“*GAH!* Not again!” Grumbling, the Beast removed a smoking, charcoal-black rectangle from the oven. He slammed the ceramic oven tray heavily onto the marbled counter, pulled the polka-dot oven mitts off his large paws and flung them across the kitchen in a blind fury, where they almost hit a passing servant in the face. “Everything going alright, your Highness?” the servant squeaked, picking up the discarded mitts. “Beth is getting impatient for her dinner.” The Beast growled in frustration as he clumsily leafed through the chunky recipe book, tattered and yellowed with age, that had been sitting on the counter. “I don’t *get* it, Lucy,” he muttered. “I just don’t *get* it. I did everything the recipe said. *EVERYTHING!”* The last word was almost a roar, and he slammed the book back down on the counter, startling the maid several steps back. “Fry the onions. Simmer the tomato. Bake in the oven for forty minutes. And yet…” He thrust a paw at the burnt mess sitting on the counter. “Does that *look* like a lasagna to you?” Lucy coughed a little from the thick smoke that hung in the air. “It doesn’t look *that* bad.” “Would *you* eat it?” “No, your Highness.” “Then it’s a failure.” He heaved a sigh. “I’ll never break this curse. I’ll be stuck as this ferocious, hairy thing *forever.*” “Oh don’t say that,” said Lucy, a sympathetic look on her round, pink face. “You’ve still got three days.” “*Three days!”* the Beast roared, making Lucy flinch. “How can I get that woman to compliment my cooking in *three days?* She’ll never eat this. She didn’t even like the oatmeal I made her this morning, and that was my best work yet.” “Oh, that reminds me, I’m almost done scraping the burnt bits off the oatmeal pot, so you should be able to use it again tomorrow,” Lucy said. “Oh, *joy,”* the Beast muttered. He slumped down at the large table, burying his large furry head in his paws. “It’s no use, Lucy. There’s just no pleasing her.” Lucy softly patted him between the ears. It was a bit like patting a dog—a very sad dog that didn’t know how to cook. “We could always get her drunk,” she suggested. “Bit of extra wine with dinner. Everything tastes better when you’re sloshed, believe me.” She began to chuckle, then stopped, blushing self-consciously. “It’s no use,” the Beast muttered. “You remember what the witch said. It has to be a *genuine* compliment on the quality of food I’ve prepared.” He banged a huge fist down on the table. “Of all the women I could have picked to break this stupid curse, why did I have to pick the *food critic?”* \~\*\~\*\~\*\~ The Beast was in his armchair by the fireplace when Lucy came in to the living room later that evening, after having brought tea and toast to Beth and apologising for the lack of dinner. He was gazing despondently at the oil painting on the wall across from him which depicted a handsome, golden-haired young man grinning smugly. Lucy had paused at the doorway, silent as a mouse, unwilling to intrude. “Come in, Lucy,” he said, somehow detecting her presence without turning around. Lucy had grown used to this sort of ‘sixth sense’ he now possessed—it was a bit like how dogs knew who was at the door because of their keen sense of smell. Except it clearly wasn’t a keen sense of smell, otherwise he’d be able to smell his cooking burning. “There’s no point, Lucy,” he said, as Lucy drew closer. “I can’t possibly learn how to cook in three days. I might as well get used to this.” Lucy took a deep breath. “I didn’t want to give you these before, your Highness,” she said, “because I was worried you’d be offended. But now… well, I don’t feel I have much of a choice.” “What are you talking about?” said the Beast. Lucy placed two books on the end table next to him. He glanced sideways at the stack, then, curiosity piqued, picked one up. “*Cooking for Dummies?”* he read. He looked at the second one. *“Cooking for Idiots?”* “And if those don’t work…” Lucy hesitantly handed him a third book. “There’s this one.” *“Cooking for Complete and Utter Nitwits?”* the Beast’s furry brow wrinkled in confusion. “But I don’t understand. I don’t *think* Beth is a Complete and Utter Nitwit… although she certainly acts like one.” Lucy swallowed. “No, erm, you see… the titles refer to the… the…” “The what?” said the Beast impatiently. “The person who’s… *doing* the cooking, your Highness.” She gulped. “You.” The Beast was silent for a very long moment. Lucy’s heart hammered. She had never insulted the prince before. He was going to tear her to shreds, she was sure of it. Suddenly, he roared—with laughter. He laughed until the tears rolled down his cheeks. Lucy, rather taken aback, managed a nervous chuckle. “Of course!*”* he managed at last. “Of *course*! All the recipes I’ve tried so far were written for people who’ve got a clue what they’re doing! No wonder I’ve failed. This, my dear Lucy, is *exactly* what I need!” *\~\*\~\*\~\*\~* “Zero out of five stars,” said Beth, placing her fork down. “You’ve barely even *tasted* it,” growled the Beast from the other end of the long dining table. He’d woken at dawn to pore through (well, paw through) *Cooking for Dummies,* and the recipe for perfect scrambled eggs had seemed easy enough. “I don’t need to finish the whole thing to know they taste like burnt rubber,” said Beth, turning up her nose at the yellowish-grey blob on the plate. “They do not,” grumbled the Beast. He took a spoonful himself, but couldn’t remember how eggs were meant to taste, and has no idea if Beth was in fact correct. “The eggs are fine. You’re just snooty. Nothing pleases you, not even the meal I slaved over all morning.” “I am *not* snooty!” Beth snapped, glaring down the length of the table. “It’s my *job* to be critical of what I eat, even if it is prepared by a dog.” “I’m not a dog,” the Beast growled, pausing to dislodge a flea from his left ear, “I’m a *beast!”* “Same bloody thing!” said Beth, standing up. “I’m not going to sit here and pretend to like your bad quality food. I’m going for a walk.” She left in a huff and headed for the door to the unkempt garden, no doubt looking for an escape route (she wouldn’t find one—it wasn’t that easy to break through to the Outside). The Beast was left alone in the enormous, empty dining room. He sighed and brought the recipe book out of his coat pocket, glaring at its bright, glossy cover. He threw *Cooking for Dummies* in the bin \~\*\~\*\~\*\~ The salad he made for Beth’s luncheon had been a limp, soggy affair, with a ‘zesty’ vinaigrette that tasted like a mouse had peed in it. Beth had given it one out of five stars, only because “it wasn’t burnt”. The Beast had remained in his seat long after she’d left, pondering how someone could possibly burn a salad. Perhaps it was something a Complete and Utter Nitwit would do, he mused. He threw *Cooking for Idiots* in the bin. The spaghetti and meatballs he made for Beth’s dinner were no better. The meatballs all coagulated in the pan to form one enormous, formidable meatblob that looked like the alien monster from a low-budget science fiction film. He threw *Cooking for Complete and Utter Nitwits* in the bin. \~\*\~\*\~\*\~ That night, after Lucy had given Beth her supper, she did not go down to the living room, but went straight to bed. It broke her heart to see the Beast so glum every evening, and after the events of the day he was sure to be gloomier than ever. He’d been such a proud, smug little man before the curse, she remembered. He’d been picky with his food, too, like Beth. He even used to give the meals a rating when he’d finished. She bet he and Beth would get along marvellously if he was human. She lay back on her pillows and lost herself in reverie. Imagine if the Beast became human again, and he and Beth fell in love! She’d surely forget all about being kidnapped and being forced to eat his horrible cooking, once she’d laid eyes on his handsome face and golden curls. All the household staff would come back, too—the staff that had fled on that stormy night when the curse took hold—and the old ruined house would be full of life again! Her fancy popped like a bubble when she remembered that there were only two days remaining before the anniversary of the curse, when it would be stuck forever—his birthday. That night, he had turned a starving beggar woman away from his doorstep, not wanting to ruin the mood of his big coming-of-age party. That beggar woman had turned out to be a witch. Of *course* she bloody had. Honestly, sometimes Lucy felt like she was a character in one of those stupid fairytales. Why did that witch have to pick on him, of all people? All young men were like that, weren’t they? Caring only about themselves, not giving a toss about some ratty old woman on the doorstep, begging for scraps? There wouldn’t have been a scrap to *give* her, anyway. He’d already eaten all the frozen pizza. He hadn’t known it was frozen pizza, of course—had he known, he would have turned his nose up at it, the way Beth had at her eggs that morning. It had been a little joke amongst the kitchen staff. His Highness, so picky with food, had devoured that cheap frozen meal, claiming it was the best thing he’d ever eaten. The laughter down in the kitchens that night had soon turned to shrieks of terror at the menacing creature that had lumbered frantically down there to hide his hideous new form from his terrified guests. She thought again of the witch’s curse that had echoed through the halls that night, muttering the lines to herself in the dark. “With thine own hands, prepare a meal…” Lucy sat up in bed, beaming with excitement. “I’ve *got* it!” \~\*\~\*\~\*\~ “So you’re telling me,” said the Beast, raising a skeptical, furry eyebrow, “I don’t need to actually *cook* the food? Just *prepare* it? Why didn’t you tell me this before?*”* “I only thought of it last night,” explained Lucy, tending to the sizzling bacon in the pan. “And besides, you heard the curse as well as I did. You could have looked for a loophole too.” “You’re right,” he replied, in considerably better spirits this morning after Lucy had told him her idea. “And besides, it’s not as if I need a lot of time to make this work. Surely just one meal will suffice.” “I hope so,” said Lucy. “Here, plate this up. Make it nice and presentable. Remember: toast first, then bacon, then egg, then the hollandaise sauce.” She gestured to each pot and pan in turn. The Beast’s clumsy paws were, however, not designed for assembling breakfasts, and the result looked less like an Eggs Benedict and more like an earthquake at brunch. Lucy hid her dismay as she surveyed the plate. “I suppose it will have to do,” she said. “Besides, it’s the taste that’s important. I’ll wake Beth, shall I?” \~\*\~\*\~\*\~ “Zero out of five stars for presentation,” Beth announced. “Oh, come on!” snarled the Beast. “It’s not that bad. Besides, who cares how it looks? What are you doing to do, take a photo of it?” “I usually do,” said Beth primly. The Beast refrained from rolling his eyes. “Just taste it,” he urged. “I worked very hard to *prepare* it this morning.” Beth eyed the plate critically, and sighed, poking it with her fork. “Oh, all right. If you worked *so* hard to—*eek!”* She shrieked suddenly, her fork flying out of her hand and landing on the floor. “What *now?”* “There’s a *hair* in it!” Grimacing, Beth pointed a manicured fingernail at the intruder. “Right there. In the sauce.” Sure enough, there was a long, ruddy brown hair, coiled up in the hollandaise sauce. “Can’t you just eat *around* the hair?” *“No!* I’m not going to eat something with dog hair in it. It’s unhygienic.*”* “It’s not *dog* hair,” growled the Beast, insulted. “It’s *my* hair!” “Same thing,” muttered Beth, getting up and storming out of the dining room like she did at every meal. The Beast groaned in annoyance. He had been so close! Of course he had to go and get a hair in it. He was always shedding these days; he really ought to have been more careful. There was still lunch and dinner, after all. And tomorrow. \~\*\~\*\~\*\~ “Just grab a sprig of parsley from the herb garden and put it on top,” Lucy had instructed, after checking for stray hairs in the steaming bowl of pasta carbonara that the Beast had just scooped. “You do know which one’s parsley, right?” “Of course I do,” he replied coolly. “I’m not a Complete and Utter Nitwit.” Evidently he was, because Beth turned her nose up at the meal. “I do *not* eat coriander,” she announced. *Coriander. Dammit,* thought the Beast. He should have swallowed his pride and let Lucy see the herb first. “Just pick it off.” *“No.”* Beth pushed the plate away with finality, and arose for her afternoon walk. This time, however, she paused by the door and glanced very briefly in the beast’s direction with an odd expression. Then she was gone. \~\*\~\*\~\*\~ Dinner was Lucy’s famous seafood risotto. She hadn’t made it in a very long time, but it had been one of the prince’s favourites. Lucy had watched as the Beast stirred the last of it and carefully ladled it into the bow, checking meticulously for stray hairs. So far, so good, he thought, watching Beth down the length of the table. For one thing, she was *eating.* Her face was impassive as she chewed. Occasionally, she glanced up from her plate and met his eyes with a thoughtful expression. Finally, she scooped up the last mouthful of risotto. The Beast couldn’t believe his eyes. She’d finished the whole meal, and hadn’t complained once! Beth hesitated. “It was good,” she said. The Beast pricked up his ears. “Good?” “More than good. Absolutely delicious,” said Beth. “Best thing I’ve ever eaten.” This was it, the Beast thought, standing up and inadvertently knocking over his chair in excitement. They’d *done* it! Beth had finally given him a genuine compliment on the quality of food he’d prepared! The curse was broken. He’d transform back into a human any minute now. Any minute now… He frowned, looking down at his enormous paws. They didn’t show the slightest sign of changing into the smooth, slender human hands he once had. In fact, he didn’t feel very different at all. He glared up at Beth. “You’re lying.” “I’m *not!”* she insisted. “It really was the best—oh, alright, you got me.” She sighed, leaning back in her seat. “I’m sorry. The texture was like glue and there was too much salt.” “Then why did you tell me you liked it? Do you *pity* me?” “No,” said Beth quickly. “No, of course not. I just… well, on my walk today, I was thinking… I *have* been rather snooty. You’ve been working so hard on these meals, after all, and even though they’ve all been *terrible…* you kept trying. The last two even showed some promise.” She smiled encouragingly. “I didn’t want you to give up.” “It’s too late,” said the Beast quietly, turning and walking away. \~\*\~\*\~\*\~ “Didn’t *like* it? Didn’t *like* my famous seafood risotto?” Lucy furiously scrubbed Beth’s plate in the kitchen sink down in the servant’s quarters. “Too much *salt?!* Texture like *glue?!”* The Beast, seated at the large wooden table, shrugged. “Oh, well,*”* Lucy sighed. “We’ve still got tomorrow. I’ll make something simple. There must be something…” “Forget it,” muttered the Beast. “It’s no use. Everything we’ve tried has failed. This curse is truly unbreakable.” “Oh, please don’t say that,” said Lucy. “We’ll figure it out. There’s a whole *day* ahead, yet! We’re so close!” But Lucy just couldn’t cheer the Beast up, no matter how she tried. Miserably, he went up to bed, and she returned to her own quarters, the matter of what meal to prepare for Beth weighing heavy on her mind. \~\*\~\*\~\*\~ The Beast didn’t come down to the kitchen that morning. Lucy tried to coax him down, telling him that there was no way he could mess up preparing porridge under her watchful eye, but he refused to get out of bed. Deciding it best to leave him alone for the time being, Lucy cooked some scrambled eggs for Beth (much closer to a sunny yellow than a yellowish-grey this morning) and served her breakfast in the dining room. “Where’s the beast this morning?” asked Beth. “His Highness,” said Lucy pointedly, still a little sore from the news that her famous risotto had gone unappreciated, “is unwell.” “Oh,” said Beth, poking her scrambled eggs with a fork. “I hope I didn’t offend him last night. He’s awfully sensitive about his cooking, isn’t he?” “You might say that,” said Lucy as she poured Beth’s tea. “But I can’t help the way I am,” said Beth, shrugging. “Only the finest quality food suits my taste. Still,” she mused, with a mouthful of egg, “It seems he’s really trying to impress me with his cooking. He really wants to win my heart, doesn’t he?” *Not your heart,* thought Lucy, but the curse allowed her to say no more. \~\*\~\*\~\*\~ The Beast didn’t come down to prepare lunch, or dinner, no matter how Lucy cajoled. Lucy’s heart sank—he really had given up. Lucy’s vision of the palace bustling with life again seemed more distant than ever. But though the beast had given up, Lucy had not. \~\*\~\*\~\*\~ It must have been about 10 o’clock at night by the time the Beast grew weary of staying in his room and made his way down to the living room for a change of scenery. Lucy had come down there to pester him about preparing a meal for Beth, but he had sent her away. Besides, she was unlikely to eat anything at this time of night. As he sat, listening to the hiss and crackle of the fireplace, he heard the door creak open. Thinking it was Lucy come to pester him again, he turned around to tell her off—and stopped. “Beth?” “Your Highness,” she said, walking slowly into the room. She was wearing a horrible yellow, frilly dress instead of her usual t-shirt and jeans, and appeared to have done her hair up. The Beast was rather taken aback. She never called him Your Highness. “What do you want?” he said. “I’m not going to cook for you. Lucy’s been feeding you, hasn’t she?” “She has,” said Beth. She smiled shyly. “I came down here to… talk.” The Beast grimaced. “I don’t want to talk to *you*. And there’s no need to come down here and try to make friends with me. Tomorrow you’ll be free. I’ll be out of your life forever.” He turned his head back toward the fire. “Well, you see… I don’t think I want that,” said Beth. “What?” “Can I sit here?” said Beth, perching awkwardly on the arm of the Beast’s huge leather armchair. “There’s another chair over there,” grumbled the Beast, but Beth didn’t seem to hear him. \~\*\~\*\~\*\~ Lucy picked her way through the unkempt back lawn in the dark. Her stockings were wet with the evening mist that clung to the long grass, and her feet squelched in their sensible shoes. She shivered. This was no time of night to be out of doors, and a small, selfish part of her wanted to give up as the beast had, to sit by the fire and accept the curse. “No,” she said to herself, as she finally reached the dilapidated old garage that sat a little ways from the house. Her freezing hands fumbled for the rusty old key that would unlock it. “I must give it one last try.” There was a family of rats living in the old car, and they seemed to be having some sort of party. After shooing them out and settling herself in, Lucy took a deep breath. It has been a while since she’d broken through the barrier to the Outside — the day before the prince’s coming-of-age party, in fact. She remembered it well—she and the other cooks had crowded into the car, laughing about the prank. She remembered her heart hammering as they broke into the Outside with an ear-splitting *Pop!* She remembered the busy streets, the people walking about in their strange clothes, the chill of the frozen-food aisle. They’d even gone through a “Drive-Thru” on the way back, for chips and burgers, the woman in the window eyeing them strangely as she handed them a brown paper bag that was nearly transparent with grease. It had been a good day. This time, she was alone. \~\*\~\*\~\*\~ “You know,” said Beth, “I’ve had my share of terrible boyfriends in the past.” The Beast wished she would stop talking. He just wanted to be left alone. Suppressing a groan of frustration, he said, “All right. Tell me about them.” “Oh, I won’t bore you with the details,” said Beth, waving a hand. (*Then why did you mention them in the first place?* thought the Beast.) “But I will say this: they *never* put in any effort for me. Cheap gifts picked up from the dollar store. Ugly flowers—I hate flowers, you know. One of them, in fact, tried to throw me a romantic candlelight dinner\*,\*” she paused for effect, “with *frozen food!* I saw the boxes in the bin by the freezer. A frozen lasagna, and a blueberry cheesecake. I can still see the cheesecake, a greyish-purple slab of horror, defrosting on the counter. Can you *imagine?”* The Beast could not imagine it. He had heard of pre-packaged frozen meals, of course—they were apparently quite popular in the Outside—but had *certainly* never tried them. He was surprised to find he was chuckling. “So what did you do?” he asked. “Why, I stormed out without so much as eating a bite!” Beth exclaimed. “You should have given the meal a go,” said the Beast. “You might have liked it.” After a moment, the two burst into laughter. “My point is,” said Beth, “he didn’t even *try* to cook something for me himself. In fact, none of my boyfriends have.” She held his gaze. “Except for you.” Now the Beast was *really* confused. “But I’m not your boyfriend,” he said. “No,” said Beth softly. “But you could be.” “What?” “You see, nobody has ever gone to this much effort for me before,” she said. “And even though you can’t cook to save your life, I… well, I think I’m in lo—” “Your Highness!” Beth and the Beast looked up, startled. Lucy, red-faced and dishevelled, with mousy-grey curls escaping her bonnet, clutched the doorframe and struggled to catch her breath. “In the kitchen,” she managed at last. “Important. Emergency. Now.” \~\*\~\*\~\*\~ *“Frozen pizza?”* the Beast exclaimed. “Are you out of your mind? She’ll *never* eat this. She literally just finished telling me a story about how she ended a long-term relationship over a frozen meal. Why in blazes do you think this is going to work?” “Just trust me,” pleaded Lucy, shoving the box into his hands. “She won’t know. Besides, what have we got to lose? Hurry now, we only have until midnight.” The Beast shrugged. “Well, if you insist. But I tell you, it’s not going to work. Now, how do I prepare this?” He peered at the box. *“Delicious gourmet pizza in twenty minutes,”* he read. *“So simple, even a Complete and Utter Nitwit can prepare it.”* \~\*\~\*\~\*\~ The old grandfather clock showed 11.45 by the time the Beast re-entered the living room, carefully balancing a plate of steaming pizza between his large paws. He still didn’t think this was going to work, but Lucy had seemed so *certain* for some reason. “Oh, Beth,” he called gently. “Fancy a midnight feast?” Beth, who had been sitting sulkily in the large armchair, turned around, and her face lit up. “Goodness, is that *pizza?”* she said, sniffing the air hungrily. “Did you make it for *me?”* “Of course I did,” replied the Beast, setting the plate down on the coffee table near the chair. “That’s why the maid came in earlier….to tell me that I forgot to take it out of the oven.” Beth laughed. “You were having so much fun *talking* to me, you forgot that you were *cooking* for me!” “Yes, that must have been it,” said the Beast distractedly. “Look, just try a slice, will you?” He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but couldn’t help it. Beth wordlessly ate slice after slice, a rapturous expression on her face. She even dabbed the crumbs off the plate with a finger when she was done. “That,” she said emphatically, “was the *best* meal I have ever eaten in my *life.”* The clock struck midnight. The Beast felt his paws begin to tingle. He felt an odd pulling feeling in his face, as if it were changing shape. Torn between glee at the prospect of having broken the curse, and amusement at the fact that the snooty food critic had complimented a cheap, frozen meal, he began to roar with laughter—the laugh becoming less roar-like as it went on. Beth’s eyes grew wide as the ferocious beast changed into a handsome young man, with golden curls and dark blue eyes, before her. “It *worked!* Oh, I *knew* it would work!” Lucy, who had been hanging around the doorway tentatively, now bounded into the room, tears of joy spilling down her face. She joined hands with the handsome young prince, and they danced in a circle, laughing and whooping with jubilation. Beth, unused to being ignored in this way, cleared her throat loudly. They stopped dancing; the prince looked at Beth with a slightly disgusted expression on his face. “Yes? What is it?” he said. “You’re *human!”* Beth exclaimed, beaming. “I broke the curse! Oh, don’t you see? Now we can be together! …Darling? What is it? Don’t you… don’t you want me?” “Well, frankly, no,” replied the young prince, sneering. “I just can’t bring myself to be with someone who enjoys *frozen* pizza.” “Frozen pizza? What on earth are you—” Her eyes darted to the empty plate, and she gasped in horror, her hand flying to her mouth. “You *fiend!* You *trickster!* You—you—” Overcome with anger, she fled from the room. The prince rolled his eyes. “What a fraud. I can’t believe she ate that garbage\*,\* but turned up her nose at my cooking—and even *your* famous risotto.” He turned to Lucy, incredulous. “How on earth did you know that would *work?”* Lucy smiled mysteriously. Some things were better off kept secret.


