It was the weekend before Valentine’s Day in 2002.

The country was still in mourning over the events of 9/11.

The new security protocols at the airport were frightening but necessary.

One week before taking a flight to spend the weekend with my husband, I had a vivid dream.

I don’t read too much into dreams, but because of the state of the country and my personal situation of my husband being deployed stateside, I was on high alert.

In the dream, I was at the airport and missed the flight I should have taken.

As I watched my plane take off, I immediately saw the plane crash and burn.

In my dream, I saw parts of the plane burning.

I didn’t see any survivors and I realized in this dream that I could have been on that plane.

I immediately woke up from this dream remembering it vividly and then questioning if I should continue with my flight plans.

When I spoke with my husband the following night (we had to talk late at night because of the time zone difference and it was cheaper to talk at night even on the cellphone during this time).

He told me if I didn’t feel comfortable, don’t get on the plane.

We heard stories about people who missed their flight on 9/11 for some bizarre reason, how some people in New York didn’t go to work in one of the offices in the Twin Towers, or how people took an alternate route to work.  These people showed gratitude in interviews for the small change in their schedule and how this saved their lives.  I was dealing with a major conflict.

Do I get on a flight that can alter (or end) my life so that I can spend time with my husband?

Do I stay and let fear make my decisions?

 Thankful I had a Pastor to pray with me and for me, I attended church the Sunday morning before leaving for my flight.

I went to the altar for prayers after the service.

I didn’t tell my Pastor about my dream, but I told him that I was going to see my husband. I wanted him to agree that I would have a safe flight.

He did and at the end of my prayer, he told me to tell my husband hello and to enjoy my time with him (my husband grew up in this church, so my Pastor has known him since he was 9 years old).

 I made a decision out of faith, not out of fear.

My parents drove me to the airport, and I kissed my only son at that time goodbye and entered the airport.

As I took a deep inhale of fresh air, I cautiously stepped into the airport.

The tension in the airport terminal was palpable.

The security measures enacted to prevent another terrorist strike were a necessary evil.

As I entered through the metal detectors, I shivered at the coldness of this air-conditioned building and the coldness of the security process. After I exited the metal detectors, I was told to take off my shoes.

What?

I didn’t question verbally but just compiled so I would not be detained any longer and miss my flight.

This was a new security protocol implemented to ensure airplane security.

Another hurdle to overcome is what I thought as I quickly took off my shoes without taking the time to untie them.

I scooped them up and placed them on the counter for the TSA Security guard to inspect.

After my shoes passed inspection, I began to put my shoes back on my feet when I was told to head to the right.

What now?

Another security protocol has the computer select random passengers to closer security scrutiny.

I’m taken to the other line in which I have to empty my pockets and have a female security guard use the metal detector wand to go over my clothed body for extra protection.

I watched once again as my carry-on bag had its items searched by the hands of strangers.

I was really rethinking the trip.

However, at this point, I would look suspicious if I decided not to continue. All the hoops I have jumped through to get on the plane would be for nothing if I decided to cancel my trip.

I took another breath, gathered my belongings, and headed for the gate.

With my ticket and identification in hand, I boarded my plane.

 Before the plane took off, everyone on the plane exchanged nervous smiles and curt nods of acknowledgment with each other trying to decide if their fellow passenger could be a threat to this flight.

When the plane took off and we relaxed as the plane ascended to the desired altitude, the tension in the plane began to dissipate.

Despite the conflict of my body demanding sleep and my mind telling me to stay awake, I surrendered to sleep.

Just waking from my nap on the plane, I was able to see the perfect square blocks illuminated by the streetlights against the dark ground below.

As we flew closer to the runway, I could see the mounds of snow created by the snowplows to clear the runways.

I exhaled a sigh of relief.

I was inwardly thanking God for a safe flight.

I was not only thankful l that there weren’t any mechanical problems, but more thankful no one had hijacked this plane for some nefarious plan. Although the cabin of the plane was still dark, I could see the 5 or 6 other passengers' silhouettes as we landed.

As the lights in the cabin of the plane came on, the passengers were waking from their slumber shaking away any tiredness still lingering in their eyes.

We had to be on full alert. What if something happened as soon as the plane door opened?

I was finally able to exhale.

I was stepping off the plane in Chicago to see my husband who was recalled in October 2001.

Unlike the 70-degree weather I left in Raleigh, NC, the frigid tempers of the night kept the mounds of snow piled high on the runways.

As we say in ENC when the weather is really cold, the “hawk” was out, and I pulled my winter coat tighter around my body to keep myself warm.

I gathered my overnight bag and headed to the airport exit.

I looked for the gold Honda Accord as I stared at the busy airport lane.

I spotted the gold Honda pulling up to the side of the walkway to meet me.

 Because of the tight security, we didn’t linger at the curb, but put my suitcase in the backseat and quickly entered the warm, welcoming car.

After exchanging a quick peck on the lips, my husband pulled away from the curb and we were off.

Not knowing if I would be hungry after my plane landed at 9:00pm, my husband had hot chicken soup and a grilled cheese sandwich waiting for me.

The aroma of the soup filled the car as we drove away.

He knew I was not used to Chicago winters.

I was overcome with his thoughtfulness.

As we headed by towards Great Lakes, I had the chance to look at my husband of almost three years.

He looked so mature!

He looked like the young man I married after we graduated from East Carolina University, but somehow different.

I think it was the protector as a soldier role he had gladly fulfilled to our country that made him look mature and distinguished.

The responsibilities of this new life made him take on a semblance of wisdom and maturity.

While riding to the Naval Base, I took a moment to reflect.

I was thankful that my husband had been recalled to an area where I could visit.

I was thankful to God that the flight I had taken was a faith flight and I made the decision to board the plane.  Because of the men and women at airport security, I arrived to my destination safely and spent the weekend with my husband.


