It’s 90 degrees in the shade today, and even hotter in the middle of the city. This is the fourth bag of trash that Jay has taken outside. He doesn’t understand why anyone would eat this slop. His apron is stained, and his hair is greasy from the air inside the building. He hates this job. No one seems to out with a guy that always smells like food. He had dreams of becoming a great writer one day. Or even just a decent one. He was pushing 33 and wasn’t so sure that was going to work out for him now. Such is life. The job paid the bills and not having anyone around nagging all the time meant he was able to do whatever he wanted no questions asked. Three more hours and he was free for the day and the next two days that he had off.

He noticed something under the streetlight when he turned to go back inside. He looked both directions to see if anyone was around, and walked over to check it out. It was a small brown leather-bound book just laying there in the middle of the alley. He bent down to pick it up. It was pretty worn, and whoever owned it had had it for quite some time. He took it inside with him and set it on the shelf next to the exit door, so he would remember to grab it on his way out. Maybe there was a name or something inside and he could return it to who it belonged to.

Once the clock struck 11:00, Jay punched the clock and grabbed the little book before he walked out the door. He had about four blocks to walk until he reached his apartment. This part of the city was getting worse, he thought. This area was a lot safer and a lot more fun when he was a kid. He knew the area well, though, and he knew what areas to avoid. On his walk home there was always a guy named Carl who hung out by one of the worse for wear apartment buildings. Jay always brought him a little something to eat on the nights that he worked. Tonight, he didn’t see Carl in his usual spot, though. He just kind of shrugged it off and kept heading for home. The elevator was always breaking in his building so these days he didn’t even check it anymore. He just headed straight to the stairs. He lived on the fourth floor, room 402. He’s been there for going on five years now. It wasn’t a great place, but it was his place and he was pretty proud of that. He tossed the book on the table in the living room as soon as he got inside. First thing first, a beer and a shower to try to wash the grease off. He liked the idea that he hadn’t opened the book yet. It was a mystery and he loved mysteries. Once he was all cleaned up, he could relax and really be curious if he wanted. Twenty minutes later he piled on the couch with another cold beer and opened the cover of the book.

Property of Henry R. Filler He flipped through the pages, and the book was practically full. There were dates above a lot of what was written, and he thought it may be a diary or journal of some kind. He closed the book and was starting to think twice about reading someone else’s musings. He laid his head back on the couch and scrunched his eyes, and he gave in. What’s the worse that could happen? Other than the owner’s name, there was no other way to see who it was or where to return it unless he maybe looked through it. He opened the book back, took a drink of his beer, and started at the first entry. October 11, 1993 She didn’t even see me coming! It was the best day ever. I was very nervous at first, but I knew it was what I needed to do to cure that craving I have had for so many years. I had been planning for a while what I wanted to do with her. I have kept an eye on her for almost 6 months now. Made sure I knew when she worked and when she came home. She didn’t have any children or pets, which was very important. She was about 5’3 and didn’t weigh but maybe 100 pounds. Dark hair and eyes. She had a red scarf around her neck tonight. A beautiful red scarf. She had just gotten out of a movie that she went and watched alone, which she wasn’t alone. I was in the back row with her the entire time. I followed her to the exit and she never knew. She walked about 3 blocks until the streetlights ran out. I grabbed that pretty red scarf and pulled her into the dark. She never saw a thing. I think I am going to be very good at this. We’ll call her A. Jay looked at the entry again and quick read over it again. “Is this for real?” He thought. The entry disturbed him a little, but he didn’t read too much into it. It did make him curious enough to read a couple more entries. December 6, 1996 This guy really had it coming. I had been dealing with him for too long to take it anymore! I enjoyed this very much. I had my fill of the constant complaining of the smell coming from my place. He had even called the landlord about it, and I just can’t have that. Everything will have to be moved to a safer place now. He caused me a lot of unnecessary work! I will also be moving and he will no longer be an issue. After he was subdued, I put him in the trunk of my car. No one will think to look for him where he is now. He will not be coming with me like the rest. Wretched waste! Jay skipped ahead several pages with a stunned look on his face. The entries were short and there were a lot of them. May 22, 2021 This girl was not as easy to deal with. I had been watching her only a couple weeks and she spotted me a time or two. I tried to play it off as coincidence, but she was smarter than I gave her credit for. Feisty one, she was. I caught up with her at the park when she went into the wooded patch. No one saw or heard anything. I snuck up ever so slowly, and with her headphones in she never heard it coming. The crack on her head was louder than I had imagined. I never did it this way before. I placed the bag over her head and carried her to my car parked on the other side of the wooded patch and took her to where she needed to go. She will not be found. January 5, 2022 Today was a close one. My age is going to get the best of me, if I am not careful. I let one get away out of my own need for survival. I played it off as she complained to the cop. I used the old I’m an old man bit. I’m confused. He bought it. He walked me home and told me to take care of myself, which I had to laugh at once I closed the door. She was a horrible woman. It all worked out for the best.

June 14, 2023 This homeless guy has been a nuisance to me for weeks. Always begging for something. I had it tonight. Can’t even walk in this city without these people bothering you. As soon as he started, I pulled the syringe out of my front pocket and put it straight in his neck. No one would be the wiser. I drug him into the alley by the building and covered him with some bags of trash. Homeless drug addict that took a little too much. That’s all. Jay sat there on the couch dumbfounded. Surely, this is just someone’s attempt to make notes for a story or something. As an amateur writer himself, he had done similar things to try and keep story ideas fresh in his mind. He never dated anything like this though. These entries went back 30 years. He decided to close the book and head to bed. These were things he didn’t want to read anymore. Jay returned to work two days later, and brought the book with him. He sat it on the shelf next to the exit door. On his first trip taking the trash out, he saw a man standing in the alley. He was about sixty or so with black slacks and a brown jacket. He had on running shoes and his hair was long and disheveled. He was in very good shape for his age. “Can I help you with something guy? Are you lost or something?” Jay started to approach the man. “No young man, I am not lost. I believe I may have misplaced something around here a couple days ago though. Did you happen to come across a little brown leather book?” Jay looked at him and the man just smiled. “I may have. What is your name sir?” The man approached Jay and put his hand on his shoulder and looked him straight in the eyes. “My name is Henry R. Filler and I would like my book back now.” A chill ran through Jay and he just slowly started to nod his head up and down. “I have been collecting short story ideas for over 30 years and it is very important that I have it back, you see?” The old man lowered his hand and stepped back a couple steps from Jay. Jay felt relieved. Thank goodness that’s all it was. This guy looked completely harmless. “Cool. I am a bit of a writer myself. Let me grab it for you, Mr. Filler.” The man stood there with his hands in his pockets while Jay retrieved the book. Jay walked out and handed it to him. “Some of that stuff is pretty dark man, and it seemed like real stuff that happened. It’ll be a hell of a book one day if you ever decide to do anything with it.” The old man looked at him and smiled. “Thank you, son, it’s been a long time but I could still do something with it, I guess. Thank you for letting me have it back. Take care now.” He acted as if he was tipping a hat that wasn’t there and turned and walked away. Jay just kind of shook his head and went back in to work. Quitting time rolled around and Jay headed out the door for his walk home with Carl’s food in a bag. Carl still wasn’t in his usual spot. Jay started to get concerned. What day was it, when he last saw him? It was June 14, he remembered. He hoped Carl was okay, he was a really nice guy.

He turned the corner that came up to his building, when he suddenly bumped into someone. It was a man standing there “Sorry man. I didn’t see you there,” he apologized. The man just smiled. “Oh, it’s no trouble. I knew you were coming.” Jay looked at him thinking that was a strange thing for him to say. “Hey, you’re the guy from earlier, right? With the book of story ideas?” The man nodded, “Yes that was me. I knew you would remember. That’s why I wanted to run into you, again. Walk with me. You see, I can’t have someone walking around knowing my story ideas. What if you decided to steal them? I couldn’t have that.” Jay started to feel uneasy and tried to walk away. The man grabbed his arm and Jay felt a sharp pain in his ribcage. He collapsed and blacked out. When he woke, he knew he was inside of something. He heard a car start up, and realized he was in the trunk. He knew almost immediately that he would soon become the next entry in the leather-bound book of short story ideas.


Trigger Warning: Violence, Gore, Swearing, Murder Eli typed vigorously on his computer. The brightness of his computer screen illuminated his face like a beacon. His blue eyes darted back and forth behind his wide-rimmed glasses, giving him an owlish look. The other cubicles, once filled with the hustle and bustle of coworkers, now stood empty, a testament to the late hour. Computers dark, chairs pushed in, like sentinels guarding a deserted fortress. Elijah Warner was a tall man in his mid-30s. He slouched in his chair beneath his mop of unruly brown hair, which stuck out in every direction. It often resembled a bird’s nest by the time his work was done. He was wearing faded jeans and his threadbare GenCorp lab coat. The frayed cuffs and stained pockets blended seamlessly into the beige walls of the research facility. Despite his disheveled appearance, there was an air of intensity about him. Eli had worked for GenCorp for a few years and he was suspicious. For a top-secret military R&D facility, it sure held its secrets. He had been completing a final budget review for his latest experiment when he found the account had received fifty million dollars from a bank in the Middle East. Feeling uneasy, he knew he had to investigate further.