Oh, I used to love him so. The problem is that now, I can't remember why. "I love you more than my soul," he says, and I think, "Yeah, but your soul's not worth much, really, is it? I wouldn't buy a soul like yours, not even if it was cheap." Oh dear, is this what it's come to? He came all the way from America, because he said I could save him - only me - and because in Australia, we don't have crack cocaine. I'd promised always to be there, always, and so when he rang me long distance and said he'd bought tickets, I couldn't say no. But by that time, I wanted to. As soon as he got off the plane I knew it was the wrong decision. He walked like an old man - he, who'd been so magnificently arrogant in his maleness, powerful as a black leopard. He lay down on my bed, and closed his eyes. I stroked him - he used to say i had healing hands - but he just coughed, and asked for vodka. After a week, I've already had enough. Everything I say is wrong, everything he says changes as soon as I try to pin it down. "Do you want to go out?" "I don't know." "Do you want to stay in?" "I don't know." "Do you want to get off your butt and maybe go look for a job?" "I can't." In Australia, apparently, we can't do anything right. Our shopping trolleys veer in the wrong direction. Our cars drive on the wrong side. We don't have enough guns. We don't know how to handle a barbecue. What wouldn't I give to have back those thrilling three weeks in America, when he drove me around in his fast car, and told me stories of his wicked youth, and played soft guitar in his apartment at night. What wouldn't I give not to have seen him that last night, before I left to go home to Australia - when I opened the door of his room and he turned to me, hunched over a crack cigarette - don't press me for details, I don't know anything about crack, really - and gave me the most...the most ruined look I've ever seen on a man. "It's not what you think," he said, then, and I said, "How do you know what I think?" We made it up, somehow. He said he needed a woman to lean on, someone who'd sequester his money so he couldn't buy the stuff, and love him so he wouldn't need it. I kissed him, feeling torn, of course. On the one hand, I wanted to slap his face. The other part of me was thinking - even though I'm not religious - what would Jesus do? What's the right thing to do? The right thing to do was to leave, and that's what I did. But now he's back again. He's on the internet constantly, while my kids pretend he's not there at all. He says, "You know the lion kills the old lion's cubs, when he gets with the lioness." I'm not afraid for them: he's so weak from drug abuse that he couldn't hurt a fly: he'd run out of puff lifting the whisk. My son beats him on the X-Box racing games. He makes my son hold his hand behind his back, and play one-handed: still he beats him. He's only five. He says, "I had a terrible childhood," as if it makes up for it all. I used to like the idea of taming a man from 'the hood' - but now it bores me. He asks, "Can I have some more money?"  I think, how can I get rid of this man? I've invited a vampire into my house and now he won't leave, he just stays, draining me of blood and cash and all respect. He starts drinking, and I start hiding. One night he comes in late and finds me in a darkened room. "Why don't you love me like you used to?", he says, but I can't - it's not a matter of effort. I just can't love him, and I just can't respect him - can't be done. I do pity him. He's sick, and frail, and he still loves me, through all the fighting, but I just can't summon any real interest. I want him out so much it almost drives me crazy, like he used to, a year ago. He takes to looming. He's a tall, broad man - that's partly what attracted me in the first place - but that makes it all the worse now. He comes close to me and puts his hands on my neck. I'm not really afraid - I'm cold and very, very angry. "Take your hands off me," I say, quietly, "or I'll call the police." He looks frightened. he steps back straight away, backs away as if I've turned into an evil witch, and begs, "Don't do that, please. Please don't." Well, I don't. But we both know when it's over, it's over. He leaves the next day, on a plane for America, and I'm so relieved that I go out and try to get drunk, on glass after glass of rum and coke. But I find I can't get drunk, I just can't do it. Something in me is so sad, I can't lift it. That something so strong, and lovely, and passionate, should come to this: a lover leaving in the early morning, not even stopping to say goodbye. Years later I get a phone call. "Remember me?" At once, I do, but I pretend I don't, anyway. "No, who's this?" "It's Robert, don't you remember? From America?" "Ok," I say cautiously, without feeling. Well, maybe a little flutter in the pit of my stomach, a nervous, angry tension. "How are you?" We talk a little, jerkily. "You're the only woman I ever really loved," he says. Only now, after all this time, I recognise it for what it is, and was. A lie.