Don't look up. Don't look up. Erin sits on the top shelf, eyes squeezed shut. With her knees clutched against her chest, she hardly dares to breathe. The creature shuffles along the floor below her hiding place, knocking cans and boxes off the shelves as it searches. Erin winces each time another item clatters to the concrete below. It knows she's somewhere nearby. Someone outside screams. With a burst of speed, the green-skinned beast spins around. Then, it hurtles out the door and toward the sound. Erin finally lets out a stifled sob and slumps back against the wall. It's over. For now, at least. After allowing herself a few moments of emotion, she wipes her face and pulls herself together. If she's going to survive, she needs her wits about her. And she needs to get out of here before the creature comes back. As quiet as a mouse, Erin slips over the edge and cautiously climbs down the tower of metal shelves. She  slides the backpack off and tugs at the zipper. In the quiet room, the zipping sound is deafening, but the chorus of growls and screams from outside is enough to hide it from the ravenous monsters. She stuffs cans and boxes of food into the bag with layers of towels in between. She zips the bag closed. She turns to leave, but stops at the sight in front of her. One of the creatures -- much bigger than the one who had stalked her before -- stands just outside the open door. Its back is toward her. Erin's heart pounds against her chest. Maybe I can sneak out the back. Breath held, she takes a step backwards. Then another. And another. All is well so far. She starts to feel hopeful. Then, she starts to turn around. The bulge of the backpack snags on something. A can scrapes across the metal shelf and slams to the ground. The creature bellows as its claws tear at the door frame. Erin panics. She freezes in place, watching over her shoulder. Long fangs hang well below its lower lip as it bares its teeth. Its four yellow eyes glare with murderous intent. It lets out another roar and Erin breaks from her stupor. She bolts through the huge building. Behind her, the monster breaks through the wall. It lets out a screech that echoes through the building. More monsters appear through the demolished doorway as Erin tries to escape. She tries door after door, but they're all locked. The floors start to shake as behind her, the creatures start to stampede. Her fear mounts as they get closer and there's no escape in sight. At last, she finds an unlocked door. Her legs nearly buckle in relief. But, with the thunder of clawed feet barreling toward her, she throws herself through the opening. Then, she turns and yanks the door shut. "Hey!" Erin shrieks at the unexpected voice in the stairwell. She spins around, fists raised, prepared for battle. "I ain't gonna hurt ya. But they will. Come on!" Before she can protest, the man grabs her hand and starts running up the stairs. Erin's lungs fight for air. There's a stitch in her side, too, but she obediently runs after the stranger. "Come on! Through here." He drags her through another door and pushes it closed behind them. The cacophony of roars and shrieks from the monsters echoes through the building. Erin frantically looks around the room, trying to find the way out. But the man is doubled over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. When Erin notices that he's in no hurry to leave, her voice comes out an octave higher than normal. "What are you waiting for? We have to go! Now!" He stands up and looks her over. "Nah. Them things can't get through that stairwell. They're too big." He watches her for a moment longer before extending his hand. "Name's Clayton." She shakes the proffered hand in a daze. "Wha... But... H..." Erin closes her eyes for a moment to find the right words. "How do we get out of here?" Then, as an afterthought, "Erin, by the way." Clayton smiles. "Lovely to meet ya, Erin. Although, I do wish it was under better circumstances." Impatience growing, she begins to look around again for an exit. The roars and screeches from the creatures seem to grow louder. The sounds of claws against concrete and steel below echoes through the room. "Alright. See that door, back over there? We're gonna wait 'til the sun goes down," Clayton pauses as he sees Erin start to protest. With a raised eyebrow and a stern voice, he continues, "We'll wait 'til sunset and then climb down that ol' fire escape." "What?! No! Why wait so long?" Without waiting for an answer, she starts marching toward the exit. "Because," Clayton grabs her by the arm and spins her around to face him. "Because I got backup comin' then." Erin glares. "Let me go." She tries to twist out of his grip, but it doesn't work. "I have to get back to my sister!" The two keep staring. Finally, Clayton releases her. "Fine. Go if you wanna. But you're gonna have a better chance if ya stick with us." "Why? Those things can't be killed! How would it help to stay with you?" His smile returns. "Yeah, they can. Ever since the day those things landed on earth and started wiping us out, we've been searchin' for a way to kill 'em. Now?" His smile broadens. "We found it." Erin's jaw drops. Before the military had been wiped out, they'd tried everything. Some countries had even resorted to nukes. But the extraterrestrial creatures persisted. "No way. You couldn't possi..." Erin's eyes are drawn to the corner of the room. "What's that noise?" Just as Clayton turns around to look, a chunk of the concrete floor crumbles and falls away. The rebar inside has been snapped, useless against the strength of the monsters. A clawed hand reaches up through the new opening. "Shit! Run!" Another chunk of floor disappears behind them as they book it toward the door. Erin reaches it first and stops to yank it open. Clayton looks over his shoulder. The creature's snout is through the opening now. Its slit-like nostrils flare as it huffs in anger. As soon as Clayton and the beast make eye contact, a deafening roar shakes the room. Both humans wince at the sound, then rush out the door and down the fire escape. As soon as her feet hit the ground, Erin starts to dash off. Clayton grabs her arm once more and pulls her the other way. "I have to get to my si-" "No! Come on!" Erin fights to get out of his grip, but he keeps hold. He finally looks her in the eye. "We gotta get to my truck and lead 'em away. If we go to your sister, they'll follow us there and then we'll all be dead." Erin glowers at him. As they hear another large chunk of concrete fall inside the building, she makes up her mind. She gives a slight nod, then sprints after Clayton to the truck. Safe in the truck, Erin turns in the seat and watches as the buildings disappear into the distance. Once they've both finally caught their breath, she turns to Clayton. "Can you warn your team? They'll get there and--" "Nah. They'll see my truck is gone and they won't go in. And as soon as they meet up with us, we'll go back for your sister." "Oh. That's good." She leans back against the seat and lets herself relax a little. Suddenly, she remembers the conversation they were in the middle of when the floor started getting ripped apart. "So, earlier you were saying you found a way to kill those things." "Yep. Hold on a sec." Just then, he turns into a well-concealed driveway and parks the truck. "Wait here." He climbs out and starts searching through a nearby bush. Erin watches in confusion. Finally, he pulls out a walkie-talkie and speaks into it. From her spot in the truck, Erin can't quite make out what's going on. Finally, he comes back and puts the vehicle back into drive. "Sorry 'bout that. I had to let base know we're coming so they could open the gates for us." "OK. So, about killing those things..." "Right. So, it took a lot of trial and error. Whole lotta people died in the process, too. It's sugar." Clayton pulls up in front of the building and throws the truck back into park. When he turns toward Erin, he sees the disbelieving smile written across her face. "No, I'm serious. It's high concentrations of sugar." "What? Like, they're diabetic?" "I dunno. Something like that. Anyway, if ya give 'em high doses of sugar, they just drop dead. It's so simple that we should've figured it out sooner." "How the hell do you get them to eat sugar?" "We don't. Come on in, I'll show ya." The pair walked inside the building. Clayton said hello and introduced Erin along the way, but she was too preoccupied to take much note of names and faces. They walked through a large room with multiple vats of boiling liquid. Finally, they traveled down a hallway and entered a much smaller space. Several people were inside, funneling liquid into small, odd-looking syringes. "You've seen tranquilizer guns on movies, right?" Erin gives a nod while continuing to watch the process. "Well, those things are meant to be tranq darts. We just empty 'em out and put in sugar water instead. Ya hit those guys with a one or two of those darts, they're out," he snaps his fingers, "like that." Erin turns towards him. "No, I've seen bullets bounce of those things. There's no way that little needle goes in." Clayton lets out a chuckle. "Yeah, it does. Imagine this: You've got a piece of cloth stretched out in front of you. How hard is it to push a little needle through? Not hard at all, right? Now, take that same piece of cloth and try to push the end of a baseball bat through it. It's gonna take a whole lot more force to get that bat through than the little needle." She looks off into space for a moment, deep in thought. Finally, she nods. "Alright. Now as soon as the group gets back, we'll go get your sister and bring her back here. Hopefully take out a few of those extra-terrestrial killing machines in the process." -------------- Erin taps her foot against the floorboards. She stares down at the tranq gun propped against the seat in front of her. "Knock it off, you're making me nervous." She turns toward the woman in the seat beside her. "Rosa, I'm sorry, but I've been gone for nearly two days now. She's been alone this whole time and has no idea what's happened to me." "Yeah, I get it. Just chill though. Bouncing around like you're strung out isn't gonna help anyone. The way you're jittering, you're never going to hit your target with that gun. Hell, we'll be lucky if you don't hit one of us." Erin grinds her teeth at the woman's abrasive manner, but forces herself to sit still. Jasper turns around from the passenger seat to look at Rosa. "Come on, she's just worried about the kid. Have a little empathy." Clayton glances back at them in the rearview mirror, but doesn't intervene. Jasper turns back toward the front and the rest of the ride continues in silence. Finally, they pull up in front of the house where Ellie has been waiting. "Jasper and I will go chec--" Erin bolts out of the van, ignoring Clayton's words. "Ellie?" She sprints up the porch steps and through the front door. "Ellie, I'm back!" The others grab their guns and jump out of the van to follow. Rosa rolls her eyes and mutters something under her breath. By the time the trio makes it inside, they're greeted by the sight of Erin hugging a crying twelve-year old girl. "Alright, you can hug in the van. Let's go." "Geeze, Rosa, just let them have a minute." Jasper glares at her. "No, we've got to get out of here before o..." Her eyes dart to the window. "What's that sound?" She rushes over and peers through a gap in the blinds. Then, she hisses back at him, "There's one out there right now. If we go now, we can make it to the van before it finds us. If we wait and it finds us first..." "Why can't we just shoot it with the tranq guns? I thought that was the plan." Erin looks around at the others, trying to understand. Jasper sighs. "Well, we need to do it as we move. The injection takes a while to work. They can still attack or call others over in the meantime." She turns to glare at Clayton. "I thought you--" "Yeah, I may have exaggerated a bit. But it does work. It just takes a few minutes." Before Erin can respond, Rosa speaks up again. "Guys, what's the plan? It's getting closer. We need to decide now ." "Alright," Clayton says, "show of hands, who wants to go?" Clayton, Rosa, and Erin raise their hands. "OK, we go. Jasper, you drive. Rosa, you're in back with me. You two, in the middle. We go out there, slow and quiet. On three, we open the doors and hop in. Any questions?" He takes a moment to look around at the group. "Good. Let's go." Jasper crouches at the door. He slowly pulls the door open and steps outside. Rosa and Clayton stay close on his heels. Erin and Ellie follow at the rear. They're halfway to the van when Ellie catches a glimpse of the four-eyed creature and gasps. Clayton spins around and presses a hand against the girl's mouth. Panicking, she tries to push away from his grip. The beast hears the commotion and bellows. "Three!" Clayton scoops the girl up and makes a mad dash toward the van. He tosses her inside then leaps in after her. "Come on!" Jasper dives in and starts the van as Erin and Rosa hurry to close the doors. The tires squeal as they peel out across the blacktop. Erin clutches the crying Ellie to her chest as they watch the beast gaining on them. Rosa, already in the back, knocks out the rear window while Clayton struggles over the back of the seat. The creature tears after them, its claws leaving gouges in the asphalt. Rosa takes aim, holds her breath, and shoots the first dart at the monster. It screeches as the needle sticks in its leg. Clayton, finally positioned in the back, takes aim as Rosa reloads. He shoots and the monster shrieks once more as the dart sticks in the center of its chest. Rosa holds up her gun again, but looks toward Clayton. "How many shots?" "This guy's big. One more, then we'll see if he goes down soon." She turns back toward the window and takes aim. She fires, but the van hits a pothole and the dart goes flying over the thing's head. Clayton shoots once more. This one hits just inches from his first shot. The creature's stride falters a bit, but it continues its pursuit. "Floor it, Jasper!" The van speeds up and finally makes some real distance from the monster. Soon, the creature's knees buckle and it collapses to the ground. Rosa cheers, and Erin lets out the breath she didn't realize she was holding. "See?" Clayton looks at Erin. "Just like that." He snaps his fingers for emphasis. Erin can't decide whether to laugh or cry, so she does both. Slowing to a more reasonable speed, Jasper turns the van back toward the base. Finally, Erin calms down and turns toward Clayton. "I want to help. I haven't had much practice with a gun, so I don't know if I can shoot them. But give me something to do. I can make the darts or gather supplies or something. I'm tired of running." Clayton smiles at her. "Alright." He offers her his hand. "Welcome to the team."