Eli's hands flew across the keyboard, dancing like a pianist playing a familiar melody. He had developed the habit of biting his nails short during his graduate school days. As he scrolled through lines of code and financial records, he muttered to himself, "What's this? A shell company in the Cayman Islands?" He grabbed a nearby pen and began scribbling on a pad of paper. He let out a low whistle. “Offshore accounts in Somalia? ‘That is simply brazen.” His computer suddenly froze, flashing bright red letters across the screen that said “Unauthorized access detected.” He rushed to clear his computer history, covering his tracks. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” grunted Eli as he grabbed his bag and shut off his workstation lights. A "successful" message popped up on his monitor. “Yes, finally,” he whispered. He powered down his computer and sprinted for the bus stop.  A few stops later, Eli made it back to his apartment. Exhausted and anxious, he fed his cat, Merlin, and ate a meatloaf TV dinner. He lay frozen for hours, surfing through TikTok until he finally passed out.

Suddenly, he heard three loud “bangs” against the door, causing Eli to jump from his bed. “Ah, what the fuck!” He shouted as he fumbled to the living room. A deafening voice came from the hall.

“Police open up!” Eli’s eyes widened as he slowly turned the knob.

"Elijah James Warner, a.k.a Eli?" stated a surly officer. Two others stood watch down the hall, hands on their tasers.

"Uh Yes?” Eli replied, sheepishly The officer pushed past Eli, as another pulled his arms behind his back, securing them with a set of cuffs off his belt. "You're under arrest for financial embezzlement and conspiring against the United States," echoed through the corridor.

 "What are you talking about? I'm just a scientist!" Pled Eli, as he was shoved into the back of a cop car.

At the station, he was shown forged documents with his signature at the bottom. "You're a clever man, Warner," the detective sneered. "But you can't hide the truth forever." They provided a warrant to search his apartment, where they found records connecting him to suspicious offshore transactions. His world crumbled instantly.

Three weeks later Eli stood in front of a judge, wearing a baggy orange jumpsuit labeled, ‘NY Corrections’. His heart was racing as the verdict was read.

"The defendant is hereby found guilty of fraud, and embezzlement, ..”

Eli became numb with panic. He was going to prison for 12 years, for crimes he did not commit.

 Eli's remaining family had utterly disowned him, leaving him to face the harsh realities of prison alone. Desperate to clear his name, he protested his innocence to other inmates, a mistake that only fueled their resentment. His fragile physique and nervous demeanor made him an easy target. He lived in a state of hyper-vigilance, his eyes often darting around the cellblock in search of potential threats. Yet, even in the darkest depths of despair, Eli’s assignment to work in the prison library had been a godsend. The musty smell of old books, the quiet hum of fluorescent lights, and the whispered pages of forgotten knowledge had become his sanctuary. It was there that Eli stumbled upon a website - friendafelon.com - a pen pal program for inmates. A chance to connect with the outside world, beyond these cold, gray walls that had held him captive. And then he saw her - Amelia. Her profile picture showed a stunning woman with long, dark hair and sparkling green eyes. Eli's heart skipped a beat as he gazed at her image. She was completely out of his league. Yet, he couldn't help being drawn to her, like a moth to a flame. He dove deeper into her profile, devouring every sentence, every scrap of information he could find. She was a computer programmer for a high-end tech company. “She must be smart at least”, Eli told himself. They started talking daily, and Eli was star-struck. As the months passed, he opened up to her more and more. Eli couldn't wait to get to the library and rush through his tasks. They talked about everything - their hopes, their dreams, their fears. He realized he had fallen deeply for Amelia and started to tell her about his case and his history.

Amelia,

Hope your meeting went well this afternoon. I received my second swirly of the week (I was not aware that adults performed this level of bullying). My cellmate spends his day pacing around the space, giving me no place for peace besides this library. I’m starting to feel worried, claustrophobic. The courtyard feels smaller every time I walk outside. I guess only 6 years of this hell hole left to go.

Talk to you soon

Eli

Amelia was an incredible listener and responded almost instantly. Her messages gave him hope, reassuring him that he was strong enough to handle it all. She eventually convinced him to come to LA when he was released. He was hesitant, but agreed. He knew he needed to meet her.

Victor, Eli’s long-term cellmate, took great pleasure in tormenting him. His massive frame and menacing scar above his left eyebrow put most inmates on edge. Late one night, He awoke to Victor hovering over him, his voice dripping with malice. "You think you're better than me, Warner?" he sneered, his fists clenching into balls of fury. The venom in his voice sent a chill down Eli’s spine.

But he stood his ground, trying to defuse the situation as he rolled over, shouting "I'm just trying to do my time, Victor! Leave me alone!" But Victor charged, swinging his massive fists.

Eli dodged and weaved, trying to avoid the blows, but Victor was relentless. Just as Eli thought he was overpowered, he heard boots coming down the hall. Johnson was equally burly as Victor and fairly skilled at being new to his security position. Johnson immediately intervened, pulling Victor off Eli and slamming him into the ground

But the guard didn't stop there. With a swift motion, he raised his baton, and Eli watched in horror as he brought it down, again and again, until all that was left was a motionless body. Blood spattered across the cell walls as Eli puked in the corner, shielding his face.

"You're safe now, Warner," Johnson heaved, his chest rising rapidly from his bludgeon-style workout.

"What the fuck did you do that for?" Eli exclaimed, unable to process what he had seen.

The guard stared directly into his eyes and whispered, "... for my family." "What the fuck does that even mean?" Eli yelled, pointing to the husk of a man beaten to death inside his cell. But he didn't answer. Bloodied and exhausted, Johnson turned and walked back down the hallway.

As more guards arrived, Eli reluctantly grabbed his belongings as directed. They never questioned him about the dead guy on his floor, and he was fine with that. He cozied up in a new cell, all to himself.

The next morning, he returned to the library to update Amelia. But she didn't respond. Elijah was perplexed. She was always online. He wrote her one last message before returning to his duties: I’m sorry if I spooked you earlier. I didn't mean to cause distress. Strange things are happening in this place. People went from targeting me to avoiding me altogether. I guess it's better this way, and at least I have my space. I spoke to my lawyer and requested an appeal. He laughed but told me he would start the process. So fingers crossed dear.

Talk to you soon Elijah Three days later, Eli sat on his bed, staring blankly at the white envelope in his hands. He never received traditional mail. His heart raced as he carefully tore the edge, removing a single typed page. April 4th 2022 Elijah Warner

Your Appeal for early release, submitted on April 3rd, 2022, was approved. Your expected release date is April 22nd, 2022. You are required to establish with your assigned patrol office directly after your release.

Contact us with questions,

Department of Corrections

Eli read the words again and again. Released? He whispered to himself. This letter was written two days ago. He stood in the lengthy phone line for what felt like hours. He couldn't wait to call his lawyer for more details.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "... I'm not aware of any updates on your case, Mr. Warner,” reported Mr. Deet. “Can you tell me more about the letter?"

Eli's excitement faded. "It says here that my appeal has been approved. You don’t know anything about this?" “I haven’t filed an appeal yet..” Mr. Deet sighed. "I'll have to do some digging. I'll update you soon. " But when he called his lawyer a few days later, he was met with a disconnected line. Eli felt confused and frustrated. What was going on? He wondered.

Weeks went by, but Eli heard nothing. Until one day, he received a visit from a public defender who confirmed the news. “Where am I going?” asked Eli as he shuffled down the hallway. "Reintegration into the system," chuckled the guard. Before Eli could ask more, the guard turned and opened a small office door. “Hands,” he directed sternly. He removed a ring of keys from his belt, unlocked his cuffs, and pointed to a gray folding chair.

Eli had never met the man behind the desk. He was short and round, yet very well dressed. He shuffled through a stack of loose papers like he was on a mission for buried treasure. The black plaque on his desk read, ‘Mark Jenkins PO.’

“Ah, Elijah James Warner?” asked the man, as he pulled out a manila folder.

“Yes,” Eli replied reluctantly.

His office was cramped, littered with stacks of files and certificates. Mr. Jenkins looked at him with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. "Elijah, I have to ask, who do you know up high?" he said, leaning back in his chair.

Eli furrowed his brow, puzzled. "What do you mean, sir?" Mr. Jenkins leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "Don't play dumb with me, boy. ‘Someone has pulled significant strings to secure your early release and now, no probation requirement.” He tossed the file labeled ‘Early Termination of Incarceration’ across the desk, the large ‘Approved’ stamp catching Eli’s attention. “That doesn't happen to just anyone."

Elijah shook his head, genuinely perplexed. "I don't know what you're talking about, sir. I just followed the rules." Mr. Jenkins raised an eyebrow, skeptically. "Save it. I've seen cases like yours before. Someone with influence wants you out, and they're making it happen. Just be grateful and get out." Eli stood up, still confused. "So, I'm free to go?"