February 3 rd Dear diary,          No. I believe I am a bit past the age where I should be saying “dear diary,” Perhaps instead, I should say, umm, Dear Silent Confidant. Yes, that is much better, though still not the best greeting. Still, that does not matter. My name is Hailey. Funny, I am a twenty-two-year-old woman and writing in a diary. I suppose it is not so weird, but it still feels a bit childish. No matter; the reason I got this diary , journal—yes journal sounds much more mature—is because I am moving to a new place. A new town. A new apartment. And a new job. The town is called Newford. It is a smallish town—not too small, where everyone knows your business, but not big enough to get completely lost in a crowd—with a lovely town center with shops and grocery stores. My new job is in that center as well. I believe I shall write here often now that I am heading for a new adventure, but for now, I must tuck you away as my plane has landed. February 10 th Dear Silent Confidant,          I have not written in several days as I have spent much of the time settling into my new apartment. The furnishings are sparse at the moment, but the view out my window is lovely. My room overlooks the town center. I can see the tiny people scurrying around down below like ants. I can see the shop windows and the wares that are within them. And the best view of all is the cherry blossom tree beneath my window. It is beginning to bloom and I get to watch it unfold from the comfort of my window-facing bed. Later, I shall tell you a bit more about the town and my new work place, but for now I shall leave my writing off here. February 21 st Dear Silent Confidant, I have met a man. No, that sounds too serious. What I mean to say is I have met someone. But not a romantic someone, just a person I crossed paths with. Well, I suppose I should explain in a bit more detail. I was walking to work—remember that I was supposed to write a bit about my new job, but I keep forgetting—I work at a bakery. It is called Sprinkled with Cinnamon. I suspect you were expecting me to have a more exciting job like a journalist or a company owner, but baking is what I love to do and this opportunity was too good to pass up. Anyway, I was heading to work when I saw this man. He was sitting on a bench two buildings away from where I work and I did not need to even pass him, but I was curious. I want to meet all the people I can, after all. But this man, he is not an ordinary man. He is…well how do I say this without sounding overly blunt. Though I suppose it does not matter since no one shall read this. (I really must find another word other than suppose, seeing it on this entry so many times would have driven my English teacher nuts. Oh, I can see his face now, eyes narrowed and looking down upon me as if I were a bug, lips in a tight line, wrinkles out in full affect.) Oh my, I keep getting distracted. Anyway, this man was homeless. Now before you begin to think (as if a diary journal could think) I have spoken to a random bum; I must tell you that he is not like the homeless people that are portrayed in movies. You know what I mean, covered in dirt, unkempt, rotten teeth, looking to steal from those who pass by. In fact, he looks quite normal. His clothes are clean, his hair is short and neat, and he is very polite. I haven’t gotten to know him much since I had to get to work, but something about him intrigues me. March 5 th Dear Silent Confidant, I have begun to talk to Eric Brooks—the homeless man—every day. I hate to use the word homeless because it paints him in a bad light. He has merely fallen upon a spot of trouble, that is how he describes his situation to me. I forgot to mention that he is a young man, twenty-four. Just two years older than me. He is a very handsome man, but don’t worry that I am getting attached. He is merely a friend. I know that there is no way I could date Eric, not because he is beneath me in any way, but because it would not work out. Still, he is a good friend. In fact, I think tomorrow I shall talk to him after the bakery closes. Maybe I should bring him some treats from the bakery and we can talk. I don’t know all that much about him, after all. Friends must learn things about their friends after all. Yes, that is what I will do. And then tomorrow, I shall write about it. March 6 th Dear Silent Confidant, After the bakery closed, I was preparing to buy some baked goods to share with Eric, pastries and the like. But when I told my boss what I was getting them for, she gave me a basket of the treats that did not get sold that day to take to Eric. He was grateful for the basket when I gave them to him, but insisted that he pay for them or work for them. I simply told him that those baked goods were not a charity offering. In fact, he was helping my boss. Those baked goods were usually given away or thrown out at the end of the day, because the bakery prides itself on only selling fresh items. He finally caved in and accepted the treats graciously and thankfully. And then, we talked. I told him about the reason for my coming to Newford, my family, and my new job. And he in turn told me about himself. I did not ask him—doing so would be horribly rude—but he told me how he came to be homeless. He had a business, a law firm. It was a reputable firm and he was a very good lawyer. However, his firm stopped getting much business. Then, the bills and taxes had gotten the best of him and he was forced to declare bankruptcy. He used some of the money he had saved from before and had gone to Newford, hoping to find work or a way to reopen his practice. He had found neither, which was why he now had no home. He still had some money, enough to keep him fed and clothed for a time, but he was still actively looking for work to no avail. I wish I could help him, (Not with handouts or anything like that) but I barely have enough money to pay my rent every month and keep myself fed and clothed. Still, I believe I shall do some searching of my own to see if I can find a place for Eric to work. He might not like my help—not because he is prideful, but rather because he doesn’t want to be a burden—but I would not be a good friend if I need not at least try to help him. August 3 rd Dear Silent Confidant,          I know it has been a while since I have written. A long while indeed. I have been busy. During this time, I have learned something. I am in love. With Eric. I know I was confident that this wouldn’t happen, but I could not stop my heart from loving him. (That sounds incredibly cheesy, but it’s the honest truth.) Now, I don’t know what to do. I wish you could tell me what to do, but you cannot speak, hence the name “ Silent Confidant.” I suppose I will just have to figure it out on my own. August 15 th Dear Silent Confidant, I didn’t know what else to do, so I told Eric how I feel. And to my astonishment, he reciprocates my feelings. I cannot believe it. We talked for a while after that, figuring out what we should do with these said feelings. Eric says that he doesn’t want to officially date me until he is more financially stable (I forgot to mention that he got a job). I told him that there is no reason to wait, but he is adamant, which shows me how thoughtful he is. When I went to Newford, I did not know what to expect—I definitely did not expect to fall in love, but here I am—and now that I’m here, I am glad that I decided to come.