Forever Fifteen by: Asher Romero Moeckli Caelum turned 15 tomorrow, and Camila had spent her entire day off working on his present. That morning she’d begged Nic, Caelum’s best friend, to drive her to a nearby photo store so she could print a picture of the three of them. Not one of their official photos that were used to promote the Academy, but one of the three of them out by the lake.

Camila’s other brother, Lewis Smyth, had been the one to take the picture, forever freezing the moment when Caelum was attempting to throw a goldfish into Nic’s mouth and Camila was sitting in the sand, building a wall of rocks behind him. It was Caelum’s favorite picture of them. They weren’t posing for the camera, they weren’t putting on the front of a happy family, they were a happy family.

Camila had framed that photo once it was printed. It had been a simple wooden frame that had the words “Family is Forever” engraved along the bottom in fancy cursive. Now, it was a decorated frame with stickers, shells, and rocks that they’d collected together. Camila had never been much of an artist but she’d asked Luka Jackson and Dylan Davis, two of the boys in her grade, to help her glue the shells and rocks on. They had used Dylan’s magic glue. Shortly after dinner, Camila had wrapped the present with probably thirty layers of tissue paper. Her older brother, Lewis, had walked in on her while she was in the middle of trying to tape one of the layers down. He’d laughed at her and told her she should stuff the bag with the rest of the roll before he continued on his merry way to his bedroom. So, of course, Camila stuffed the remainder of the gift bag with the rest of the roll of tissue paper.

That night she slid the bag under her bed as Nic flipped through the book he had been reading her, trying to find where he left off the night before. “Ready for bed kiddo?” Nic said, smiling warmly at her and patting her on the head. She nodded, excited to hear more about Shelby the Shellfish’s adventures through the Mariana Trench. Camila tucked herself under the covers quickly and stared at Nic, waiting eagerly for him to start reading. Tonight, Shelby was getting ready for her big dinner with her new neighbors. She had to spend all day gathering supplies and putting together the perfect dinner party. Camila giggled at how similar their days had been. She had also spent all day putting together the perfect present. “Sounds like you,” Nic had teased, shaking her leg from where he was sitting. This only caused Camila to giggle more. “Yeah. But mine is a present! I could never make dinner for someone, I can’t cook!” Camila replied.