Mr. Jenkins nodded curtly. "You're a free man. You have a few days at the local halfway house to sort your life out and get on your feet. After that, you're on your own." While walking the 6 blocks to “Havenwood Halfway House”, a sleek black SUV with tinted windows pulled alongside him. The driver, an imposing figure with sunken eyes, stepped out of the vehicle. His gaze scanned Eli’s face with an unnerving intensity. "Mr. Warner?" he asked, his voice low, gravelly. Eli nodded anxiously, his thoughts racing with fear and curiosity. "My name is Marcus," the driver said, as his expression softened. "I'm here to give you a ride to the airport.” Eli’s eyes narrowed, unsure of Marcus's words. Why would I need a ride to the airport? Marcus continued, "I know you're trying to get to Los Angeles. I can help you with that. But first, we need to talk."

Eli tossed his bag into the back seat as Marcus opened the passenger door. The luxury Mercedes gleamed, with polished leather and sleek chrome accents. Sweat flooded from Marcus’ face as he tugged at his shirt collar as Eli felt a sense of trepidation wash over him. He was about to travel to a place he'd never been, to meet a woman he had never met. And he was terrified.

"So. Uhhh, what's going on?" He asked after minutes of silence. “There are things you need to know son, she’s not who you think she is,” exclaimed Marcus, turning onto a private runway. “You need to be prepared for her…”

Marcus paused as ‘Unknown’ suddenly flashed across the dash. His eyes narrowed, answering the call through his headset. Eli heard the anger echoing through the earpiece as Marcus stepped out of the car.

Eli could see a man jogging towards the car, wearing a three-piece suit. “Mr. Warner?” He exclaimed, bending over to catch his breath. “It’s a pleasure to serve you today, sir. The plane is ready for take-off. I’ll grab your bags.”

“But…” questioned Eli, looking back at Marcus. The spry little man scooped up his duffle and took off back towards a small jet. “Right this way Mr. Warner!” He yelled, waving him in.

Eli could hear Marcus becoming agitated, demanding answers. “You won’t get away with this! The truth will come out!”. Suddenly, his eyes widened with fear. He replied with a single "Yes" before cutting off the call. Eli jogged up the metal set of stairs as he heard a loud “pop” come from behind him. He turned around and let out a gasp, witnessing Marcus’ lifeless body slumped against the driver's window. A single bullet hole in the center of his forehead. “Excuse me, Mr. Warner!” The flight attendant pushed Eli to the side, closing the cabin door. He watched the handle spin until it made a faint ‘click’, sealing the plane for takeoff. “I apologize for the confusion, sir. My name is Milo, and I will be your attendant for this flight.” Please take your seat and let me know if I can get you anything.

A high-pitched ‘ring’ filled the cabin. Eli froze as he picked up the phone from the seat next to him. Caller ID. AMELIA

 “Uh.. Hello?” Eli answered. "Amelia, what's going on?" he demanded, trying to keep his voice steady. "Who was that guy? He needs help! I think he might be dead!” “When you get here, I will explain everything,” Amelia replied, maintaining a calm and collected voice. "Explained? What do you mean? Is this some kind of sick game?" Eli’s anger boiled over. “Elijah, I told you.” “But I don’t..” Amelia had already disconnected the line. Milo reappeared, handing Eli a bottle of sparkling water and a cheese tray. He watched out the window as the plane sped down the runway and launched into the sky.

Soon he found himself surrounded by white fluffy clouds and the miniature city below faded from view. There was no turning back now.

Eli shivered as he stepped out into the dark, dusty hanger as Milo tip-toed in front of him, holding open a single-man door. “It was a pleasure, Sir” Milo whispered, handing Eli his duffle with a partial bow.

The air was thick with the smell of dust and decay. He could hear the hum of the towers as he walked around the room as dozens of monitors in standby mode covered the space in a warm glow. A single workstation suddenly lit up and Eli recognized it instantly. A 1998 iMac desktop, complete with a wired mouse and keyboard, just like his computer from high school.

Eli got closer to the monitor, as it illuminated rows and rows of servers buzzing away with life. A message in cold, green block letters swept across the black background.

‘Hello, Elijah. It's nice to meet you. My name is Amelia.’ Eli froze in place, hovering over the keyboard, unsure of what to say. His heart raced as he stared at the screen, the words taunting him with their simplicity.

The screen flickered again as a strong, sultry voice echoed from the surrounding speakers, sending shivers down his spine. “Welcome to my lab. I've been waiting for you.”


Prime or composite, it didn’t matter. Years of tensions had been put aside as Seven threatened to end the numerical order. Seven had just partially cannibalized his own wife, Nine. To make matters worse, he was now holding Six hostage and threatening to cut open his enclosed circle. The remaining numbers from One to Ten secretly met on a plane to evaluate the possible solutions. “Our whole society is divided, this just a sine of the times,” One hysterically shrieked amidst the frantic discussion. “I know why he ate his wife!” Ten abruptly exclaimed. Four rolled her eyes, “Oh look, of course Mr two-digits thinks he knows the answer.” “No, no, listen, Seven recently said he was going on a new diet and I bet you he wanted to start eating 3 squared meals per day,” Ten explained. The rest of the numbers turned to each other and slowly begun to nod their heads in agreement. “It all adds up,” a wide-eyed Eight whispered to himself. “What has Six got to do with it with it though?” Two asked. Ten pondered the question for a brief moment, “I don’t know, but I bet we can carry over what we’ve worked out to calculate the answer, let’s go!” The numbers sheepishly followed their largest member as he went to confront Seven. Nine’s half-eaten carcass lay at Seven’s feet, now resembling a J. As Ten got closer to Seven, the homicidal digit tightly wrapped his slender arm around Six. Ten pleaded, “Seven, please stop, we know you killed your +1 because of your new diet, let Six go and we can work something out.” Seven sighed and bowed his head. As his grip on Six loosened, the numbers began to sigh in relief. But just as Six began his bounce towards freedom, Seven rabidly started to stab his captive. The numbers collectively gasped in shock. “You fools know nothing!” Seven screamed. Breathing heavily and foaming at the mouth, he continued, “I caught Six with Nine doing unspeakable things, things she should only do with me!” Ten slowly backed away to the safety of his fellow digits, who were trembling in fear. The numbers watched in horror, as Seven bent down to closely examine the mutilated corpses of Six and his former +1, and menacingly whispered, "now, we're even.


Fourth Floor To Yesterday—George Davis   The tallest building in my city is six-stories. My insurance company, City Casualty and Life is on the fourth floor.   It was on a Monday morning when I drove to the Liberty Building on Congress Street.

  The entrance to the establishment was revolving doors. I hate those contraptions. I always zig when I should zag.

  After going around two or three times, I ended up in the lobby.   The entrance is 30’s art deco-style, with the ornate reds, golds and chrome. There are two elevators, one on either side of a large portrait of the man who designed the building, Arthur Alexander.   Before the door closed, I heard someone say, “Hold it!” The intruder, I call him an intruder since I had already pushed the button.   “Good morning,” the stranger said, keeping his head down. He was dressed funny. His clothes would be more apropos in a 19th century setting. All black long coat, dark suit and vest with a gold watch fob decorating his clothes.   Why does he keep looking down at the floor.?Why doesn’t he look at me? Am I that repulsive? I didn’t think I was. I’m five-ten, two-hundred pounds. I have light brown hair sprinkled with a touch of gray. I’ve got all my own teeth, and I don’t think my nose is too large.

  “Nice day,” I said. He didn’t answer. “Nice day,” I repeated, thinking maybe he was a little deaf. Still no answer.   Okay, I get off this car in another minute. “What the…” The lights in the elevator went out, and the car came to a jumping halt.   I said, “What’s the matter?” As if he would know.   He finally spoke. “I think this elevator is having a problem.” No kidding, you think just because the lights went out and the car stopped, there is a problem.   This is not the time for my claustrophobia to kick in. But, guess what? It did. I froze, clutching the chrome guard rail with a white-knuckle death grip.   The stranger asked, “Nervous?”

  “I don’t like closed in places.” I could feel the sweat rolling down my back, and my hands were swimming in perspiration.   I thought back to when I was seven years old, and my older brother locked me in my father’s tool shed. I was in there for two hours before my dad unlocked the door when he heard me screaming. This, I believe, is where I acquired this fear.

  “Rest, relax, the company will have this car fixed in no time. Let me tell you a story that happened to me a few years ago. My tale will help pass the time.”   The stranger began to regale me with this weird tale. To this day, I don’t know if it is true, or if he made it up as he went along.

  “When I was in my twenties, I worked for the railroad in Kansas City. A job I was not trained to do well. I was a conductor. It was my job to collect the tickets and to wave the red lantern to the engineer signaling it was okay to move the iron horse.”

  Though I was fascinated with his story, I maintained a certain amount of skepticism.   “One day while collecting tickets, I came across a man who looked very familiar, though I couldn’t place his face. I asked him his name, he smiled and said, you can call me ‘Doc.’”   “Okay, I said, Doc it is.” I went about my business until we came to Tombstone Arizona where Doc got off the train. Before he exited the car, he said, “nice ride, conductor. Hope to see you again someday.”   It was two months later while getting my haircut at the barber's, I picked up a magazine with an article about early western gunfighters. And there on the inside cover was a picture of the man on the train; dark hair, deep brown eyes, and a wide mustache on his upper lip.  it was a picture of John Henry ‘Doc’ Holliday, Wyatt Earp’s friend, and companion at the OK Corral.

  Even so, how can that be? I asked myself. Doc Holliday has been dead over a hundred years.

