything. They learned how to make the warheads smaller but deadlier, rudimentary genetic manipulation, computers, and lasers. Other technology, like wormhole creation, was too badly damaged for them to salvage and recreate. They did learn memory manipulation though, and started the experiments with me, wiping my memories and replacing them with new ones, though they could never completely remove memories, and after I would "die" their work was always undone so they kept a close eye on me. Now I am on the run, it seems they slipped up, and I got my break after 60 years of waiting. Now to see if humans destroy themselves, or become their creators.


Just as she opened the door to leave, she realized that she had almost left home without her sunglasses. Walking back to her bedroom to fetch them, she took one last look at the weather outside. Stormy grey clouds hungrily swallowed every piece of blue in the sky. It's not an ideal day for her to go out, but she has been starving ever since her last meal two nights ago. With her Ray-Bans on, red rain coat, and black rain boots, she made her way out. Who her next meal is did not matter to her; she just needed to feed, and she needed it soon.  "Dude, can you please cover my shift after tomorrow? I have a final exam I gotta study for." asked Greg as he was refilling the coffee machine with milk. On the wall opposite to the counter was a mounted TV that showed breaking news of a guy who was reported missing two nights ago. I caught a phrase or two from the closed captioning. "Body has been found floating in the lake... petrified ... skin as pale as milk. Friends claimed that he was on a Tinder date...red haired girl. Investigations are still ongoing as to what ended Jason's life." I looked back at Greg, and I saw him trying to puppy-eye me into covering his shift. "Listen, kid. I've worked my ass off this week and I need the weekend off. Sorry, but can't do. Now, I gotta ring up that customer". I straightened my name tag, which now says "Brando" since the last letter "n" has failed the test of time. "Bro! It's that blonde chick again! Are you gonna grow a pair and get her number this time?" giggled Greg. Greg doesn't know what he's talking about. I tossed her bait a few times, but she never showed any interest. Were my pick-up lines too cheesy? Maybe my biceps are not big enough for her. Or is it the fact that I am 35 and look like I'm 25 with a patchy beard growing on? Or ... I think she's just playing hard to get. Although, I don't blame her; she does have a lot going on for her. Her blond hair drop down like drapes to her shoulders. Her glossy full lips, the color of cherry-blossom leaves, collected by a chiseled jawline. I'd say that her face has it all, but I can never get a glimpse of her eyes. She is always wearing sunglasses. I am not sure what's more weird: wearing shades indoors, or wearing shades on a rainy day. She left the cold sandwich she picked up on the counter as I approached. "Would you like me to heat up that sandwich?" I asked as I tried to bury any signs of interest under my obligatory smile. She nodded. "Not in the talkative mood today." I thought to myself. I went to toss the ham-n-cheese sandwich into the micro-oven, and set the timer to 60 seconds. 59...58...57... "Ok, here goes my last attempt." I whispered to myself. It has been a year since I last dated anyone, and this rainy weather amplifies my loneliness. I grabbed a napkin and wrote my name and number. "Whoaaaa! I see you making moves buddy!" Greg teased. Trying to keep my features composed, I looked back at him and winked. 3...2..1..Ding! I opened the oven and the scent of melted cheese welcomed itself into my nostrils. I took her sandwich out, wrapped it, and placed it in our 100% recycled "LuLu's Cafe" brown paper bag. Her head was glued to the TV, still showing that news report. I took that opportunity to sneak the napkin in. "That'll be $8.50." "Thank you." she said as she shoved 10 bucks on the counter, grabbed the bag, and zoomed straight off. Her voice was wheezing, dampened by a congested throat. It might be just a cold she caught. As she left the cafe, I noticed her hair again. I could have sworn that it was a few inches shorter and a shade or two darker the other day she came in here. "Shift's over, kiddo. Good luck with that exam." Greg went back into his puppy form, "Please think about covering me after tomorrow." "Yeah, yeah!" I said as I rolled my eyes, took my apron off, and waved him goodbye.  