“No, you can’t. I’ve tried your cooking. It gave me food poisoning!” Nic said through his chuckles. Nic had no ties to the Academy, but Camila felt like he was her fourth big brother. He had the same messy brown hair that Lewis had before he was appointed Cardinal and hazel eyes were close enough to brown. “You were the one telling me what to do!” Camila sat up and tried to smack him. Nic swatted her hand away. “Lay down, it’s bedtime.” He ordered, closing the book. “Wait, are you not going to finish the story?” Camila asked as he set it back on its place on her nightstand. “Nope, you were getting too riled up. You need to be calm to sleep. Your dad wouldn’t be happy if his favorite daughter was a zombie tomorrow.” Nic replied, reaching for the ends of Camila’s covers and pulling them up to her shoulders. “Fineeee,” she reluctantly agreed, tugging the covers over her shoulders and rolling onto her side, facing the door. She could no longer see Nic’s face as the light from the door cast a shadow over his face. “Do you think everything will be okay with Caelum and dad?” Caelum and her father, the Headmaster of the Academy, had gotten into a huge fight during dinner about whether Caelum could do a year at a normal school. The fight had ended in Caelum storming up to his room, yelling about how he never wanted to set foot in the Academy again. Of course this wasn’t the first time the two had fought. They fought about just about everything from schooling to training to Camila. But they always hugged it out and Nic would tell Camila everything Caelum said. “I think everything will be okay,” Nic replied, rubbing the top of her head and causing her flyaways to stick up, “I’m gonna go check up on him before I head home, alright?” “Okay. Tell me what he says tomorrow?” Camila asked, holding up her pinky finger. She couldn’t see Nic’s face but she would swear that she felt his smile as he wrapped his pinky around hers. “As always.” Camila laughed and snuggled into her pillow, “Goodnight Nic.” “Goodnight kid, I love you.” Camila was asleep before she could say it back. Camila turned 15 tomorrow, and she sat on her bed with that old box that she’d been hiding under her bed for five years. When Caelum had turned 15, Camila spent all day making sure she gave him the perfect present. He had helped her so much following Grayson’s death and with her training. She found the perfect picture– his favorite one– and enlisted the help of the best craftsman in the Academy to help her add her own flair to the frame. ~Family is Forever~ It had read. And Camila thought it was perfect, they were her family. Camila never got to give Caelum the picture. Because when she woke up the next morning, scooping the present out from under her bed and sprinting to give it to Caelum, she found that he wasn’t there. Turns out he had run away with Nic the night before, finally deciding that Camila wasn’t worth sticking around for anymore. He had left her a flashdrive where he had recorded his final goodbye. Camila might have listened to it once before throwing it into a box along with his present, the pendant he had given her for her birthday, and Nic’s letter that she’d received about three years ago. That box sat under her bed for almost five years. Now, Camila sat on her bed- forcing her nausea away and telling herself that she wasn’t going to throw up- with that box on her lap. She was almost Caelum’s age now. Fifteen. Obviously she knew he wasn’t fifteen anymore. Five whole years had gone by, he was closer to twenty now and no longer legally tied to the Academy in any way.

Yet, to Camila, he would be fifteen for the rest of his life. He was dead to her and he was dead to the Academy. And as of tomorrow, she would be older than him. It was time for her to get rid of the last remnants of her brother.

She unclasped the box and slid the top off. It was like opening a time capsule. Everything inside was just as she remembered it (albeit a little jostled around from being moved). The flash drive sat taped onto an old letter Camila had received from Nic. She figured bullshit belonged with bullshit.

She didn’t open that either. Sprawled out in a twisting maze on top of everything was the pendant. It was a small green pendant that had some sort of tracking device in it. Caelum had given it to her when she turned ten, five years ago tomorrow. He had told her it was so they could always find each other because family was forever.

She should smash it. At the very bottom of the box was that damn picture frame. It was covered in dust and some of the shells and rocks had chipped off, leaving large holes where they once sat. Guess Luka and Dylan’s magic glue wasn’t so magic after all. She wanted to destroy the picture. Her hands shook as she picked it up, blowing the dust away so she could clearly see what she had been missing for so long.

Just one look , she told herself. One look before she would begin destroying everything. Look at the three of them, so happy, so unaware of the misfortune that was going to befall them. Camila stared down at her brother, smiling like he wasn’t about to destroy her entire world in less than a month. She had always wondered if he’d always known he was going to leave her. Maybe that’s why he gave her that pendant. It was time for her to let go of Caelum. He was dead after all. Her grip tightened on the frame and her tears dropped onto the frame. She wished for them to stop. There was no point in crying over something that happened five years ago. Her tears fell faster and faster until she was bent over the box, sobbing. Sobbing for Caelum, for Nic, for the life she lost. Camila had been born into a family of four, a happy family of four.

And now this was all that was left. An old flash drive, an apology letter, and two meaningless birthday presents representing a family torn apart by time and by tragedy.

Camila is turning fifteen tomorrow. And Caelum would forever be fifteen.


The soft grass tickling my feet, the sweet smell of cherry blossoms. The light gently caresses my hair. It all seems so familiar, yet so foreign.      To think that only two days ago, I was wrapped up safely in a blanket. Now, I am here. Looking out at the ocean that seemingly stretches to eternity. Yet, it had to be fate.      I ponder briefly, what I would be doing right now had I not taken that wrong turn. Had I not opened that ever so peculiar door carved into the mountain? Stepping through was as though stepping into another world. One without judgment, without fear, and free of expectations. It was just simply there.      As many questions as I have, I do not feel an urge to find an answer. It is as if they are just floating in my head, perfectly fine remaining where they are.      I shut my eyes, thinking that this might just be a wonderful dream.

I could be tending to my plants right now,

I think.      When I open my eyes, I am no longer on the beach. Instead, I am in a large garden, but it is not mine. The smell of cherry blossoms is gone, replaced with a faint sound of drums. I am standing what seems to be in the middle of it all. To my left is a large orchard, and to my right fields of crops grow. In front of me are small boxes full of smaller plants.      All of which are teeming with majestic fruits I have never seen before. The colors of the rainbow are dancing across the plant leaves. A small voice in my head says “go one, try one”. I walk over to the orchard. There's a strange tree that’s just as tall as I am. It’s an odd shade of pink, with small barbs sticking out of it. I run my hand along its bark, and notice the rubbery texture.      Its fruit is much too large for its small branches. Yet somehow, it manages to hold it. I pluck off its fruit with ease. It looks similar to an apple, but much larger, and pulpous. I use my hands to pull it apart, as it squirts me with a strange juice.      Once I manage to separate the two halves, I see that it’s completely hollow. In the hollow pit, it’s filled with a strange sticky liquid resemblant to honey. I immediately take a sip, and feel a flood of joy wash over me. It has no taste, but it fills me with strange emotions.      I spent many hours there, perhaps many days. Time seems completely irrelevant, and is therefore forgotten. All I know is that my thoughts are not an intrusion, as they often are. I close my eyes after I feel satisfied, and think of a rainforest.      As I open my eyes, I see the world around me pixelate into a complete image of a rainforest. This time, I’m sitting with my legs crossed. I grip the ground with my hands; the soil feels soft and damp. Looking up, I see the cloudy sky above. I listen, as the thunder rolls throughout the land. Bright sparks of light shoot out of the clouds, and reach the ground below. I smile, thinking of the tranquillity of this all. Suddenly, a shiver runs down my spine.      This time, my eyes remain open. I picture in my mind a place of warmth, and see the landscape before me deteriorate. It’s replaced with a blinding sun. I squint, so the rays don’t reach my eyes as much. I look down, and see the sand beneath my feet sliding away.