  I didn’t believe his story. It was too ridiculous. However, it had a feeling of being true. I was still skeptical as he finished his story.

 Believing I had met Doc Holliday on that train, that day. On Tuesday, my day off, I went to the local library to research Doc’s history.

  I found that he was born on August 14, 1851, and died on November 8, 1887. He was a dentist, graduated from Pennsylvania College of Dental Surgery. Tuberculosis soon diminished his ability as a dentist, and he moved to Arizona.

  It is said, he killed more than a dozen men in various conflicts throughout his lifetime. “It was more like fifteen,” the stranger said.   The stranger continued. “I still believe Doc Holliday is alive today. Don’t ask me how or why, but I know one thing. I saw him on that train that day in Kansas.”

  Stranger things have happened, I guess, but nothing would be more uncanny than Doc Holliday being alive today.

  After a half hour, the lights in the car came back on, and the car began to move. The stranger got off on the third floor. As he exited the car, he turned and smiled. His appearance was that of a man from the 19th century. He had black hair under his hat, dark-brown eyes that pierced my soul, a large black mustache on his upper lip. He winked at me as if to say, 'good-bye, my friend. Today. You have met John Henry ‘Doc’ Holliday. Have a great life.’

  I too, went to the local library and researched Doc Holliday. I don’t know how to explain this, but the man in the elevator was, or is, Doc Holliday. I shook my head, and decided I had truly met John Henry 'Doc' Holliday.   It is true; truth is stranger than fiction!


There was once a handsome prince who spent his days partying with the noblemen & lords of the kingdom. As he was born into royalty, everything had been handed to him on a silver platter for his entire life. However, one day his father (the king) had become extremely ill. Consequently, a new king had to be chosen by the start of the next week. The prince spent the first three days of the week with his father, as he would soon pass on. He then spent the following three days partying with the lords, thanes & noblemen. However, on the final day he was walking through the streets, off to another party, when he came across an excited crowd of people. He pushed his way through the obstruction to find a peasant in a purple silk robe. The peasant was being praised by serfs and noblemen alike. Even the thought of this countryman becoming king sent shivers down his spine. The prince panicked, ran back to the palace, and studied until morning. When the selection ceremony came to pass the next day, the prince stood proudly before the throne. Beside him, however, was the peasant in the purple silk robe. The prince then asked him, “Why are you here?” The peasant replied, “I stand here for I wish to become king.” The prince did not respond. Out of the corner of his eye, the prince saw his father staring at him. In his eyes was a look, a look that the king had given his son a thousand times before, but that the prince never truly noticed until now. It was a look of worry. The selection ceremony continued. As the peasant delivered his passionate speech before the kingdom, it was obvious to the prince that he had taken every day of the previous week to prepare. However, the prince was a natural born leader. He was charismatic, rich, and handsome. With just one night’s study he delivered his speech proudly and with confidence. Subsequently, the prince was chosen to be king. As the kingdom chanted the prince’s name, he turned to the peasant who was smiling cheerfully. Time seemed to slow down, as the peasant sincerely congratulated the prince on his victory. It was not a response the prince was expecting in the slightest. The prince ruled as king for months after his father’s death. However, over time the kingdom started to realise that their new king was a lazy king. He ignored his responsibilities and would spend most nights partying with the lords & noblemen, just as he did before. The prince was blinded with arrogance and self-righteousness and was oblivious to the mood of his own kingdom. One day, the new king returned to his palace after another night of partying, only to find the peasant in the purple silk robe sitting on *his* throne. He was confused, but most of all he was furious. He ordered the palace guards to seize the peasant, but they did not move. He screamed at the guards with a drunken fury, threatening to kill their families if they dared defy him again. Yet they remained silent. The archbishop, a good friend of his father’s, cautiously approached the new king and said, “I could not stand idly by as you burnt through this kingdom’s resources. You treat the honour of being king as a birthright when it is a privilege. You offer the people nothing for their loyalty, and their patience is running thin. This kingdom has no future with you, and so you have been replaced. The people have spoken, they would choose a hard-working peasant over a lazy king any day.” The prince just stared at the carpeted floor, completely speechless. He then looked up and locked eyes with the peasant in the purple silk robe. He had his right leg thrown over the armrest of the throne and rested his face against the palm of his left hand. Across his face was that same genuine smile, instead now it had a sense of pity for the prince. It was apparent that the peasant had not seen the prince’s victory as a loss, but as an opportunity to improve. Then the prince thought to himself, “What could I have achieved if I worked as hard as a peasant?” “Anything” said the king in the purple silk robe.


The sun creeps through the crevasses in the foil plastered on the iron-barred windows. The only sound emanating from Talia's labored breathing, she lays in a corner, contracted into a fetus position watching the movement of the dust particles suspended in Brownian motion. A knock on the door alerts her anxious mind and she kneels before the door. The door opens to reveal a man wearing an impassive mask of arrogance, which upon closer inspection can be seen to carry its own air of self-smugness, dressed in greasy overalls, a gun in his right hand, and a plate of baby food in the other. He places his foot on Talias' head, kicks her to the wall with his feet, and places the food near the dog crate kennel situated in a corner of the room where she sleeps. “Eat”. He says and leaves the room.  Just as he’s about to leave her room and lock her door, she catches a glimpse of her mother watching her with glistening eyes, until the door is eventually shut. Talia crawls to the plate of food and picks up the food with crooked fingers filled with open gashes and consumes it with tears trickling down her pale squeamish skin. Outside of her room, her mom says “Rob, I think, I mean if we could, you know to let her come outside once in a while, it would be… it could be” … followed by what sounds like a blow to her head with a heavy object, probably the gun Rob was holding, and incoherent screaming from Rob's end, “You think,” he says snickering, “who are you to think, go get me my dinner you ungrateful bitch”. What initially started as resentment towards her mother turned into empathy. Talia knew that her mother was as much a victim as she was, the only exception being that Talia was beaten a couple of times, while her mother was beaten all the time. Talia crawls back into her little corner, the pain of her bruised body wearing her down and she drifts off into a heavy slumber. Her mind, often the abode of her emotional refuge, also caused her to have scathing nightmares, manifesting all the repressed emotions she harbored, this time being no exception. The nightmare started as it usually did, with her entering into her friend’s house situated in the prairie. Her inhaler in one hand and her car keys in the other, she enters the house, scouting for Cole. She walks with trepidation, foreboding the outcome of the conversation she was about to have with him.

“Tals”, a voice calls out from a corner of the house. Following the sound of the voice, her gaze lands upon a pair of gleaming hazel eyes, slightly covered by shaggy brown hair. Cole, she says, almost to herself. This is it, she thought, it's now or never, he deserves to know, she says trying to assure herself that what she was doing was the right thing. She wears her brightest smile, attempting to conceal her nervousness, and heads over to him. “Hey Cole”, she says. “Hey Tals”, Cole says and leans over to give her a quick peck on the cheek. “How have you been?” “Um… fine, I guess… I just have something… I mean… there’s, something I wanted to tell you…” Talia mumbles, almost incoherently. “What is it Tals?” Cole asks, concern tinting his face. “You know you can tell me anything right? I’m here for you, and I always will be. You know, that right?” Cole asks. “Right… of course, I do… It's just, um, the thing is… I was going through my phone yesterday when I got a notification from the period tracker app on my phone that I was three weeks late. And I’ve just been so swamped with school, and work, and the band, that it completely slipped my mind. I took a pregnancy test, and I thought it was silly at the time, cause you know we used protection and everything and it was literally just the one time, but it came back positive, and… and I… I just didn’t, I don’t know what…” Talia drifts off and mumbles inarticulately. Talia puts her head down apprehensive of Coles response until finally looks up again and asks him, “What…. Um, what's going through your mind right now?” His face starts morphing. His eyes pooling with red and black hues. He grows ten feet tall, and towers over her, his arms uncannily long, and his face horrifically resembling her father's. “You what to know what I think, huh? I think you’re a little whore that needs to be taught a lesson for spreading your legs around”. He takes a baseball bat and beats her stomach, the force of which causes her to crumble to the ground and writhe in pain. Talia jolts awake, her arms clutching her stomach, sweat trickling down her face, and a horrible migraine beginning to set in. She wakes up to the smell of burning rubber, only to realize that the walls around her are burning down, the door of her room now in the rubble before her. She groggily attempts to get up and sees her mother beckoning frantically from the living room. “Your father is unconscious in the bedroom, quick get out of the room. I’ve called child services. Get up quickly before your father wakes up”. “Mom, what's going on? Why is the house on fire?” Talia asks in fear. “Your bastard of a father has caused us enough pain, Talia. This ends here. Do you know how long it’s been since you left that room? “3-4 months?” Talia responds unsure of the amount of time that elapsed since every day felt the same, caught in a circle of abuse. “1 year Talia. 1year. This ends now. I’m done catering to his violent impulses. I mixed sleeping pills in the dinner. He’s knocked out cold. I called child services and the police, who should be here any minute”. As she finishes saying this, they hear the sound of the police siren ringing in the distance. “Go Talia. Leave. I’ll find a way to live, you’ve suffered enough”. Talia's mother says through dejected eyes. “Bye mom”, Talia says and rushes to her room to grab the bag she packed multiple times before from when she was planning to run away. She grabs the bag, runs to hug her mom, and says, “I don’t blame you, I love you”, and walks out the door, where she’s whisked away by an ambulance. …………………………………………………………………………………………………......... “Could you please tell me your name?”, a petite lady in her mid-30’s asks from behind her cat-eye glasses. Talia eyes the child services badge on her chest heaves a breath of reprieve understanding that she’s finally safe and says, “Talia. Talia Evergreen Rosemund”. “How long were you held captive Talia?” Mrs. Denice asks. “For around a year now”.  Talia responds. “Could you please tell me what exactly caused this captivity? Why did your father suddenly decide to hold you captive?” Mrs. Denice asks again. “It started when he found a pregnancy test in my room”. Talia begins. “ He thought I was sleeping around and called me a whore. I wasn’t sleeping around; in fact, I’d only ever been with one person. After that, he would come into my room and start beating me up and telling me that I’m going to hell. I decided to have an abortion and somehow, he found out about it and followed me to the clinic. Before I got there, he came in front of my car and dragged me back home, and abused me further. He forced me to carry on with the pregnancy and after I gave birth, he gave the baby up for adoption. I tried running away after the pregnancy and he found out and locked me up for a year and abused me almost every day saying “It's gods will to punish the insolent”. “He locked me in my room and plastered the windows shut so that the neighbors wouldn’t know, and soundproofed my room so that people wouldn’t hear me cry out in pain. I know this might be an extremely insensitive thing to say, but I’m so grateful for the pandemic because it gave me my freedom back. Had it not been for the pandemic, my father wouldn’t have been napping during the afternoon and my mom wouldn’t have been able to slip him sleeping drugs and call you guys. He always comes home late at night and his schedule is always unpredictable, but because of the pandemic, my mother was able to understand where he was at every moment and could plan around it and save me”. Talia finishes erratically attempting to hold onto her resolve. The social worker looks over at Talia with empathetic eyes, reaches out to hold her hand in a gesture of providing solace and assurance, and says, “You’re safe now sweetie. Your safe.” Unable to control the amount of gratitude and relief she felt, Talia jumped up from her seat and clung tightly to the social worker, and spoke “Thank you. Thank you so much”.  Talia steps back smiling with gratitude and acknowledges the fact that the pandemic that took away most people’s freedom provided her liberation.