Twenty chairs usually lined the long farm table. This room, but for the table and chairs, was empty most of the day, and yet, it was here that Hannah felt most connected to her family. Tonight she eyed the extra chair warily as she and her sisters carried heaping platters of food from the table as the family assembled. Daed sat at one end, his bib overalls caked with the toil of the early spring planting, Mamm at the other end tucking stray wisps of hair back under her kopp. Mammi and Daadi sat across from each other in the middle of each side, ready to help the little ones cut meat and pour milk. Hannah and her siblings sat on either side of the table in perfect symmetry. Girls on one side, boys on the other, in order of birth. Hannah took her seat beside Daed and watched Levi perch himself on the pile of books on his chair so that he was high enough to reach the table. It had been three years since Levi, the last bopplin. Mamm said sixteen children were quite a blessing, and it would be prideful to wish for more.

"Händt nunna," Daed said, and the family dutifully put their hands in their laps and bowed their heads. Finally, Daed cleared his throat, a signal that grace was over and the passing of the platters could begin. Tonight Levi's chair straddled the corner next to Mamm to accommodate the Bishop, Jacob Yoder, who sat at Daed's left. Hannah shifted in her seat to avoid the Bishop's less than subtle glances in her direction. The straight pins holding her blouse together poked her chest. She listened to her father and Jacob drone on endlessly about crops and the shenanigans of the local adolescents enjoying their Rumspringa. Hannah thought back to her own summer of 'worldliness.' While her friends attended parties at the lake, went to movies, and sized each other up as potential partners, Hannah refrained, knowing that stepping that far from the community norms would only upset her parents. Instead, every Saturday morning, she packed a lunch and set out for what her parents thought was a hike. Secretly, Hannah spent those afternoons at the public library reading furiously, vicariously experiencing a forbidden world above the safety net of the pages. Every week the librarian offered her a library card, which Hannah demurred. Bringing home Englisch books would be offensive to Daed and Mamm. The mention of her name brought Hannah back to the dinner table. "So Hannah," Jacob Yoder began, "I've talked to your parents about the possibility of us spending some time together." Hannah inwardly cringed. Last week, when her parents urged her to consider Jacob as a potential suitor, Hannah had quietly accepted his appearance this evening as inevitable. His wife had died last summer, leaving him with three children to raise. She remembered Saloma, his oldest. Hannah was in eighth grade, her final year of school when Saloma was in first. The poor little girl cried endlessly for her Mamm those first few weeks. Hannah had done what she could to be comforting. Now her long-ago kindness was being repaid with Jacob's unwelcome presence at the family table.

"Hannah," Daed interrupted her thoughts, "Jacob is talking to you." "Sorry," Hannah turned to Jacob. "I was thinking about Saloma and what a hard time she had adjusting to first grade. How is she?" "She's twelve now. Next year she'll finish school. I'm looking forward to having an extra pair of hands during the week after that." Hannah noticed Jacob didn't tell her how Saloma was, only about how she could benefit him in the future. "I was hoping we could take a walk after supper." The Bishop made it seem more like a directive than a request. There had been whispers by the girls in the community. Hannah's friends Miriam and Sadie both told stories of uncomfortable encounters with the Bishop. There was even talk of Saloma being visited by her father late at night.

Hannah glanced down the table at Mamm whose eyes were pleading. "It's been a rather busy day for me, Jacob. Perhaps we could have a visit on the porch instead." The Bishop looked disappointed, and Hannah suspected why. At that moment, the scattered dissatisfactions of her life gelled into a lump of desperation. She looked down at the green flowers printed on her dress from her assigned seat at the table. Mamm never seemed to remember how much she disliked the color when she made Hannah dresses. Her fingers were stained pink from the countless quarts of strawberries she had picked that week. She remembered being ashamed of them last week at the Farmer's Market when a cute Englisch boy had shamed her by noticing them. The bobby pins keeping her bun secure dug into her scalp. She had seen English girls in town with their pixie haircuts dyed in various shades of green and pink and wondered what it would be like to live in a world without modest dresses and prayer kopps. And now her parents, her beloved Daed and Mamm wanted her to consider courtship with this awful man? After the silent prayer at the end of the meal, Hannah found herself alone on the front porch with the Bishop. "Saloma has two little sisters, you know. Becca is seven, and Miriam is five."

"Yes, they walk past the house every day on the way to school. They seem well-behaved." "Saloma does the best she can, but they need a mother, and I need sons." And there it was. Bishop Yoder wasn't here because he found Hannah interesting or noticed her strict obedience to the Ordnung. He was looking for a housekeeper and broodmare, like a replacement part for a buggy or plow. Hannah resisted asking him if he'd like to examine her teeth. The screen door creaked as Mammi appeared with two glasses of lemonade and a plate of sugar cookies. She put them on the table, scuffled to her chair at the far end of the porch, and picked up the rug she was crocheting.