I’m on a sand dune,

I laugh, falling into the dune. Letting the sun warmed sand envelop me in a blanket of dune. I slide down to the bottom, filled with an uncontrollable joy. I roll in the sand, feeling like a child for the first time in a long time.            As I shut my eyes to avoid the sandy blizzard I was stirring up, I hear the faint voice again. “It’s time,” it says. “Time for what?” I hear my voice utter, as I continue to enjoy the sand. “Time to return… to real life” I can feel the burn in my eyes, never wanting to leave this newfound wonder. “You can always return to Choice Kingdom, but you cannot stay forever. A life awaits you. People that love you. Always remember, your Choice Kingdom is with you wherever you go. Have no fear,” and just like that, it all vanished.      Everything. The bright sun, the soft sand rubbing against my leg. The warmth that sent shivers down my spine. What happened to it all? I couldn’t see anything but the dark, but I could hear my sobs. My useless tears falling into the abyss of darkness around me. How could I return to the abysmal life that awaited me? I try to walk, but my legs can’t move. My arms don’t work, and my voice is silenced.      Slowly, the light returned. The darkness fades, until there is none left. For a moment, I’m unsure of where I am, but I quickly realize I’m at the door. That ever so peculiar door that holds the magic of the universe. My tears are dried, for a reason I’m not sure of. It’s as if an imaginary force has fixed my emotions. In fact, I believe it’s a very real force. Two years later      You’re probably wondering where I am now, well let me tell you! After the Choice Kingdom, things changed. For some strange reason, my mind had been refreshed. It was as if all the negativity had been released, and I could only think positive thoughts. Of course, this didn’t last forever. Soon I found myself returning to my old ways of thinking. The positivity slowly faded into pure negativity. That’s when I remembered, Choice Kingdom. Even the thought itself sparked happiness. Therefore, I hiked back up the mountain to that ever so peculiar door. The subtle voice in my mind was awoken, “Enter”.


An overwhelming sense of beauty and awe befell the young J, so cooped and restricted in the oppression of the empty Tower for so long, that to be standing here at its peak looking out at the gray skies, it felt as though he would float away Tears had streamed his face before, hot, unwelcoming tears, but this was new, for once he was crying not out of despair or greif like he had so many times, instead he was crying tears of joy, laughing as he did so, giggling and wailing like a child at the world, his skin exposed to the clarity of the world, amazingly beautiful, unbearably free. The two had led J and his dear friend here, young Wade and Mae, their liberators, it was now that he seeked answers, to know the nature of this tower at the edge of nowhere, if J had a life before, if he might have one after, what to expect if he did. However, most importantly of all, he wanted to know where the pair had come from, and where they fit in with the wide open vaccant landscape that rolled before his very eyes, curling away in the setting sun. As if reading his mind, Wade spoke, "We have been searching this tower for a little over two days now. It was originally a brief sight of it in the distance that drew us in." He paused for a moment, sighing through his nose. "This place is huge, deep too, we started at the base and tried going down, but there was no end to our delve and we were forced to turn back. The next day, we climbed the stairs, finding a room full of keys, each labeled to each sector, the one we found you in was H." J slightly recoiled, thinking hard but remaining silent, urging Wade to continue. "We searched everywhere, but in each room we looked, we only found the frozen bodies of men and women who seemed to freeze to death in their freezers" "Suicide..." Mae added. "It was an awful sight," Wade went on, "But finding sector H, we heard a cry, yourself, and released you from captivity, we never thought we'd find another person in this place, never mind two." J tried to smile, he knew he should, it felt right, but there was a lingering discomfort, even anger, though he didn't know at what. "What is this place?" J asked, holding his scarred hands to his chest. "We are unsure, clearly a prison of some sort, what do you remember?" Simon spoke bitterly, "Nothing." "Nothing?" Mae said, astonished. "Not a thing," J remarked, "Our names, if that's what these words are, but quite literally nothing else." Wade and Mae frowned at one another and seemed to agree upon something in secret. "We have a station set up at the base of the tower, we have another person there, he's running scans of the architecture of this place, trying to place its origin and possible creator, but he's come back with nothing so far. We have warm food, a place to sleep, clothes, you should come with us, we can help you get out of here." "Sounds great." Simon said in an instant, but J looked down at his marked hands, long wide scars decorating his pale skin. He spoke. "I want to help you. I want to know why I'm here." Wade smiled, and said, at once, "Then come and get a shirt on, it's much too cold to be here like that.


There she is. Such a cute face and those freckles are adorable, too. She is always on my mind and I often wonder if she likes the same things as me. I think I will ask her for her phone number today. I will say " Hey, I have seen you working here a few times. Want to hang out sometime ?" No wait, that sound stupid. I can't say that. What a weird thing to say. No, I need to be cooler. Maybe more something along the lines of " Are you doing anything after work ?" I mean her shift probably started. It's only 10a.m. but I guess I could ask her what she is doing later. I have to be cool about it though, not a dorky nerd. I can do this. Only three other people in front of me. Her smile is so nice. I know she smiles for everyone, but she puts a little heart over the "i" in my name instead of the dot. It has to be something, I am sure of it. She always has a bigger smile for me. I see the guy who is at the register right now, he has been there a few mornings as well and she never smiles as much as she does for me as she does for him. That's a good sign, right? " Hey, how you doing ?" I could try that. No, that's silly. This isn't "Friends", this is real life. I bet she hasn't even seen "Friends". Then again she works in a café. It would make sense. Right? Wow that's an even dumber thought. Why would she have had to have seen "Friends" just because she works in a café? It's not like every prison guard saw the "Green Mile". Another customer moves forward and I am only two people away from speaking to the potential future love of my life. Such gorgeous luscious red wavy hair embracing her pale and beautiful skin with freckles, her slightly tipped upward nose and her bright green eyes. She chimed her usual siren's song of "Good afternoon, how can I help you?" It was music to my ears. " You can help me by going out with me ," and just then I cringed. I shrank within myself. Definitely, definitely do not say that. Say she is cute maybe. " You're cute ," Why not just that? Just try that, throw it at her, everyone loves a compliment. I love compliments. I still remember when Franziska said I had good taste in music back in high school. That was 14 years ago now. Time flies. " Your shirt looks nice ," I could say, maybe? Oh but she is wearing the café's shirt. The owner had them designed a few months back and she told me that they were too tight. I laughed and thanked her for the coffee back then, cursing myself for not talking more to her. " Maybe I could loosen it for you ?" That doesn't even make sense. Another customer has paid and there is only one elderly lady in front and she is taking her time. "Good afternoon, how can I help you?" my delightful auburn darling sang her sweet song and the lady in front began to babble on about her cat. I could not focus, I avoided her gaze as I looked for the right words to say. " Look, I've been coming to this place for a few months already, I really only come to see you. I don't even like coffee that much, that's why I always get a latte. Sometimes I don't even finish it, I just come here to talk to you, see you, and I was hoping we could get to know each other better sometime. Do you have some time soon, maybe after work today or another time ?" " Sure! That sounds great. I can't today, but how about tomorrow after work? I always look forward to seeing you. I didn't think you liked me because you never talked more than two words to me. " She said shyly, her pale face becoming slightly red. " Really? That's amazing! I feel the same way! So when do you finish work tomorrow ?" I smiled and leaned slightly on the counter. She giggles and replies with a coy " At 3p.m. I am done ," I give her a wink and say: " Deal. " "Next!" I hear her shout as I am awakened from my daydream, the image so clearly yet so fake, dissipated in thin air before his eyes. He looked to see her looking at him with her smile. Did he see her blush? He must have been mistaken. All the words had planned out disappeared as quickly as his daydream. "Good afternoon regular, how can I help you?" Regular. My heart skipped a beat. I could feel my throat tense up. " Play it cool, " I told myself as I could feel myself work up a sweat. It was as if I was in a Yoga pose and had to hold still, but I didn't want to be. "Uhhhmmm I would like..." I began but she cut me off. "A latte?" She smiled at me and her eyes seemed to give me a small twinkly reply. Was that a hint? Oh gosh. "Yes," I laughed awkwardly "you're good." She smiled and rang it up on the cash register. "Impossible to forget, you always order the same," she smiled and did a small jump as she finished putting it in the register. "Anything else?" Her eyes seemed to be asking for more than an order. I opened my mouth and it stood agape for a moment. I shook my head, instead of saying anything else. She gave a resigned smile and asked if I want to pay with card or cash. I simply raise my hand with the card. The machine beeps as my money dissipates as quickly as my dreams of love as I resignedly turn away to get my coffee from the other barista behind the counter. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid! I feel like falling down a cliff, or yeeting myself into traffic. As I get my order, the other barista calls out my name and I look at the cup. The heart over the "i" and a winking smiley. Our eyes meet and she winks at me again before tending to another customer. I stare at the cup and curse at myself. I'll try again tomorrow.