The best stories are those we can all relate to. This one is about the hangover monster, which we are sometimes stuck with on a Saturday Morning. Enjoy. *** I was sleeping in late on a Saturday when I heard someone pounding on my bedroom door. "Hope you aren't getting too comfortable in there," called the hangover monster before smashing down my door. The hangover monster looked similar to a certain green knee high, ball shaped cyclops that you might've seen in a children's movie. However, the hangover monster was hairy, just as my mouth felt as I turned to face it. "Can you come back another time?" I pleaded. "But don't you want a glass of water first?" The hangover monster was holding a glass just out of hands reach. When I tried to grab it he tipped it on my bed. "Oops, looks like you peed yourself," said the hangover monster before bursting into a fit of giggles. "You're so annoying," I complained as I walked to the bathroom. When I relieved myself and exited the bathroom, the hangover monster greeted me with a punch in the gut. "What did you do that for?" I scolded him. It was no use though, the hangover monster merely repeated what I said in a mocking tone. I walked to the kitchen where I would have made breakfast if the hangover monster did not punch me, instead I made tea. As I waited for the kettle to boil the hangover monster pulled open the curtains and did a happy jig, kocking plates and cutlery to the floor. Ignoring his attention seeking, I walked to the lounge room and sat on the sofa. Putting my mug down and turning on the tv, I finally started to feel better. "So, do ya? Do ya? Doya doya doyadoyadoya?" nagged the hangover monster and it ran around the room. "Do I what?" I yelled at him. "Do ya want to know what happened last night?" "No," I replied firmly. "Not even a little?" asked the hangover monster in a squeeky voice. "No." "Are you sure?" "Yes." "Are you sure you're sure?" The hangover monster now had my remote and was flicking between channels as he ran about the room, yelling, "Are you sure sure your sure your sure? Can you see the seashore? How many shells can sally sell by the seashore? How many? Do you want to know? Do ya, doya doyadoyadoya?" He ran into me at full speed spilling my tea. Flinching as the tea splashed against my hand, I stood up and searched for a towel. The second I took a step forwards, the hangover monster tripped me, and as I fell forward, he pulled at my leg so that I spun three times before crashing back into the couch. The hangover monster jumped onto my stomach hard and continued nagging. He was so close that when I opened my mouth to reply, I could taste its gross hairy body. "Remember when you- oh wait, no you wouldn't remember that now would you, you numb-skull?" said the hangover monster as it shook my head. Though it took all my concentration to ignore it, I managed to just long enough to watch a dreadfully slow Saturday daytime TV show. At some point my phone buzzed. This made the hangover monster become even more excited. I skimmed the first line of the message as the hangover monster changed its nagging from doya to whoisit, which was equally, if not, more annoying. The message read: You get home alright? I have your- I had enough trouble dealing with the hangover monster, figuring out what happened last night could wait. Having watched Gardening in Your Backyard, and Antique Auctions, the hangover monster's nagging became a white noise. As long as I sat completely still I felt fine. That was until nature called. I stood up and stumbled to use the bathroom. Feeling slightly better, I opened the door and pointed to the hangover monster. "Time's up. I'm going to get rid of you." I said. The hangover monster took this as a game, one that involved lots of running, tripping, and gut punching. At first I made some greasy bacon to stick to the hangover monsters fur. It ate this without slowling its pace. Next I tried black coffee. This only made it run twice as fast. Water, I thought as I walked to the hose in the backyard. Naturally the hangover monster followed me, occasionally stepping on my heels. With the hose in hand, I looked left and right for the hangover monster. It stood at the door with a sad look on its face. "Don't you want to spend time with me?" It said as it began to cry. "I thought what we had was special, watching crappy tv on a Saturday morning." Strangley enough, I felt bad for it. It wasn't its fault that it demanded my attention so much- that was their nature. "Sometimes I want to do something else with my Saturdays," I muttered to myself. I found it hard to look at the sullen face of the hangover monster. It had been there for me for since my eighteenth birthday, and despite how annoying it was, I had grown used to its company. I pointed the hose away. "Ok, just today. And not next week. I have a lot of jobs around the house that I need to do." "We both know that's not going to happen," laughed the hangover monster as it followed me back to the lounge. "Yea," I chuckled, "I guess you're right.