Hannah hoped that with Mammi acting as chaperone, the conversation would turn to safer topics. "We're having an excellent strawberry season," Hannah offered. "The dry spring made the fruit sweet. We can't pick them fast enough for the customers at the market." Jake smiled his approval, knowing that her parents were saving Hannah's portion of the profits to build her future home. "The new baptism class will start in a few weeks. I will teach some sessions; I hope you'll be there. From the corner of her eye, Hannah saw Mammi staring at her. Hannah picked at the cuticle on her thumb and stared off into the distance. Her plans to attend the class evaporated. Why is every decision presented to me with a dose of added pressure?

"Of course she'll be there!" Mammi exclaimed.

The betrayal hit Hannah as if Mammi had slapped her in the face.

Swallowing the bile that collected in the back of her throat, Hannah turned to Jacob. "Please forgive me; I'm suddenly not feeling very well. I'm sure Mammi would enjoy it if you stayed and kept her company, but I'm afraid I need to go lie down." Hannah headed for the door, ignoring the glass of lemonade she knocked over as she left.

Mamm was standing at the bottom of the steps, no doubt eavesdropping on the conversation from the porch. "Hannah," she began, smiling hopefully. "Not now, Mamm," Hannah sharply said as she stomped up the stairs and slammed her bedroom door. Her sisters were all taking down their hair and putting on their nightgowns. Hannah ignored their questions about her visit with Jacob as she hurriedly got ready for bed. She pretended to read as the girls finally settled down and turned off the oil lantern.

She listened to the bullfrogs sing their courting songs down by the creek. She laughed to herself, hoping the frogs were making a better argument for mating than Jacob had on the porch earlier.  Mamm had carefully modeled a wife's complete submission to her husband. She hardly ever talked about the past, but when she did, she spoke of the two times in her life when she freely had her say. The certainty she felt about the day of her baptism and how happy she was the day she accepted Daed's marriage proposal. Now Hannah doubted the truth of her testimony.

Mammi's comment had brought everything into focus. Lies. It was all a lie. This evening had shown her two clear paths, to acquiesce for the sake of the community or the unthinkable. As she listened to the rhythmic breathing of her sisters, her heart swelled with love for each of them. She thought of Levi and his silly antics that could soften Daed's most sullen moods. Someone was sneezing and sniffling from the boys' room across the hall. She knew it was Henry, her dearest friend, and twin brother, who had followed her into the world moments after she arrived. She should talk to him. Did he already know?

No, he was blissfully unaware, as she assumed was everyone else in her family. Without realizing it, Hannah's carefully planned Rumspringa adventure had resulted in an unforgivable sin of Biblical proportions two summers ago in the public library.

 Like Eve, she had spent months picking fruit from the tree of knowledge. Her eyes were open to the coercion, false promises, and oppression, and now the price would need to be paid. With great sadness and firm resolve, she threw back the covers and dressed quickly. A sob caught in her throat as she passed the family table. Unable to resist, she sat down at her assigned place one more time before walking into the night, expelling herself from her Garden of Eden.


Isla del Paraiso was a picture of peace and serenity. Even the beautiful turquoise water surrounding it was still. Suddenly the silence was disturbed by a very excitable mermaid bursting through the water, swimming towards the sandy beach, flanked by a couple of playful dolphins. Aerwyna had a very good reason to be excited, the baby sea turtles were going to emerge from the sand tonight! They’d hatched several days ago but she got the news that they were going to finally come out of the hole/ nest that their mothers had made. She had to make sure that it all went smoothly. It was her job after all as one of the guardians of Isla del Paraiso, specifically the turtles’ nesting beach. “Wish me luck”, Aerwyna said to the dolphins as she hauled herself onto the beach. “Good luck!” the dolphins said through various clicks and whistles. They swam away while the mermaid waited patiently for her cerulean blue tail to change. It wasn’t long before the blue-green scales slowly disappeared, her tail splitting in two and morphing into a pair of legs. Aerwyna slowly stood up, wobbling slightly as she wasn’t quite used to being on legs for some time. Once she was sure that she wasn’t going to fall over, the young mermaid picked her way up the sandy beach to where the dusty path began. The brunette wandered up it to where a wooden cabin sat, her home away from home during the turtle hatchings. She ascended the steps and pushed open the door, stepping inside. The cabin itself was small which suited her fine. She didn’t need a big place for somewhere she only stayed in for a few nights at a time. On the left was the door to her bedroom, complete with ensuite bathroom. That was her first stop given that she wasn’t wearing anything. Contrary to popular belief, her people, specifically the females didn’t wear shells over their chests as they were covered in scales instead. Aerwyna went into her room and over to the dresser where she pulled out the first clothes that her hands came into contact with: purple tank top, denim shorts and underwear. She then pulled her long brown and cerulean dipped hair into a messy bun in order to keep it out of the way. Her next stop was for food. Aerwyna headed into the kitchen which was opposite the bedroom. She opened up the cupboards, pulling out a can of peaches. Canned food was the only thing that lasted long periods of time. There wasn’t much of it left either not that it was a problem given that the island had a plethora of fruit, coconuts and of course fish. The mermaid cracked open the can and settled down in one of the squashy chairs that was perfectly situated so that she could look out of the window at her home away from home. Aerwyna slowly ate the sweet peach slices as she watched various tropical birds flitter from tree to tree chattering away in their bird speak. The young mermaid couldn’t understand what they were saying unlike aquatic creatures, but they sounded happy. Once she’d finished the can, Aerwyna tipped the remaining syrup type liquid that kept the peaches so sweet onto a small dish which she set onto the porch. It wasn’t very long before a small flock of Bahamian Woodstar Hummingbirds landed on the wood and surrounded the dish. She smiled at the sight and headed back indoors. The brunette grabbed a book from one of the many shelves in the cabin and sat back in the same chair to do a little bit of reading. There she stayed for good several hours until she dozed off. It wasn’t a big surprise that she’d fallen asleep since she had been too excited the night before to get enough rest to make it through the day. When Aerwyna was jolted awake by a loud screech in her ear, the sun was going down. She rubbed the now ringing ear, glowering at the parrot that was perched on the back on her chair. She knew those unique colourings anywhere, it was the cheekiest bird on the whole entire island. He was very brazen too, not afraid to saunter into the cabin and pinch her food. The parrot cackled as if satisfied for scaring her awake and flew off, out of the cabin. Aerwyna rubbed her face, grumbling in her native tongue, cursing that blasted bird. Then she realised that the sun was setting! She jumped up from her chair and hurried over to the sink to splash cold water on her face to properly wake herself up. She fixed her bun and then headed out of the cabin toward the beach. As she grew closer to the nesting site the excitement in her grow. She actually did a little skip at how happy she was about this very special moment. Aerwyna settled down on the sand and awaited eagerly for the first signs of the hatchlings emerging. She didn’t have to wait very long before her chocolate brown and gold speckled eyes spied the soft ground start to shift in front of her. The mermaid leaned forward barely daring to breathe in case it prevented the baby turtles from appearing. She clapped a hand over her mouth to silence her squeals as one by one the hatchlings crawled out of the sand. Then all across the beach, more and more of them surfaced. Aerwyna slowly raised herself into a crouch and got to work ushering them toward the sea. As she’d successfully gotten a group of hatchlings to the water, she heard small cries of ‘help’. She spun around, eyes flashing in anger as she saw two crabs stalking toward some baby turtles. Aerwyna shot over to them, taking care not to step on the other terrapins that had yet to get off the beach. She kicked the crabs away and shielded them with her body, hissing at the crabs, daring them to try again. Thankfully they seemed to do the smart thing and scuttle off. “Thank you” , the hatchlings said in a series of small noises and pressing their small bodies to her, gratefully. “You’re welcome, now lets get you home”, Aerwyna said. She gently scooped them up and carried them to the water, setting them down when she got there. It was about a good four hours for every single hatchling to get into the water. Now that her job was done, Aerwyna tugged the hair band out of her hair, shaking it loose. She laid down on the beach and looked up the stars, one hand on her bare stomach, the other behind her head. She would spend another couple of days before she too headed into the depths of the sea.


I am from a tiny town in the middle of nowhere in Kansas. It is nice here, but this winter my family and I decided that in the upcoming summer we were going on a trip to Florida. We get to stay at the beautiful, tropical, and colorful beaches for an entire two weeks. Since I am lucky enough to have a summer birthday my mom, my two brothers and I go on vacation as a family every year around my birthday. I am fifteen, Craig is now eighteen, and Lane is eleven. One of our cousins, Leslie, who is twelve, recently moved closer to us with her family. Over the last year, Leslie and I have strengthened our relationship. I decided to ask mom if Leslie could come with us on this trip and thankfully my mom and Leslie's mom both agreed to let her come.

The time finally rolled around where we were getting ready to head out for the tropical vacation ahead. The trip would take approximately twenty-one hours, excluding the time spent at stops. Even though we had three potential drivers, we did not leave until Mom got home from work around three o’clock. We decided to stay at a hotel that night. We stopped at a fast food restaurant for dinner near the eastern edge of Arkansas then checked into a hotel. It was around ten o’clock. My favorite part of staying at hotels is always swimming before we go to bed. We all got our swimsuits on and headed straight for the pool. We did not have much time to swim because the pool closed soon, but we still had fun. The next morning we packed up our bags, and right after breakfast, we headed for Florida once again. None of us kids got much sleep that night, so we slept in the car for a couple hours while Mom was driving.