With the election just days away Leftie Lucy faces Rye T Tie Tea, a battle for the soul of the country. Never in the country’s circular history has the nation been so divided. Leftie has accused Rye T of importing voters from the 1940s to supplement his shrinking voter base. Tie Tea in turn asserts that Lucy has artificially inflated her numbers by giving every slice of avocado toast a vote. Capital Will, named for our forefather Will I Am the Read, looks like the scene of an impending battle to rival Sekigahara. Banners declaring Rye T the Forever Fuhrer flutter in the winds of change. Their slogan: Rich enough to tan better, smart enough not to , has been spelled a thousand ways across the bare chests of grown homophobes cosplaying as the Village People. On the left, an army of the world’s last hippies have been braiding flowers into their armpit hair and singing for the future of a world they say is doomed. Their placards, written on recycled Amazin(c) boxes, declare that while there may be a Planet B, it’s not granting Visa so we should probably look after our world a bit better. Far from catchy. Our representative in the field, Doug Out, had this to say; “I honestly don’t know why you sent me here. I’m in a field and it’s corn as far as I can see in every direction. Looking up and up or down and down, I see nothing else.” Rob Mi is between the armies of the left standing on the right and the quiet majority on the left of the right wingers. Quite a B-team selection when you start looking at them. “Thanks Mike Rofone, yes I’m here in the backyard of democracy with Conan Mi, no relation. He’s campaigning on behalf of Rye T Tie Tee. Conan, why is that?” Holding out a microphone wrapped in an advert for plastic surgery, Rob’s liposuctioned hand holds it out to Conan who’s wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with Only judge can god me . “Rye T’a conspiracy theories really work for me, Rob. As a middle aged man haunted by the legacy of my efforts in high school, the idea that all of my problems can be blamed on people trying to move to this country to make a better life for themselves through hard work is comforting.” “So escapism is what you’re voting for?” Rob asks. “Exactly. I don’t want to have to think about policies or statistics. I just want someone who’s going to channel my anger into a vote that gives multi billionaires tax cuts.” “Because if slavery taught us anything,” said Rob, flashing whitened teeth, “it’s that the rich care about the poor.” “Exactly.” “Thanks, Conan.” Rob turns to the camera. “Now it’s time to cross the street. As you can see, the police are out in force to stop these two sides meeting in battle. What’s truly startling isn’t just the fact our police have machine guns, it’s that Rye T’s supporters are carrying weapons that make the police guns look like water pistols.” While Robert wades through boys in blue, it’s time for a word from our sponsor. Fast Fashion is the brand made for kids, by kids. Bulk order more than ten items for a vial of the blood, sweat and tears of the toddler who made your adorable ensemble. Fast Fashion, don’t feel guilty, we don’t . Back to Rob. “Thanks, Mike. As you can see I’ve gone from skinheads to dreadlocks. One has to wonder how so many white men can wear this much tie dye without forming a reggae band. Rainbow And Arrows is his real name and he hasn’t showered in weeks. Rainbow, do employers ever question your sanitary habits?” “Not really Rob, I’ve been part of a militant vegan group for the last six years, freeing dairy cows in the wild.” “How’s that going for them?” Rob asks. “They can’t breed without artificial insemination and they require C-sections to give birth.” “So your actions condemned them to die?” “They’ve been bred to the point of extinction, Rob. I’ve been helping them die with dignity.” “I’m sure they thank you as they’re ripped apart by predators. Great talking to you, Rainbow. Maybe you should have a shower when all of this is over.” “Nah, gotta save water, man.” “Is water facing extinction as well? That’s news to me.” “We’re running out of fresh water. Don’t you know?” “Nope, Rainbow and honestly I don’t care. Back to you in the studio, Mike.” Thanks, Rob. Here in the studio we have political commentator and Troll Rights campaigner Lai Bellous. Hot off the press tour for her book Real Trolls Don’t Taunt, Lai has a lot to say about the election. “That’s right, Mike. Thanks for having me on the show.” “You’re welcome, Lai. Thanks for coming. Back to Rob Mi at the rally.” “But,” says Mrs Bellous, as the screen cuts to Robert Mi. “Things are really hotting up here, Mike. And I don’t mean that in a sexist way. The midday sun is really cooking us all. I’m seeing a lot of melanoma in the making as protestors on both sides start to look like cooked lobsters. Doctor Alan Webster has no PHD but does sell slimming medicine online. Alan, why are you voting for Rye T?” “The man’s a genius, Rob. You know he is because he says so.” As he pumps a righteous fist, Alan exposes a sweaty armpit. “It’s always helpful when politicians self diagnose their own brilliance.” Robert nods, flashing veneers that cost him a fortune. “He’s gonna sort out the law too, man. This country is too soft on crime. Criminals walking free left and right. He’s gonna fix that.” As he fans himself with his shirt, Alan reveals the tips of a swastika across chest. “I know what you mean, Al. Seems like there are people everywhere who should be behind bars. Hateful people who idolise violence against anyone different.” “Exactly!” Yells Alan, prodding Rob’s chest. “Kill ‘em all I say.” “Great talking to you, Doctor Alan Webster. Now it’s time for the weather with Rainie Diaz.” Thank you Rob. Enjoy the sun, that’s all I’ll say. It’s going to be raining cats and dogs tomorrow. Starting light with Shih Tzus and kittens but moving up to Alsatians and Maine Coons by the afternoon then Saint Bernards and cougars all night. I could tell you the weather across the continent but let’s be honest, our viewers don’t care. Back to you Doug Out, what’s going on there? “I’m still in a field, moron. Nothing’s happening here.” That’s what you get for sleeping with the boss' wife I guess. Back to Rob. The camera shakes, pushed down towards feet as screaming and yelling fills the microphone. “Yes, Rainie. Thank you,” his voice muffled and coming in gasps, Rob lifts the camera lens back towards his face. “It’s all kicked off here. The left and the right have met in the middle, and it’s carnage. The police are starting to guard people from a paramilitary unit with rocket launchers on one side and wiccans throwing fireballs on the other. There’s a certain irony to men wearing Blue Lives Matter clothing gunning down officers for a chance to attack political rivals. Likewise I can see a lot of vegans out there cooking meat, even if it’s human.” Blood splatters Rob from behind as the rattle of automatic gunfire becomes a drumbeat over screaming vocals. “FOUR MORE YEARS,” scream men and women red in the face from sweat and blood. Bodies lay across the street, intertwined. “Our thoughts and prayers go out to the families, and to those lost,” says President Rye T, bowing his head. As always happens, the dead rise, reincarnated by the lackluster words of an indifferent figurehead. Guns never hurt anyone, not permanently at least. You can trust the National Pistol Association on that, they don’t have an agenda. That’s all we have time for I’m afraid. Maybe in another life I’d tell the truth but that’s not what pays. From everyone here at Ain't It Drool News, remember, if you’re hunting deer, buy Drummond’s armour piercing rounds, because there are too many deer in Kevlar now.