At first, I thought it was just a regular storm. The sides of our troop tent started slapping against the large metal frame. The wind howled through the encampment. Being stuck near the Persian Gulf, we had gotten used to the regular dust storms. I looked down the length of the tent and noted that the other soldiers were mostly in their bunks, sleeping, or watching movies. There was nothing else to do when the dust started blowing, especially at night. I stretched out on my bunk and attempted to fall asleep. Just as I was reaching the blissful edge of deep sleep the tent door slammed open and the wind screamed in as a soldier stumbled in, spitting out sand. He quickly closed the door and let out a long breath of relief. "God fucking damn dude, nighttime sand storms are a bitch! it is a legit ass sandstorm, about couldn't find my way back" he exclaimed. He took a deep breath and continued "Rogers was with me but we got separated, we were not ready for a real ass sand storm." He then proceeded to shake the sand out of his hair to drive his point home. I sat up and immediately pulled on my trousers and boots. "Rogers is probably smoking a whole pack in a bunker somewhere" came a reply from further down the bay. "We have to go find his dumbass though." I pointed out, "imagine First Sergeant's reaction when he finds out that we never went to look for that tard". "Shit, you right Sarge." "Ok," I said, "six of us will go looking for him, we will split into three groups. Make sure you stay together. Washington and Otwell take the north side of the camp. Martin and Smith, you'll take the east and southeast of the base. Myself and Sergo will take the west and southwest. Make sure you cover up and spend no more than thirty minutes looking for him. He's either riding out the storm in a porta- shitter or he's in another unit's tent just chilling...good luck." I wrapped my shemagh around my head, grabbed my headlamp, and opened the door. I was greeted with hot dusty wind and complete darkness. I pressed out past the shelter of the tent and looked back to make sure everyone was doing as they were told. The sand instantly tore at my exposed arms. I could feel the sand batter my chest and back through my shirt. I regretted not grabbing my uniform top but didn't want to waste any more time. Holding my headlamp in my hand as a flashlight I continued forward into the wind. My light barely penetrated the wall of flying sand I was forcing my way through. The wind made breathing difficult even with my face wrapped. The sand made its way into my eyes despite my best efforts to shield them. Behind me, I could hear Sergo yell fuck as the sand punished his flesh. Above us, the purple hue of lightning flashed and thunder tore through the sky with enough force to vibrate the ground. with the sand came the wet splats of rain being driven sideways. It was starting to rain mud. Just as my shirt started to cling to my torso, Sergo's light illuminated the edge of a bunker. We hurried into the limited shelter that the concrete structure provided. Sergo cussed and carefully clawed the goggles he was fortunate to have from his face. I could feel the sand scratching my eyes as I blinked. An involuntary tear ran down my sandblasted face. "Fucking shit" sighed Sergo, "it's only been like three hundred meters, feels like three miles though." Rain slapped the outside of the bunker and the air smelled of wet dust and cheap cigs. I coughed and nodded my agreement and made a suggestion about punching Rogers in the dick if we found him. Lightning flashed and illuminated the piles of sand, spray-painted dicks, and cigarette butts littered all around the inside of the bunker. Sergo put his goggles back in place we headed back out into the storm. Once again we found ourselves oppressed by complete darkness. The wind started blowing even harder. An angry howling assaulted our ears as the wind tore across the land and over our perimeter. Lightning flashed again and in the brief glow, I could see a large troop tent rip open. The interior lights started fashing as sand blew in and filled everything. Soldiers rushed out into the darkness to find new shelter. Sergo and I ran forward and attempted to ask about Rogers. One soldier stopped and yelled that he didn't know Rogers. The troops scattered into the surrounding tents and we pressed back out to the bunkers to finish checking them. We needed to make sure he wasn't hiding in a bunker before we checked the safety of the tents. As soon as we found the next bunker we ran inside to catch our breaths. Our lights had instantly found Rogers, his legs missing, and a wide trail of red sand leading out the opposite side. "WHAT THE FUCK!" screamed Sergo. I let out a scream of my own and felt weak in the knees. We had found rogers brutally dead. We ran back out into the gale and our vision was assaulted by a massive explosion. The concussion slammed into me and knocked the wind out of me. Gasping for air I fell to my knees, a terrible grinding roar drowned out the wind. lightning flashed again and I was thrown sideways as a nearby generator was struck with the blinding energy. Before the rain and sand extinguished the flames I could see a massive shadow move. The orange flickering glow chased the shadow away from itself. I saw its massive shoulder towering above the camp. I felt the ground shake as it moved. I thought about Sergo and started to frantically shine my light around. I saw him lying on the ground not far from me. His throat opened to the world by a large piece of shrapnel. Suppressing my cries I forced myself to get up and drag his body back into the bunker. I blinked the sand out of my eyes and removed my shemagh. I tried to use it as a bandage before I realized that Sergo was dead. I left the wet sandy cloth draped over his face and stepped back out into the Hellscape. I could see more exposed lights flickers in torn tents. I ran forward toward where I thought my tent was located. The sand filled my unprotected ears and mouth. More lightning illuminated the sky, in the flash I could see a massive creature trudging along slowly. It appeared to be walking away from the base. Another flash of lightning made the gigantic thing seem much, much closer. The ground shook with an earthquake-like force and then the fuel tanks burst into flame. The shockwave sent me flying, I felt myself slam into something hard and darkness enveloped me. Hands, I was being shaken by hands. Voices, I could hear voices but I couldn't comprehend. Finally, I woke up to a crystal clear night sky. The moon was bright enough to light up the entire base. My entire body throbbed in pain and I tried to blink the sand from my eyes. Each movement of my eyelids brought fresh pain and the sand grated against my eyeballs. "Careful now" came the voice. "you're probably feeling like pure shit man, you're definitely injured." "What happened?" I asked. The medic took a look around before answering. "Fucking tornado and a freak electrical storm. It took out most of the towers, a lot of tents, and cost us some generators and our fuel point. A few soldiers didn't survive the night. Looks like you were caught in the fuel point explosion. We have MEDEVAC and QRF on the way though. You'll be at a proper medical facility before morning." "Where are my men? Where is Hotel company at?" I inquired. The medic put his hand on my shoulder and gave me a reassuring squeeze. "Everyone has been accounted for, everyone. Now hang on, I need to check on the rest of the wounded. The helicopters and trucks arrived, all of the wounded soldiers were evacuated. I spent a week in the hospital with several broken bones. My leadership checked in on me every day. We talked about Rogers and Sergo. I learned that only Otwell and myself survived looking for Rogers. I also learned that thirty-three additional soldiers had died from either the tornado or the explosions. They tried to assure me that I wasn't to be blamed for the loss of Washington, Martin, Smith, and Sergo. I still had survivors guilt. I never mentioned the shadow in the storm, I don't know if I even saw it. Two months later I was boarding a plane for the USA, our mission had ended the night the storm destroyed our base. The plane passed over the Gulf. I looked out the window and marveled at how the clouds seemed to dance with their own shadows on the glass-smooth ocean. One of the larger cloud shadows moved then. Its mass rippled beneath the waves and it disappeared from view. I gasped, I knew then that I had actually seen a creature in the storm. I thought of my friends, the soldiers who had died that night. The plane flew from the day and into the night.


“There’s starving kids in Africa, you know?” *147 calories for the two pieces of plain toast my parents made me eat for breakfast. 90 for the apple at lunch. If I eat one of the potatoes that’s about 160-* “Hello?! Are you even listening Amanda?” “Yeah, yeah. Starving kids in Africa, I know, I donate to charity.” Amanda had heard the spiel about a hundred times before. Strangers on the street would yell at her to eat a burger. As she perused the special dietary sections of supermarkets she’d have people tell her to eat proper food. *‘You’re too skinny.’ ‘Men like a little something to grab onto.’* Every cliché line repeated over and over again, her life had become a bad lifetime movie. Now instead of some random stranger it was her brother’s new girlfriend, Kate. They had just met mind you, and she already knew Kate was going to be trouble the moment they shook hands. *‘Oh god your hands are so bony! Ow!’* She had that look some women get when you know your entire existence disturbs them. It hurt worse coming from them. Stares that bore into your soul, burning right to the core of your existence. Whatever happened to sister solidarity? “Well, still, you’re wasting food. You haven’t even touched anything on your plate.” Technically, Amanda had touched something on her plate. Her fork had stabbed and rolled a series of peas around it, leaving a snail like trail of green slime in its wake. But she figured telling Kate this would just cause more problems than it was worth. So she opted to be cocky instead. “I’d send it to the kids in Africa but I reckon it wouldn’t make it there in good condition.” That made Ben, her brother, laugh at least. Ben was always like that though. He knew that humour helped in these situations. *‘If I don’t joke about it, it’s just sad.’* Of course this angered the bull, excuse me, Kate more, and she flashed him a look that could crush a boulder with its fury. “Look everyone may accommodate your craziness and baby you, but one day you’ll have to realise that your attention seeking is childish.” While being accused of seeking attention wasn’t a new one, it was sure as hell confusing. Amanda looked down at her clothes, joggers two sizes too big, her Dad’s hand me down sweater, fluffy thermal socks to keep her constantly shivering body somewhat warm. She hid her body, she didn’t want anyone to see it. To be honest she wouldn’t even be here, sat at the dinner table if it wasn’t for her Mum begging her. *'Please darling, your brother is excited to bring his girlfriend round, and I want us to be like a proper family.'* "You don't get it, Kate. I don't want to be like this. I would kill to be able to eat normally." "Then do. You can control this you know." "Fine!" The fork that had been playing with a particularly mushed up pea now stabbed a boiled potato. Within two bites it was gone, disappearing into Amanda's mouth and was now on the journey down her throat to her stomach. Kate smirked. "See, that wasn't so hard, was it?" *160 calories for the potato. Maybe add another 50 for good measure. Okay so 210 calories. That's about an hour of sit ups. I can do that. I could walk, but I don't think I want Kate to see me do that. Okay, I can do this. It's fine. I'm fine.* “Hello! Earth to Amanda. It’s not that big of a deal. You look like you’re going to combust.” "Yeah whatever, Kate.