We finally made it to our resort in Florida. After getting everything gathered up, we brought all our belongings into our rooms. It was a little house with three bedrooms, a living room, and a small kitchen. The boys got one room, Leslie and I had another, and Mom had the last. The first day we did not have much time for anything big, so instead we just went exploring around the water by our resort and went swimming. Soon it became supper time and had started to get chilly, so we went inside and ate. At dinner, we were discussing what we should do tomorrow and decided that we would explore the city, find some elegant restaurants to eat at for the next two weeks, and find some exciting activities we could do together.

The next morning we headed out. The first thing we did was find a place to eat breakfast. We knew we could not eat too much, because if we did, we would be miserable walking around all day. Our next stop was the mall. Since we all have different interests, we split up. The boys headed to look at games and sporting stores, while us girls went to look at clothes. We made a plan to meet up for lunch at the food court. We had only been separated for about half an hour when we heard an announcement telling everyone to go home immediately because there was a blizzard headed our way. Some people did not believe this, as it was the middle of summer in Florida. We did not rush, but we gathered our things to leave. A few minutes later, we exited the mall. We did not see the boys anywhere, but we knew the storm was going to get intense quickly, so we needed to hurry back to our resort. Mom figured that Craig knew how to get back to the resort, and keep Lane and himself safe. As we predicted, the storm rapidly began to worsen. Snow was blowing faster than anyone could even imagine. The few trees in town were bending so far over they almost touched the ground. Business owners were letting some people in to stay safe then began boarding up windows and doors. Mom, Leslie and I were holding on to each other as tight as we possibly could trying to make it somewhere safe to hide out from the storm. It soon got to the point that I could not see anything. Not even Mom or Leslie only six inches away from me. The wind was strong and we were dressed for tropical weather, not a snowstorm. We could not hold on any longer and Mom got separated from Leslie and I. When we realized it was just the two of us, we both felt instant fear. What would we do? Would we survive? Are we going to make it back to the resort? What about Craig and Lane?

At this point we had no idea where we were but we knew we had to get out of the storm. Leslie and I managed to get in a tiny alleyway between two buildings where the snow could not get to us. It was better here, away from the wind, but of course it was still cold as we were only in shorts and t-shirts. We walked away from the street to get further between the two buildings and found three other people hiding out from the storm as well. They did not talk much but I could tell they were kind hearted. They offered Leslie and I a blanket to help keep us warm. The five of us gathered close to keep each other warm with our body heat under the blanket as well.

The next morning we awoke to a small dog climbing on our blankets. The storm had settled. The dog was shivering. Leslie and I decided to go looking for the rest of our family. The dog followed us through the snow, everywhere we went. We decided to give him a name. Loki, we liked the name and the dog seemed to come when we called him by it. I was a little afraid we would get too close with Loki. We would have to go back home, Mom would not want us to bring him back to Kansas with us, but right then I was just focused on finding my family. Leslie and I were walking through the town, trying to think of somewhere they could have been. Luckily the snow was compacted so we could walk on top of it without hardly sinking at all. We had been walking for a while. Loki was still right behind us, as he had been since that morning. Leslie faintly heard a voice shouting from a house down the road. She asked if I heard it. We both turned and looked around. Four houses down from where we were standing I saw Lane. We ran as fast as we could to hug each other. I now could relax a little bit knowing that we were reunited. Lane asked us about the dog and we told him his name is Loki and that he had been following us around and we grew a bond with him. Lane has always loved all animals and him and Loki instantly bonded. We followed Lane into a house where he had been staying overnight. As we entered there stood a woman, a man and their son named Kai. Lane told us all about the night he had, staying up late playing games with Kai. Leslie and I got a nice breakfast while at the house then got ready to go searching. The next journey began. Now that we have all, even Loki, got a nice breakfast and some warmer clothes, we are on our way to find Mom and Craig. It was not too long after searching that we found Craig. We ran to Craig as soon as we realized it was him. He was by himself in an old, closed building. It looked a little scary but it kept him out of the storm. He said he was thankful to be out of the snow and wind but he was pretty hungry. We had brought some extra food with us from Kai’s house that we gave to Craig. Once again after resting for a bit and introducing Craig and Loki we headed out in search for Mom. It was getting later in the day and starting to warm up.

Craig had said that he saw a small church the previous night that was helping people and maybe Mom had found her way there. We ventured through town and found the church Craig was talking about. We tried to open the front doors but they were boarded shut. We walked around and found a side door, but this time we knocked first. A middle aged man came to the door and asked if we needed help. We told him that we were looking for our mom and think she might be there. He let us in and showed us where all the people were staying. Along the back wall we spotted Mom. We ran up to her and she was obviously extremely happy to see all of us. Again we introduced Loki. Mom had never been the biggest fan of animals but she also grew a bond with Loki. Together we all headed back to the resort that was only a ten minute walk from the church. We ended the trip early and got ready so we could leave for home the next morning. The time had finally come, I had to convince Mom to let us take Loki home. I made a slideshow of reasons he would benefit our family. My hopes were that Mom would realize how much I wanted Loki to come with us. I convinced Craig, Leslie and Lane to also help me present it to mom. After a lot of talking and debating we finally got her on our side. The next morning we loaded up the car and headed home with Loki. The five of us decided we would spend the next summer at home and just enjoy eachothers company.


RHETORIC

James and I never got along. Not even when we were kids. Our mom had been on her own since my pops passed, and she wasn't much for parenting after his death. So James and I were left to our devices. When we interacted it always led to fighting. Most times verbally, oft times physically.

For that reason, and for subconsciously resenting both my absentee parents, I moved out at 16. I started by couch surfing, waiting tables. I stuck with it until I could get my own place, and began tending bar. Eventually I ended up bartending at a decently high end restaurant, making more than decent cash. Especially for a low maintenance bachelor.

All was well… until Covid.

Like many in the service industry, my hand was forced financially to make hard choices. Until things opened up, I had to give up my apartment, and move back home. Where I had rarely even visited in the 10 years since I left. Back home with a now,

full on pill popping mother, and my failure to launch, 30 year old brother.

Before I moved back I thought of a joke I could play on James. Since he was a full on Q worshiping tin foiler, I thought I could do something to spice up our ridiculous conspiracy arguments.

I thought I'd make my own version of Q.

I started by furiously "researching" all the conspiracy minded content, I could get my hands on. This would be the ammo I would use against all the James' of the world. I started innocently enough with all the famous stuff. Fake moon landing, Bigfoot, Jimmy Hoffa… all the classics.

Eventually, I fell down a rabbit hole. JFK, led me to Bay of Pigs, & mafia rumors. Then to Northwoods, MKUltra, & project Paperclip.

Once I had my content reservoir filled up with Clinton, Eppstein, Royals, & Masons, I needed to get my logistics down. I needed a hook, and a memorable name, and a delivery method.

After days of thinking I found a Wiki about ancient God's, and the Name jumped out at me. Dolus. That was it. The God of lies. That would be my screen name. My alter ego. His mission would be another Greek god. Nemisis, god of vengeance. Dolus would claim to be an insider. Someone close to someone powerful. Realistic, but vague. Believable, but hard to challenge with questions.

All I had left to do was figure out how to disseminate the info drops to the public.

I thought I would start small. A few reddit drops "warning" of leftist, or socialist projects that were upcoming. Then move to claiming I had knowledge of more sinister machinations. Include the right names, and the right vernacular,

and eventually like minded idiots would begin to nibble the bait. Where it took a leap, is a different story. I just got lucky. That's it. One of my "prophecies" of socialist plans came true in a big way. I told plans of restricting religious rights and paying sheeple to stay home. It was just part of a ranting drop on Reddit. That week, it was widely reported that state governments were banning gatherings,

including Church. Also, the first emergency checks were being put up for vote. I got a lot more eyeballs on my info dumps after that… a LOT more! That's when James started to take notice, and began using bits of Dolus info in his arguments. He also started commenting on my drops. He was hooked.

With that stroke of luck, it was time to kick it into the next phase. Can I effect real world scenarios with my imaginary secret info? All too easily, it turned out. I'd drop info about leftist gatherings, (that were public knowledge), that I'd tag with #coven, or #Death Meeting. Like clockwork, my followers would show up and protest the meetings. My avatar as Dolos was just a black version of the famous Michael Myers mask from Halloween. (Which was just an all white version of Captain Kirk from Star Trek.) At all the gatherings I provoked, the number of those black masks would grow...exponentially.

It was surreal, seeing all those black masks on the news. Reading the signs they were swinging, and hearing MY stuff being regurgitated in interviews with local reporters. The Nemisis freight train was picking up steam, quickly. The unexpected side effect of all this, was how it made me feel. I felt powerful. It was like with every passing day, I was forgetting it was all a joke. All based on trolling these idiots with lies I made up, whole cloth. It started to veer off course.

Before I knew it, I was buying it myself. These "socialists" targets of mine began to actually seem evil to me.

The "white knight" Republicans began to seem heroic. It seemed that I was convincing MYSELF of all this bull shit. It didn't help that besides my now fake arguments with James, I was interacting with an echo chamber. All my posts were met with agreement and an eerie reverence.

My followers were treating me like a holy man. Like I was God's emissary on Earth. It was intoxicating.

All the power and all the conspiracy stuff hitting me at such a weird, untrusting time in the country's history, was a perfectly volatile combo. Things ratcheted up quickly… and violently. One of my lefty action alerts about abortion doctors meeting local politicians,

was taken too far. One of my followers took action and people died. He died as well, but on the message boards he was martyred...and I was praised. I didn't condemn the action, either. I was scared I'd be implicated, so I never mentioned it at all.