I can feel it, you know. The taint on Saidin. The male half of the true power has become covered in something, like scum on the surface of pond. I know what is coming too, madness. Insanity. I would not bow to... to "Shai'tan". That I said aloud, and finally I had said it. Some believe it is bad luck to speak the Father of Lies' name aloud. I'm too far gone to care. *Beware, they're watching. They're watching us*. The world was slowly being torn apart by the madness of my brothers. My sworn brothers who had embraced Saidin, who had been the greatest Aes Sedai of an age. Men were naturally stronger in the One Power than women, and it showed in the fury with which we wreaked havoc upon a helpless world. *The dead, the dead see me!* We had gone to Shayol Ghul with Lews Therin Telamon, the greatest of us all. We were his hundred companions, and I marched proudly at his side to contain the Dark One, to put him back in his prison. It was a great and bloody fight, but we won. Barely. We put him back in his prison, Lews Therin sealed the most powerful of Forsaken, the thirteen, in the Bore with the Dark One. *And now they're watching me, watching us, watching the world shatter and break and fall to pieces and oh by the Light they're watching*. And then the Dark One, in his last act upon this world, struck back. He rendered them insane, all of us insane. Of the hundred and thirteen of us who went into that black pit, sixty eight came out. We were all horribly insane. *I'm* insane. It's a sick thrill realizing that I can't be rational anymore. Some days I can just feel the eyes of the dead upon me, other days I can see them. *AND THEY ARE WATCHING ME!* But no matter. I've found them you see. I've found some more of the Forsaken. Those who were not locked away in the pit with *the dead, the dead the dead the dead the dead the dead the dead the dead the dead the dead the dead the dead ENOUGH*. I won't, I won't let the insanity claim me. I won't. I'm stronger than that. I. Am. STRONGER! I am. I know I am going insane, it's a horrific thing to know that. Didn't I already say that? Oh god is my memory going? No matter. No matter at all. There are thirteen of them in this valley, and thirteen hundred trollocs. And Myrddraal. The trolloc's twisted leaders who bear blades forged in the depths of Shayol Ghul. Quenched in black waters and the blood of innocents. Men, women, children. It's said there are Myrddraal who prize blades quenched in the blood of children, they say those blades cut deeper into the souls of men. I breathe out, and reach for Saidin. Of the thirteen down there, seven are men. They immediately look up, shocked, surprised, but not terrified. Not yet. They don't know who I am, because they aren't dead. *Because the dead know, the dead are everywhere and they are watching me. They will watch me KILL THESE FORSAKEN BEINGS!* A shriek of pure fury crosses my dried and cracking lips, as the fury of Saidin flows through my veins. There is nothing quite like it, channeling. You're more alive than ever you could possibly be, everything is just... more. Not the dead though. When I channel the dead are quiet, the dead don't look at me when I channel. It's moments like this when I'm lucid again, when I'm embracing Saidin. It's why the world is breaking, men who go insane can't stop themselves from channeling, and the best kind of channeling is to take as much of the One Power into yourself as you possibly can, and release it in a blow of fury. We don't use balefire anymore, not since we learned what it does. It's in moments like this that I can realize balefire is wrong, that it simply unmakes things. And the stronger the balefire, the more unmade something is. It can undo things people did in the past. Lews Therin Telamon put everything he had into balefire once. Every drop he could channel. His army was destroyed around him, utterly and totally destroyed. I stood at his side, ready to die with a curse on my lips. His balefire was so strong it undid what the enemy general had done. He remade his army. It was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. Such power, so easily abused. I rain fire down on the valley, and the trollocs burn. They burn and burn and scream. The Myrddraal scream as well, and they burn too. The thirteen Forsaken don't burn, they danced through the flames, and returned the gift of death. They began to throw lightning and fire. They turned the air to water and raised barriers of rock to drown me. I blasted forth pure fury, and screamed as I shot lightning from my hands. It's the rage that really made it work. I cleansed the air and shattered the walls, I blew through the shields of one, then two, then three of the Forsaken. I cackled aloud and rained fire down on them still. We fought for hours, hours. Slowly, inexorably, my shields were weakened. My counters came slightly slower. My ability to hold Saidin withdrew, but still I hurled death from my hands. I ruptured the earth, and it swallowed three more of them whole. They fell into the pit, and I closed it on them. I could feel the two men's channeling snuff out. I could feel it when my shields collapsed and my skin began to crackle, then burn as the remaining seven hurled themselves at me. Two of the women had linked, and were more powerful than before. I howled, and began pulling forth Saidin from my sa'angreal. I obliterated the two who had linked, pulled their bones from their skin and crushed them to powder before the eyes of the other five. I just wanted to kill those five. That was my desire. I knew I was mortally wounded, my burns were that severe. My eyes were gone, melted into my face. My hands were lumps of blackened skin and melted flesh. But you don't need eyes to see with Saidin, and you don't need hands to throw lightning and fire and most importantly, death. The madness crept back into my mind then, as I approached death. I could feel the eyes of the dead on my burned skin. I could hear them whispering, like a chorus of mice. But I could hold that in the back of my mind. I could focus, and with focus I could ignore even the blistering agony that was my body. I defeated an attempt to end the battle by one of them. He shot forth balefire, I deflected it with the corpse of a Myrddraal and then rapidly expanded the air in his lungs. His chest blew apart in a spray of blood and bone and gristle. Two of the men broke and ran then, the last two. Leaving two more women, who had linked to try and save their skin. The two men opened a gate to another part of the world, I opened a gate through their heads. The edge of a gate is sharper than the sharpest razor blade, and stronger than steel. They crumpled, their bodies falling to the ground and their heads disappearing to wherever I had opened the gate to. I didn't care anymore. Two more women, two more. *Two more women, and two dead. Twenty dead. Two hundred dead, no two thousand, no two million. Standing there. Watching me. Why, why are they watching me? WHY WON'T THE DEAD STOP LOOKING AT ME!* I screamed aloud again, and pulled through more Saidin than I could safely handle. The two women died screaming as I boiled the blood in their veins and ripped their beating hearts from their rib cages. I collapsed, suddenly unable to channel. I had done it, I had gentled myself. I had pulled more Saidin than I could handle, and I couldn't channel anymore. But I could still feel Saidin. I could still feel the taint. I rasped a breath out of lungs that no longer worked, and fell over, burning. I could sense what I had done, and I had done terrible things. For hundreds of miles around me there was nothing but desert. Rock and sand, baked dry. Massive mountains rose to the west, and the dead danced circles around my body. There were living things, but horribly changed by the magics thrown around. Harmless snakes now had venom that could kill a man in literally the span of a heartbeat. Lizards that now would attack anything they saw viciously, and try to eat it. Tiny, minuscule pools of water still remained, but they were nothing compared to the vast lakes that had once given this region a name that translated to Fields of Water and Life. Now it was a waste, and I laughed dryly as the pain blazed through my body, took one last rasping breath, and died.