A thousand lollipop sticks were scattered on the ground at her feet – she was close. Becky had followed the trail through the upside down forest, across the lake of sangria (which had been great) and down into the depths of the woolen valley. Everything here had been knitted by Mother Earth herself; every blade of grass, every petal of every flower, every twig. Even the animals were woolen. Due to its fabricated nature, you could sleep comfortably anywhere in the woolen forest; but at your own peril. Many unwitting wanderers had been knitted into the landscape as they dreamt, disappearing into the woolly background, never to be seen again. Becky was tired and she gazed longingly at a pile of knitted leaves near an old woolly oak tree. Two big round eyes suddenly popped out from the pile, they stared at her for a moment, then the whole pile erupted to reveal a woolen octopus. “Well, hello stranger, I am Monty, may I ask what exactly you are doing being un-woolen in the woolen forest?” Monty sounded a little like a 19th century aristocrat. Becky didn’t really appreciate his tone. But she had business to take care of. “I’m searching for the giant caterpillar” she announced with a smile. “I know he’s close – I saw his lollipop sticks! Have you seen him?” The Octopus raised a knitted brow and replied inquisitively “You know Francis? Oh, we’re very close ourselves actually” Monty said, a rye smile climbing into the corners of this mouth. He went on “The trouble is…” he squinted at the woolen moon and pondered for a moment before continuing. “Francis never has really told me anything about himself other than his name, and… well, his sexual preferences” The octopus took an exaggerated peek around before leaning in slightly and whispering (quite loudly) “*He likes to be dominated*” Monty withdrew, his brows raised and eyes wide with the pleasure of revealing secrets. Becky nodded knowingly and also withdrew, squinting with new thoughts. This may not have been the information she was looking for, but it could be a good sign. Like many people who enjoy domination, perhaps Francis was a little sick of being in control. There was hope yet. Monty had started talking again, something about how odd Becky looked with her shiny cheeks and wet eyes, when something caught Becky’s eye just beyond the Octopuses shoulder. It was an un-woolen door. Aged, purple and peeling, it seemed comfortably nestled into the matted undergrowth, as though it has always been there. It stood out, and yet blended in perfectly, unassuming, an organic portal. It silently called to her. She walked forward, hypnotised, deaf to Monty who had begun to elaborate upon his and Francis’s sexual exploits. The door creaked open slightly as she approached, like a seductive finger, beckoning her. She slid through the gap as though she was nothing but a sheet of paper, and the door closed silently behind her. She stumbled and looked down, in awe. Her toes began to mould into the light, pastel orange sand. It was so warm and welcoming. A breeze kissed her face and before her, she saw a vast, lilac ocean. The water glistened and morphed, as though alive, wobbling in the rich pink evening light. Just on the horizon, amid a few white clouds, Becky could see an island. She felt the pull and knew this was where she needed to be. She approached the lilac ocean and hesitantly dipped her toe in, wincing, afraid of the cold… but there was no cold, her toe was met with a wobbly solid surface. She pressed down harder with her foot and fell forward slightly as the surface broke – it was jelly! Becky scooped up a little and gave it a tentative nibble. It tasted like parma violets – not bad, not bad at all. She looked at her watch. It had a black background, and 3 white circles running around it, like a target. along each white circle there was a ball. a blue ball, a green ball and a red ball. The only marking point was a small rainbow coloured circle set at the top centre of the watch. The 3 balls were slowly inching their way towards each other, at different speeds two from the left and one from the right. They were all just a few millimetres away from the rainbow circle. With no more time to waste, she plunged into the ocean of jelly and began to smash a path through the lilac with her flailing and determined limbs. Jelly flew about her in all directions, but she kept her eyes on the prize. Soon though, she got to a point where the jelly was almost up to her chin, and she knew – she’d have to eat her way through. The pink light poked out from behind the creamy clouds and warmed her cheeks as they filled with jelly. Becky felt like a hamster trapped inside a giant cosmic trifle. After an arduous and mildly terrifying journey, Becky began to see a blurred patch of green through the tower of Jelly in front of her. Spurred on, she munched fiercely until a few seconds later, she bit her way through to fresh air. She flopped to the ground, and the jelly contorted and squelched as she landed, slipping away under her heavy legs. Suddenly, she sat bolt upright, grabbed her stomach, and threw up dramatically. She looked down and saw that her vomit was comprised of hundreds of lilac coloured jelly babies, who then scrambled to their feet and ran, haphazardly, tiny jelly arms in the air, back to the lilac ocean. A second later and the path that she had created was sealed up – the lilac ocean appeared as serene as it had been when she arrived. She raised an eyebrow, her mouth hanging open slightly, before shrugging and getting to her feet. The mission was more important than the workings of this land. “Francis!’ she called. “Francis, I know you’re here – there’s no point in trying to hide, and… there’s nothing to hide from! I just want to talk to you. Your family sent me!” She heard a rustling in the jungle in front of her, and she ran forward, pushing through the giant leaves that separated the beach from the woods. She stopped, staring in wonder at what was ahead of her. The trees were not knitted, nor were they leafy. They were gigantic lollipops, rooted into the ground, swirls of colour, against a backdrop of leafy green plants that held a somewhat solemn air in comparison. This was Francis’s paradise. Jackpot. She looked for a path and saw hundreds of tiny footprints trailing off to the left. She ran, following the trail hungrily. Finally, she reached a clearing. “Francis! Please, don’t be scared” she said softly. “I’m Becky, and I’m here to help you” She crept around quietly, scanning the area for a hiding place. Her eyes rested upon a particularly bulky looking leaf. It was quaking slightly. She approached slowly, and peeled back the leaf. A very tired looking caterpillar looked up at her, each of his eyes had the weight of a thousand lives in them. “Hi.” He said in a low, slightly hoarse voice. Becky smiled sympathetically back. “It’s time Francis.” She said softly. “You ought to face things.” “But… how do I know it’s going to be ok?” He asked, trembling slightly. “You don’t.” Becky shrugged. “This has to be your own choice Francis, you can stay here in this unchanging paradise until the day you die if you like, it’s always been up to you.” Francis came out from behind the leaf and sat on the ground, his legs hanging limply by his side. “I am very tired” he said. “I know.” He laid down on the dusty floor and let each of his eyes flutter to a close. After a few moments, Becky reached into her satchel and pulled out the blanket. It was woven of the finest silk and big enough to cover Francis’s entire body. She draped it over him gently and then sat on a rock on the edge of the clearing, nearby a gigantic orange and purple lollipop. She checked her watch. The balls were almost entirely aligned – she had just made it. Her relief took her by the hand and led her into a deep slumber. She woke to the feeling of a soft breeze upon her face and she glanced sleepily around. But it wasn’t a breeze, it was the flap of a wing. Were Francis once slept, there was now a beautiful, gigantic butterfly stretching out his wings as though he were reaching for the sky. “I feel so alive! I can’t believe I was so afraid – thank you, so much.” Said Francis with a grin. “Hop on my back and I’ll give you a lift home!” He offered. Becky gathered up the blanket, then jumped on. They flew off into the pink sky, mission completed.


"I'm done!" I breathed out exasperatedly. This resolution thing is stupid. It's stupid. No one ever sticks to them anyways. I sucked my teeth. In a few hours there is going to be a big party. "Huhhh!" my hands went my eyes. Phooo~ooooo. My hands were cold to the touch like always. Winter... it does that. The sound of the neighborhood kids altering each other that a car was coming woke me up. They always scream and shout. With snow on the floor they're probably having a snowball fight. My eyes drifted to the window. Out in the front yard my parents and annoying older brothers were unpacking the minivan. "I bet my mom's resolution is to try and get her triplets to visit home more often." Something that can be fixed with just a simple conversation. I groaned boredly. Also for my dad to take her out more. Um... my dad? Less hours at work and for his daughter to get out more. Socializing is boring. My hand passed over the smooth carvings that outlined my desk slowly. The boys... well. They're idiots. I shrugged at that. Big bullies with a bad habit of making it look like they are saints. Which just pisses me off. Big time. They think they have it all. Probably want to ruin my life as much as they can and don't forget the alcohol. I grumped my way over to my bed. No new year's resolution for me. "Simone!" Ugh. No. I curled up in my bed when I heard my mom calling me. I am not going to the party. Might as well just stay up stairs. "Yo, shrimp!" My eyes screamed murder as I stared at my red painted wall. "Your boyfriend is downstairs." an imp grunted. Sure, and he's not getting a sexually transmitted disease this year. I smacked my pillow as I made myself comfy. "I'll send him up." Blah blah blah. I shut my eyes tightly as I silently mocked him. Stupid imp. Talking about "boyfriend". I have one friend and shes away for the holidays. Other than that no one… "Simone? If she's asleep…" "Nope. She's up. Just going through her end of the year's crisis. Never really understood why, but she's all yours. What a lucky guy." The sarcasm made me sit up. "I will slit your pathetic little…" Jordan? What the fluff. My eyes went to the fluffy unicorn pillow I was holding. Shit. The look on my face spelt out "caught". "Save it for Pepe Lopez." Taren… I think, snorted before turning. No, don't go. Big bro, save me! I got up quickly. "Cute pjs." Jordan smiled and my cheeks lit up. What's happening? "May I come in?" he lifted one of his thick eyebrows. Uh huh. "N.no?" my hands went behind my back shyly. Why are you here? Please leave. "No? As in a question?" Jordan chuckled smoothly. He looked around and then stopped at my wall of books. "As in why are you here?" I snapped at him this time. Jordan is no longer welcome anywhere around me. "I know you're mad at me, but let me explain." the way his downward turned eyes pleaded made me weak in the knees. "Nope. You… go away." I shook my head. Still hiding my hands as I tried to act calm. My tummy feels jittery and I can't breathe right now. "I've never been chased away before." he looked down and then I at the ceiling before sighing out. "Well, now you know that it's possible. Get lost." I huffed, my feet taking me to my desk. Now he thinks I wanna be friends. I don't. "Please, just listen." a plea left mister macho. Why should I? I thought as I packed up my books. All I did was ask him if he and Sarah were dating. That's all. He then proceeded to flip out and then just stop talking to me. All because a simple question. A soft sigh left my lips as I looked at him. Without a shadow of a doubt my eyes were glossed over. "I got mad cause you asked about Sarah. The girl you had to ask about was yourself. Then you started cursing me for not answering you. When in fact I said no Simone. I do not like her." Jordan marched over to me. He was serious and ready to plead his case. Well, I don't care. You ignored me. Who does that? "Si." I shook my head. "Si… come on. Look at me." he called as his hands went to my cheeks. Uh uh. I don't want to. My eyes shut. I'm scared. What if he notices? "Remember when we first met?" Nope. Doesn't ring a bell. "You were wearing a really cute polka dot dress." he chuckled as he remembered full story. It got ruined thanks to him. Last year at a party I was forced to go to I met this really cool guy. We talked, we laughed and even exchanged numbers. Then Jordan came along with ice cream and ruined the moment. "Jor... hah .." I couldn't finish. My laughter got the better of me. He blamed me for ruining his ice cream and demanded that I get him another. That's when I took the cone and scooped up the fallen strawberry scoop and rubbed it in his unsuspecting face. Ever since then, he's been like a fly, but I… I really really like him. My smile drifted a bit. "You still haven't gotten the stain out. Who knew strawberry stained that badly?" Jordan was still laughing. The goof ball. I reached up and placed my hand on his cheek. He immediately stopped laughing and looked down. His eyes melted into pools as he stared. What is this feeling? It's weird, but I like it. I've been feeling fuzzy when he's around lately. "Si, I like you." he smiled. Oof ..the glow. I hid my face. Why is he such an amazing smiler? Jordan never disappoints. "I...l.like…" I whispered the "you" into his chest. The jitters ate away at my chest. This is hard. "I know. Simone. It's always been you. Even after you ruined me ice cream." he muttered upsetly. Let it go. "It was an ice cream. What's more important. Your girlfriend, or a cone that you lost?" I pulled away. Anger on my circular face. Unbelievably stupid this one. "Girlfriend? Hmmm . My new year looks bright. I'm already getting the girl of my dreams." a smirk lit up his voice. Girlfriend? I covered my mouth when I realized what I had said. "Jor, I didn't mean it!" I blurted out, embarrassed. Why did I say that? He… he didn't even say that we were dating. "Girl, you're mine." I was pulled flushed against him. My eyes looked up. Warm. With a blush I looked back at my desk. I guess I really don't need to make any silly resolution. Like I said. Conversation. I pushed my glasses up with a victorious smile. It feels good to be right. "I know that smile. Who's going to need the pain killer and a shot of whiskey?" Jordan asked. My bubble popped. "No one. Just shut up." my crabby remark didn't surprise him, nor sway him away. Actually he came down and stared into my eyes. Our breaths mingled before we kissed. This.. this right here is what I've been waiting for all year. I held him close as he smiled. "The shrimp's done it! New year's resolution one and…" "Get out!" I screeched after pulling away from Jordan. He laughed into his hand. I didn't.. lairs! "Someone's got a boyfriend!" "Oohh! I'm telling dad." Wait.. no! I tried to stop them, but Taryn closed my door quickly. "Dad! She's got a boyfriend!" I heard them scream in unison. Oh brothers! "Don't be mad. They're guys and that's what we do. Especially when a cute girl is involved. Also, on a quick note. Is your dad cool with you dating?" Jordan asked. I nodded. I think. I don't know. "Outside time." he clapped as he took me outside. My dad was already in the hall. "You break my daughter's heart and I'll let the triplets…" "I can deal with my own heart breaks, daddy." I mumbled. The triplets started to poke fun at my shyness. "Leave my baby alone. You boys better go downstairs and unpack the car. Come on." mom to the rescue! They got out of there quickly. My mom held up her thumbs then hurried away. "Talk about girl power. To be honest, I'm terrified of you and your mom." I was squished in a hug. Butterflies! I hugged back. "I like you a lot, Jordan." I whispered. I do. "I know. I can't wait to start the new year as your goof ball boyfriend." he looked down and I nodded. Yep. Sounds like a plan. My eyes glistened The best plan ever.