Lightning slithered like snakes in the skies, and the thunder claps shortly followed. It is going to be one wet walk home. As I slammed the front door of my apartment shut, the echoes dispersed in waves towards the living room. "What a week." I sighed. I treated myself to a long, steamy shower, then headed straight to bed. That night, I had a weird nightmare. It started in an ample room with walls, floors, and ceilings all paper-white. There was a girl standing on one corner of the room with her head facing the wall. "Hello!" I called. Yet she was as still as a statue, still facing the wall. I cautiously started walking towards her. "Who are you? Where am I?!" I yelled nervously. Her head was still fixed towards the wall. I moved my hand closer to her shoulder. Closer, and slowly closer. Just as I was a hair away from touching her, she abruptly turned towards me. The whole room went from sheer white to pitch black. My heart skipped a beat as I was trying to fathom what I was seeing. Her face was an empty slate. Where one would have lips, a nose, and eyebrows, she had skin and nothing but pale skin. The only feature that was in its place was her eyes. Big black bold eyes staring right into mine. Her gaze magnetized my head and fixed it towards her. She had no mouth, but her ink-black eyes roared all the words. They spoke of agony that slowly drains the soul out of its body. They spoke of anguish that steals one's breath. They spoke of despair that would make one rather choose death over life. "No! No, no, no!" I screeched.  ...  "NO!" My eyes opened wide as a pool of sweat traced my body on my sheets. "What a weird nightmare." I thought to myself. I was face up on my bed, staring at the ceiling trying to make sense of that dream. My phone then pinged and I looked at the text. "Hey Brando ;)" Given how she spelled my name, I knew it was the blonde girl from the cafe. "Hey, good morning. I never got your name." "Oh. Excuse my manners. It's Karen." "Beautiful name. Would you like to go grab coffee sometime today? I have the day off." "I'd love to but I'm feeling under the weather lately. Is it too forward to ask you to come over for a coffee?" Ah. It's that kind of date, then. Well, it's been weeks since I've gotten any. Wouldn't mind if I did! "Sure, I'd love to. Drop a pin and I'll be over in a few hours." I ordered an Uber while I showered, then slipped into jeans and a polo shirt. As soon as my Uber dropped me off, I got a text from Greg, "Have you thought about covering my shift tomorrow? I seriously need to ace that exam!" This darn kid. He's breaking my heart. "Fine! You owe me! Btw, at the blonde chick's place. I'll tell ya all about it next time I see you at work." I replied. "Whoaaa! Look at you! " I sighed and rolled my eyes. "Alright. 5th floor. Apartment 5C." I approached the elevator.  OUT OF ORDER.  Great! Stairs it is. I groped my pockets to make sure that the condoms were in there. As soon as my feet landed on the 5th floor, the door to apartment 5C creaked opened. "Come on in! I'll be with you in a sec!" I heard Karen say. Her voice still wheezing. I looked around her apartment. She has an odd collection of antiques that I can swear date back to 400 years ago. A set of urns on top of her fireplace. Five ragged dolls stacked on a shelf. A collection of wigs displayed on a book shelf: one brunette, one red, and one blond. I helped myself sitting on her antique French couch, a little too stiff for my taste. She popped out of the kitchen and handed me a cup of coffee. I got to see her eyes for the first time, but the sight of them seemed familiar. I sipped my coffee as I kept admiring her eyes. Protected by long, wavy lashes. The color of a moonless night. I tried to not stare too much, but I was paralyzed. Actually, I was trying to look away now, but I was unable. My whole body has been paralyzed. Her gaze held me there for 3 minutes, and she never blinked. Not even once. "They say that the eyes are the mirror of the soul. Look at me, let me see your soul. Let me feed on it. Let me drain the life out of you." My grip on the coffee cup loosened, and it dropped to the ground shattering to pieces. That broke her eye contact and restored my mobility. I need to get out of here! She abruptly grabbed a shard of the cup, and stabbed me in the chest. Laying on the floor, she locked her gaze on me again. My eyes involuntarily gushed with sanguine blood. The air around be became more viscous. It struggled to find its way to my lungs. Gasping, my vision slowly started turning black. "Now, time to get rid of this body." she said with a wide grin.