James even called Dolus a hero. I pretended not to have heard about the incident. Time went by, and more of the violence and death would be at least partially attributed to the Nemesis group. Dolus was on the authorities radar, by then. When a woman in Florida killed her own child in the name of Nemesis, it snapped me back to reality. The woman claimed her child was a crisis actor, in league with the left. She claimed the 18 year old girl, who was a trauma survivor, took money in exchange for her false testimony against a gunman. The mother got the idea for the shooting being a false flag, aiming to take away guns, directly from a Dolus post.

Time to drop the trolling post, admiting it was all BS. Time to show James all the evidence I had, of Dolus being me. Time to rub it in their faces how easily duped they all were.

I typed out the confession, (not including my real identity), and was about to hit enter. At that moment, the front door was kicked in and I was in custody. From Jail, I talked to James. I told him everything and he was supposed to gather all the evidence of it just being a joke. I needed to show the cops, that I was just a troll, not a vicious political cult leader. That distinction would help with public opinion and hopefully sway the courts into easier punishment. Maybe just probation.

James never showed with that evidence. He probably set it on fire. Instead he used it to access all my accounts, and my laptop. He became a new agent of Nemesis, called Cane. He explained how Dolus was just part of a larger splinter group, and he honored Dolus as a true patriot.

I was sentenced to life in a Colorado supermax prison. The same one

as the Unibomber. James was more careful to avoid the authorities. Last I heard Cane was thought to be dropping his posts from somewhere in the Mediterranean.

Somewhere with no extradition treaty, most likely.

Nemesis is worldwide now.


Timmy Jenkins was a bright little boy with a fascination for sailboats. On his walls were posters and pictures of various kinds of sailboats that inspired him to someday sail the open sea. His dad would buy him model sets and they would stay up late at night gluing together small pieces and painting them vivid colors. So, Timmy thought he knew a thing or two about building a sailboat.

Timmy had some tools his grandpa gave him. Old hand tools that didn’t require electricity like a hammer, some screwdrivers, a saw, even a drill. He collected wood from the construction site in town. He took a bed sheet from his mom’s linen closet. He borrowed screws and nails from his dad’s workshop. He carried all those things to the beach where he would build his boat. He spent every day after school, and Saturday, working on building his sailboat.

When Timmy was done building his sailboat, it didn’t look anything like the sailboats in his pictures. It was square, like a raft, had four walls, and a sail. He was proud of his sailboat though because it floated and didn't leak. He just had one more thing to do – name it. All the boats he had ever seen or read about had girl names, usually two. He went with his favorite girl, his mom, Bonnie May. He grabbed a can of black paint and wrote it as clearly as he could on the side.

Excited to take it sailing, he rushed home and grabbed some things for his trip: a bottle of water to drink, an apple to eat, and a comic book to read. He slid those items in his backpack and ran back down to the beach. There, he untied his sailboat from the tree, got in, and paddled out into the ocean. Once he was far enough out, he raised his sail and let the wind take over.

Timmy was so happy to finally be sailing, and in a sailboat be built. He watched the sail fill with air and could feel the saltwater mist spray him in the face as his sailboat skipped along the gentle waves. He giggled to himself and sat down to eat his apple and read his comic book.

Once Timmy was done with his apple, he looked back to the shore, but it was gone. He had sailed too far. He wanted to paddle back but didn’t know which way was back. To make things worse, he felt raindrops on his arms and heard thunder. He looked up and the sky was as black as night. A wall of rain was coming straight for him, and it was bringing thunder and lightning with it. The wind blew so hard it ripped Timmy’s sail and it flapped in the wind. The waves were getting bigger, taking him up and down, up, and down, spinning him around. The rain came down harder and the thunder got louder. He was scared. He curled up in a corner of his sailboat and squeezed his eyes shut, as tightly as he could, praying his little sailboat wouldn't sink.

Timmy woke up on a beach, his sailboat broken. He was greeted by what looked someone who was half frog and half man. He was as tall as Timmy and had a white beard. He had big flipper-like hands and flipper-like feet. He wore frayed purple shorts and walked hunched over with a staff. He croaked when he talked. His name was Horatio. He told Timmy he could show him how to get home if he followed him back to his house, so Timmy followed him.

They came upon a little hut shaped like a mushroom. It was not a crude hut, but rather homely. It had skinny logs for walls and a curved grass roof. Inside was a stone fireplace with some sort of soup cooking, a bed made of moss, and a little wooden table. Along the back wall was a shelf filled with old-looking books. Horatio invited Timmy to sit down and poured him some soup into a wooden bowl. While Timmy ate, Horatio pulled a book from the shelf and a box from the drawer below.

Horatio opened the book and said that to get home he would need a map, a compass, and a sailboat. Horatio tore out a map of Lost Island from the back of the book and showed it to Timmy. He told Timmy that he must first go to the library in Savanna City to get the map. Then he must find the packrats hideout in the Stoney Ridge Mountains and get the compass they stole. After that, he must follow the river to the sea and defeat the Dark Knight in battle so he can use the sailboat.

“How am I going to do all that? I am just a boy,” Timmy asked.

Horatio opened the box and presented a ring with a jewel in the center that changed colors. “This ring will give you the power to change into any animal you want," Horatio said.

The next day, Horatio gave Timmy a satchel of food, a jug of water, and the map. He wished Timmy good luck and pointed him in the right direction. Timmy enjoyed his walk through the jungle. There were many frog-people living in the jungle. They all had homes and families and were busy working as Timmy walked by. He met a red parrot by the name of Jeremy who talked to him while he walked.

The jungle ended and the savanna began. To get to the city faster, Timmy turned into a cheetah and Jeremy grabbed on tight. Timmy took off running as fast as a car with Jeremy bouncing up and down on his back as he ran, his beak chattering. He ran through the river where the hippos and crocodiles fought. He ran past the elephant-people, standing upright with their long trunks hanging down, wearing armor, standing guard over their land. He passed the lion-people and the hyena-people as they fought a terrible battle. The savanna was a dangerous place where everyone fought for survival. Timmy was glad to be running so fast that no one could catch him.

They came to the great walled City of Savanna with its shining marble walls, beautiful statues, and enormous buildings. The biggest building of all, in the center of the city, was the library. They followed the road and Timmy saw people of all sorts. People like him and people like Horatio. There were people who called themselves land pirates, pirates who have been shipwrecked on Lost Island for hundreds of years and not allowed to leave. There were the cat burglars, skilled thieves who looked like cat-people. There were the city guards, gorilla-men with painted faces, large axes, and armor who patrolled the streets. And every now and again you could spot an angel with their mighty wings and sharp swords amongst many other types of people. There were people selling food, clothes, jewelry, art, songs, and stories along the road. Timmy had never seen such a place.

When they reached the library, they asked for the librarian. A man-like owl named Oliver stepped forward. When they told Oliver which map they were looking for, Oliver let out a long, low hoot and said the map was in the Chamber of Relics, that he would take them to it, but they would have to stay close.

Oliver grabbed a torch, and they took the stairs down to the Chamber of Relics. It was dark except for Oliver’s torch. They walked until they came to a dead end. Suddenly, the bookshelves moved. Timmy, Jeremy, and Oliver moved forward. Then they stopped, waiting for the bookshelves to move again. Then they turned right. The bookshelves moved again and cut them off. They waited until the bookshelves moved and then they hurried forward and stopped. The shelves moved again, and they turned left. They ran fast and then stopped. They waited a minute, and the shelves moved. Oliver grabbed the map and dusted it off. They turned around and went out the same way they came in.

They thanked Oliver and left the library. The sun was setting when they got outside so they had a light dinner, just some bread and water. Timmy turned into an eagle and he and Jeremy perched on top of a statue to get some sleep.

Morning came and the sun peeked over the mountain tops. The packrats had a hideout in a cave in those mountains. So, Timmy, as an eagle, and his parrot friend Jeremy, took to the skies and flew to the mountains.

They found the packrats hideout up on a ledge where two of the rats were standing guard. Timmy and Jeremy swooped down and carried them away so they wouldn’t tell anyone they were there. Then, Timmy had to think of a way to get in there without being seen. He decided to turn into a tiny ant. He snuck in as Jeremy stood watch.

The packrats were dirty rats that needed baths. They had big yellow teeth and carried pins and needles as swords. When Timmy got to the main chamber of their hideout, he saw all their treasure piled up. It was a mountain inside a mountain. All around the treasure were thousands of packrats. Timmy turned into a spider. He crawled along the wall to the top of the ceiling and lowered himself down by a web on top of the compass. He then turned into a cat, surprising the packrats, sending them scurrying. Timmy swatted and scratched at the rats as he took off down the main hall with the compass in his mouth. The rats chased after him, stabbing him with their needles and pins. When he burst through the cave opening, he scared poor Jeremy who flew into the air, shrieking. Timmy jumped off the ledge to get away from the rats and came soaring back up as an eagle where he met Jeremy in the sky and the two of them flew down to the river below.

They followed the river until they got to the ocean. There, the Black Knight guarded the dock leading to a sleek looking black and red racing sailboat, like the one on Timmy’s poster above his bed. The knight didn't want anyone to leave the island and would fight anyone who tried.

Timmy and Jeremy landed. Timmy turned into a tiger and rushed the Black Knight, jumping on him. The Black Knight wrestled with him, picked him up, and threw him. Timmy charged him again and then turned into a bear, swiping the Knight with his huge claws, knocking him down. He then turned into a gorilla and leapt into the air, landing on the Black Knight, and started pounding on him. The Knight hit Timmy hard and knocked him away. Timmy rolled to a stop. He was tired and hurt. He looked up and the knight was charging him, ready to swing his sword. Timmy turned into a mouse and the Black Knight missed with his sword. The knight went to step on Timmy, but Timmy turned into an elephant, knocking the knight off his feet. With his long trunk, Timmy picked up the Black Knight and threw him in the ocean.