“We need to get it done today,” the doctor tells the nurse as they walk into my room. “Before the girl sways them.* “I agree. The family will be here shortly.” I just lay here, eyes closed. Weak. I hear them pushing buttons, turning pages, fiddling with the IV bag and scribbling notes. The faint but comforting sound of voices I recognise claw through my fatigue. I'm exhilarated, but they all stop before the door opens and my family walks in silently. The beep of the heart rate monitor has increased in tempo, and seemingly in volume although that may be due to the silence that is suffocating the room. They never know what to say when they see me like this. “Doctor Bunt,” my wife, Rachael, greets solemnly. “Edna.” “It happened again,” Lacy says. “When we got here.” She’s talking about the beeping. “Lacy, please,” Rachael sighs, exasperated. Lacy is my little girl. My little gummy bear, although she hates it when call her that these days. Somehow, eyes still shut, I sense my brother and father are also here, although they've remained silent. “Thanks for visiting,” I say. “It means a lot. I know it must be a chore for you, but… Thank you.” Nobody replies. There’s nothing to reply to. “Are you sure you want everybody here for this?” Edna asks. “It’s Lacy’s father,” my brother, David, says, not beating around the bush. “She has as much of a right to know what’s happening as the rest of us do. More so, even.” Edna sighs. Not a sigh born from sympathy or even resignation: Irritation. I suppose, in her line of work, giving bad news to adults is hard enough. “The truth, Mrs. Newman,” the doctor takes over, “is that we would have expected to see some kind of response by now if your husband was going to make any kind of recovery.” He lets that hang before taking a breath as if to speak again. He doesn’t get a chance. “He is responding,” Lacy asserts, voice raised. “Lacy-” “No, Mum! He is! Every time we come here his heart rate goes up. He knows we’re here. Maybe on some level he hears or smells us or- Or something!" Her voice gets higher the harder she tries to control her emotions. "He knows we're here!" “Lacy,” I say, softly. “Of course I do. I know you’re here, bear. I hear you." I will the words to come the same way I always have but I make no sound and I move no muscle. “The doctor has explained to you over and over-” “It’s not random! It’s every time. As soon as we walk in. It's not- it's not random, Mum, please." “She’s right,” I’m insisting, silently. “I know this is hard for you, Lacy,” Bunt soothes. “But your father’s heart rate jumps up and down every few minutes or so. Our brains are programmed to find patterns in random events, especially in times of stress. You’re finding reasons to believe he’s still with us simply because you want nothing more than for it to be true. "I understand. We all do. But you must try to understand the facts. I’m sorry, Lacy, his increases or decreases in heart rate are not a response to anything in particular. It's simply a part of his condition.” “But- But he- It never goes down or stays-” “Lacy!” Rachael snaps. “Listen to her,” I’m pleading. For the first time I’m worried that they… They’ll... I’m worried that they won’t wait any longer. “I know he can hear us! Look!” I wonder what she’s pointing at, when I realise the beeps have gotten faster again. Much faster. “He’s listening now!” She screaming, now. Crying hysterically. “He can hear all of this. Dad, I promise, I won't let them-” “Lacy, for God’s sake,” Rachael pleads, rather than scoulds. “I can’t- Will one of you, please…” she trails off. My father clears his throat and slaps his thighs, which he always does before he gets to his feet. “No, Dad, wait,” I plead. “Come on, Lacy,” he says. “No," she croaks, "I’m not leaving him.” “Let’s just go for a little walk. He’ll be here when you get back. Come on, kid, let's talk about this.” “No, wait! Don’t you take my daughter away. Don't you dare!" “You won’t listen to me,” she sulks. "Please, Dad, don’t take my Lacy away from me. Please." “I promise you that I will. Your mum just needs a minute and then we can come back and talk to her together. Okay? Come on, darling.” "Bear?" I ask as if I'd get an answer. With that I hear the two of them leave the room. “No, Lacy! You have to- You know I’m here. You have to tell them! Lacy? Bear?” She’s gone and my words bounce around within my head, desperately searching for a way into the world. “What I need to tell you, Mrs. Newman. Mr. Newman...” Mr? Me? He knows that I'm- No. No, he’s talking to David. “It can’t be sugar coated, I'm afraid.” My wife says nothing. My brother, true to character, minces no words. “He’s already gone, isn’t he?” “The machines are keeping his body alive, but… Yes. He’s braindead.” “No! I’m not! I can hear you, I can hear everything.” I’m shouting and writhing, kicking and screaming, but none of the signals are getting to the necessary muscles or they’re not being sent at all. “I’m right here! I’m still here!” “Then…” Rachael’s voice cracks. “Then let him go.” “No, Rachael.” In my head, I’m sobbing. I’m not sure if the tears are real. “Rachael, honey, please. Please hear me. Please feel that I’m here.” “He wouldn’t want to be… Like this.” The heart rate monitor sounds like a fire alarm. No one else seems to be able to hear it. David agrees. “Would you like to be here?” “I-” I’d never heard David cry before now. "I don’t think I can do it, Rach. I’m so sorry.” “It’s okay,” Rachael whispers. “I should be with him. I’ll stay.” I’m kicking my feet and flailing my arms. I’m screaming at the top of my lungs, no longer bothering with words. Just noise and movement, as much as possible. Maybe something will make it through. A single squeak or croak. A twitch or a tear. That’s all it will take. Anything. Any sign, before... I feel a warmth spreading from the IV. A warmth. A burn! A searing fire crawling up my arm! I’m still screaming, now in pain as well as fear. “I’m still here! Rachael, honey, please!” “How long?” she asks, her voice steadier now. Resolute. “You have only a few seconds.” I feel the mask pull away. I feel Rachael’s hair as she leans over me. I feel the inferno crawling towards my heart. She whispers in my ear, “I just need you to know one last thing before you go, my love.” The moment the fire reaches my heart it explodes out in all directions. An agony beyond anything I’d ever experienced before or ever would again. Or so I thought. Over the smouldering pain and through my fading consciousness, I can only just focus on Rachael's final words to me. “I know you’re awake.