Timmy turned back into a boy. He ran to the boat with Jeremy flying alongside him. Timmy looked at the directions on the back of Horatio’s map and put the map and compass where they needed to go. Then, like magic, the sailboat set sail.

Timmy and Jeremy sat on the floor of the boat and ate the rest of their bread and drank the rest of their water. When they looked out across the ocean, they could see that the sailboat was taking them into a storm.

Rain came down and so did the sails. The water grew rough and tossed the sailboat around. Yet, it kept its course. Thunder banged and lightning flashed. Waves were the size of mountains. Timmy and Jeremy desperately held on as the sailboat pushed through the storm. When they came through on the other side of the storm, Timmy could see land. The sailboat raised its sails and it sailed to the beach where Timmy built his sailboat.

Timmy took off the ring and put it in Horatio’s satchel with the map from the book, leaving it with the sailboat to give back to Horatio. He then turned and ran home with Jeremy flying behind him. He burst through the front door, so happy to be home. He rushed into his mother’s arms and begged her forgiveness for being gone for so long, telling her all that had happened.

She laughed and kissed his head. “Timmy, you’ve only been gone an hour.”


Charlie’s Well The light coming from above seemed so far way. Charlie sat languid; staring at the circumference of light at the top of the well. Only past the light sat the rest of the world. Large, chunky rocks composed the circular prison. Each varied in shape and size, but cut as much as the next. Blood soaked his hands Dirt marred his cheeks causing them to look pallid. So many times he tried to climb out, only to fall back down each time. Each plummet hurt more than the last. Charlie couldn’t exactly remember how he ended up at the bottom of the well. He just found himself there one day. Surely someone would pass by out of sheer luck and throw him a rope? All the urges within him told him to scream for help, but his voice evaporated every time. One last time. One last time he would try to escape. Charlie stood up lethargically, wiped the dirt from his blue jeans. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I can do this”, he told himself. Spying some dry dirt on the ground, he took a handful and rubbed the soles of his hands. The dirt permeated through his fingernails. Charlie spent minutes meticulously choosing his path. Finally, with the path chosen two hands firmly grasped two rocks. With his feet, he pushed himself higher. He climbed and climbed, with each thrust forward, his spirt slowly became replete. The small pinpoint of light became a sun. The warmth of the air above raised every hair. A smile broke as he became closer. Not much longer now. One hand grasped the next rock. As he heaved the other hand forward, a sharp, acute pain stung his hand. Hanging on by the one hand, he saw the long cut trickling blood. No vestige of hope remained. Only a few feet separated the boy and the outside world. He went numb, after all the distance traveled nothing would stop the inevitable descent. Then, a hand appeared out of the light. The hand grabbed the bloody hand and pulled Charlie forward. The luminous transition blinded his sight. Eyes squinted to defend the assaulting light. As the light became tolerable, Charlie looked around. There he stood, surrounded by grass in a field. The sky shined blue and the gentle breeze felt pleasant upon the skin. In front of Charlie stood the very person he needed most. A smile broke free. At that moment Charlie knew all would be well.


This was written for u/Say_Im_Ugly's Discord Secret Santa story exchange. I took it upon myself to include Say in the fun, and secretly asked for constraints and had constraints provided for them. This is the story I wrote for u/Say_Im_Ugly using the following constraints: Words: smitten, gingerbread, Jack Frost, glisten, sprocket. Include: something broken, a robin. Genre: Please pick the genre you enjoy writing in the most. The white glow of the TV light danced across the interior of the cabin, as the last remnants of the B Horror movie Jack Frost splashed across the screen. The fading aroma of a Christmas ham intermingled with the alluring smell of freshly baked gingerbread cookies and filled every corner of the small lodge in the Montana wilderness. Nelly and Brett had planned this getaway for months now. Years spent with their increasingly chaotic families left them yearning to find some peace for the holidays. They had both been smitten with the area surrounding Yellowstone after their honeymoon a few years prior, and decided this year to get away from the hustle and bustle of their daily lives in the DC metro area by returning to bring in the new year. The couple, still well in the prime of their lives, had spent the first night, Christmas Eve, in each other’s arms, finally able to relax and melt away the stress, sublimating into the deadened silence of the snow-covered countryside. Occasionally, the stillness would be shattered by the snapping of branches under the weight of snow and various calls from local wildlife. Which is why it was so concerning when Nelly and Brett heard footsteps squeaking through the snow. “Shh. What is that?” Nelly said, recoiling from Brett’s embrace. His pulse quickened as he tuned his ears into the broken silence. The unmistakable crunch of snow compacting underfoot. The steps were weighty, slow and intentional in their pattern. “Footsteps. Probably a Park Ranger. Stay here.” Brett said. He swung his legs out of the bed and into his discarded Christmas-themed pajama pants. His feet, now freezing after being uncovered, quickly found the inside of his sherpa-lined slippers. Not bothering to find a shirt, the fleece lining of his leather jacket produced an unfamiliar feeling on his skin. As he stepped into the large common area of the cabin, reaching from the kitchen through the living area, he toggled the light-switches and illuminated the interior, hoping to disarm the source of the footsteps, acknowledging their presence. Brett stepped out into the blistering cold and called out. “Hello? Is that a Ranger out here?” Brett asked. His query was met with the same silence found before the footsteps which concerned him. Whoever it was had stopped moving and they did not reply to him. “Is that a Park Ranger out here?” Brett called again. Once again he was met with utter silence. A breeze rose through the air, kicking up fresh powder from the ground and out of tree branches above. The cold wind painfully stung his face. “I’m going back inside. If you’re not a Park Ranger, please, just go away. We don’t have cash or valuables, we’re just here to relax.” Brett said, bargaining with an unknown visitor with unknown intentions. He did as he said and returned to the warm embrace of the inside of the cabin with its glowing fire and seasonal aromatics, where his wife waited. He had no sooner reached the hall with the light switches when the electricity cut off entirely. The eerie silence somehow became quieter, their ears now adjusting to the lack of ambient sound. “Brett?” Nelly called out. “I’m here.” Brett said. “What’s going on?” “The power went out.” Brett said, crossing the threshold into the bedroom. “Must be a downed line somewhere.” he added, full of false optimism. “Who was outside?” Nelly asked. “No one. Must have been branches falling or something.” Brett said, attempting to quell any fear Nelly had. “I know I heard footsteps. They must have been!” Nelly contended. “There’s no mistaking the sound of footsteps on snow.” She said, her voice quivering with uncertainty. Almost as if on cue, the silence was once again shattered by a violent explosion of splintered wood as a large man burst through the same door Brett had closed moments earlier. The cacophony of sounds that filled the cabin in the remote countryside over the next few minutes were a chaotic mess of screams, grunts, and the whine from the driving sprocket of a chainsaw. In the morning, the snow surrounding the cabin glistened in the crisp December air. On a low hanging branch, a robin called out, sending miniature plumes of breath out into the stillness that once again blanketed the wilderness. A trail of bloody footprints disappeared into the thick woods behind the cabin.


This is an idea I had this morning, I haven't read though it yet but it is the set up of a much longer short story than I've written before. **Castle Stalker** The bell tolled 12, thus marking the second day of my solitary confinement in uncles secluded estate, I haven’t a clue why I didn’t invite anyone to come here to keep me company, this place was boring as hell. Although disturbingly breath-taking, the 14th century castle sat upon its own island surrounded by a prison of deep blue water. The castle was originally gifted to King James to be used as a hunting lodge and I am unsure of how it came into my uncle’s possession. He’d moved here after his divorce and retirement citing escaping the hustle and bustle of Edenborough as his reason for departing. The whole family thought he’d gone mad, who in their right mind would want to live in such a desolate place, no neighbours, no shops, it was to some degree my idea of hell. But this was the place I had to call home for now at least, while sorting through his estate, you see last month the haggard old bastard had finally kicked the bucket, and not in the nicest of ways. No one was really surprised considering the letters aunt Gem received from him got more and more incoherent before eventually ceasing. Left it a month or two before deciding to make a visit, when Aunt Gem finally turned up she’d found him butt naked, face down in the bath tub, we’d come to the conclusion that he’d had enough and decided to drown himself. What a way to go out! I couldn’t think of anything worse, imagine, your last moments as your lungs filled with air, fighting the urge to come up and breath, to wonder what dark thoughts must be going through a man’s mind to commit such an action. Me and Uncle Josh never really had much of a relationship after he moved here, he never really had much of a relationship with anyone after, life ruined him. I remember back when I was a kid, we’d always visit him in Edenborough and have the best time. He was so kind, the entertainer of the family, you know, one of those people that seems to derive the pleasure of life from making other people laugh. He was full of tremendous one liners. I remember this one he always used to say about a penguin. Anyway, it went like this a penguin takes his car to the shop and the mechanic says it'll take about an hour for him to check it. While he waits, the penguin goes to an ice cream shop and orders a big sundae to pass the time. The penguin isn't the neatest eater, and he ends up covered in melted ice cream. When he returns to the shop, the mechanic takes one look at him and says, "Looks like you blew a seal." "No," the penguin insists, "it's just ice cream." To me it was as if he’d died a long time ago, I hadn’t even seen him in the last five years, even when I did, he was a shell of the man he was before, it’s strange when that happens, like the former personality had died only to be replaced by a strange withered old man, he’d aged terribly since the move both mentally and physically. I believe it’s because we’re supposed to be social beings, not those isolated from the tribe, with no interaction, that sort of thing could really change a man.