“Is this seat taken?” “Huh?” “May I sit here?” “Oh, uh, sure, I guess.” “Thank you.” “Sure.” “Going somewhere?” “Um…yeah.” “I thought so. That’s a pretty big suitcase you got there. Must be a long trip.” “Yeah.” “A little young to be embarking on such a journey, aren’t you?” “I’m nine and half. I can take care of myself.” “I see. Well, it’s nice to hear the young children of the day are taking responsibility for themselves. I don’t think my grandkids are nearly as mature as you are.” “Thank you. I’m moving to Chicago.” “Ah, a wonderful city. Been there many times.” “Really?” “Yes. I travel all over the country for work. I’ve probably been to Chicago a dozen times or more. Lots of adventure there…and lots of danger as well. You may want to consider that.” “I’m not afraid of anything.” “Oh, I’m sure you’re very brave. Headstrong little boys often are. However, the world is a very big place. Lots of ways to get into trouble out on your own. Even a courageous lad like you.” “I won’t be alone once I get to Chicago. I’m looking for someone.” “Oh? Well, that’s a relief. Here I was thinking you were running away from home.” “I am.” “Mm. Had a feeling. I did that when I was about your age, you know.” “Really?” “Oh, yes! I lived on a big family farm in Virginia, but I was tired of it all. Keeping a farm going requires a lot of hard work and early mornings. I hardly had time to be a kid. I wanted adventure. So I packed my things and sneaked out in the middle of the night.” “Then what happened?” “I made it as far as the train station and realized I didn’t have any money.” “You went to a train station?” “Hey, this was close to 65 years ago. Buses didn’t go as far, and automobiles hadn't been invented yet." “Oh.” “Yes. So anyway, I couldn’t afford to get anywhere. I figured I’d just be a stowaway then. I hopped into the caboose with all the luggage and hid inside a big trunk. Once I felt the train moving, I crawled out and there was the conductor, staring right at me.” “Oh no.” “’Oh no’ is right! He pulled me up by my ears and dragged me to the back of the train. I was too stunned to even plead for mercy. The train slowed down a bit as it passed through a grassy meadow, and with one big shove, the conductor pushed me off the back of the train!” “What?!?! He kicked you off the train?” “He sure did!” I went tumbling on the ground for a while. It made me very dizzy. Once I got my bearings again, I looked for my suitcase. It had broken apart, so I had to gather everything and tie it into a makeshift bundle. I didn’t know where I was, I had a nasty bump on my head, and had no idea where to go.” “Did you give up and go home?” “Heavens, no! In the 12 hours since I had left home, I had found the excitement and adventure I wanted, and I wasn’t going to give that up for anything. I just started walking.” “Where were you going” “In the direction the train had gone. I figured there must be something that way, or else a train full of people wouldn’t be going there. So, I kept walking and walking. When it got dark, I slept underneath a tree. And in the morning, I started walking again. I never saw anyone, not even another train. I was all alone. I was tired and hungry. And lost. I didn’t really know where I was going.” “Did you find someone?” “No, not exactly. Someone found me. A group of boys about 10 years older than me. They took care of me and in turn I helped them.” “What did you help them do?” “Rob houses.” “But, but that’s wrong!” “Yes, it is. But I did it anyway because it was exciting. And because those boys became my family. People will do anything for family, you know.” “Yeah, I know. Did…did you ever go back home?” “Yes, when I was 26 years old.” “You were gone for that long?” “I was. I was too ashamed to go home after I had run away. I had become a thief, a bad person. I didn’t think my family would want me back after that. But guess what? They did.” “They did?” “Absolutely. When I walked up to the farm for the first time again, my baby sister was sitting on the front porch, though now she had a baby of her own in her arms. She came rushing to me and gave me such a big hug I thought I was going to suffocate right then and there.” “My family wouldn’t do that. I don’t have a sister. I don’t even have a papa. That’s why I’m leaving.” “I see, so you’re looking for someone else in Chicago to be your family?” “No, I’m looking for my real family in Chicago. My papa lives there. My mama told me a long time ago that he was a baseball player there. I just need to get there and find him. If I buy a ticket to a game, I know he’ll see me.” "How can you be sure?" “He’s my father! He must recognize me! And I have to find him! He’s the only one who—” “The only one who, what?” “He’s the only one who’s left to take care of me.” “I thought you said you could take care of yourself.” “Well, yes, but I don’t want to. I’ve never seen my papa. Mama says he went away to play baseball so he could take care of us. But we couldn't go with him. So we stayed home. But now Mama is gone. So I have to find my papa! I don't want to be left alone.” “Oh dear. And I was trying to convince you to go right back home.” “Huh?” “I told you that story, I wanted you to see that running away was foolish. But now I see you really don’t have a choice.” “I just want to find my papa.” “Hmm. What’s your papa’s name?” “John Henry Lloyd.” “Wait, what did you say?” “John Henry Lloyd. Do you know him?!?!?” “Oh, sorry, no. But I follow the Negro baseball leagues with a passion. One of those boys I used to run with grew up to be a pretty good first baseman.” “Then you could help me find him! If you know who all the players are, you can ask them about my papa!” “Now, hold on just a minute. It’s a long way from here to Chicago. And I don’t travel anymore. I like Atlanta. It’s my new home. And I have no intention of leaving home again.” “Alright, I’ll tell you what. When this bus gets here, I’ll take you to where I live. You can stay with me and I’ll find your papa.” “You will? How? I told you, he’s in Chicago.” “Yes, I will. I’ll send a telegram, a few letters to some team managers I know. Once I know where he is, I’ll send word that you’re here. And then we’ll see what happens. Does that suit you?” “More than anything in the world. Thank you, Sir.” “You’re welcome. And I can promise you, I won’t rest until we find your papa.” “Really? Thank you. When we find my papa, I’m gonna tell him all about you, about how you helped me find him. What’s your name?” “Henry Walker Lloyd. Your papa is my son.”


The hallways of the ship lay dormant. Not a single soul was stirring or dared to do so. It had happened in mere hours, one of the alien experiments escaped and ravaged the crew with terrifying efficiency. A few crew members still live, trying to survive the creature, but it won’t be long until they meet their eventual doom as well. Suddenly, the onboard intercom crackles to and a voice is heard. “To any crew mates that are still alive, I say this with a heavy heart, but there will be no rescue. “I have already sent a distress signal warning any vessel who comes across us to never board our ship, and if possible, to blow us all to kingdom come. I am sorry to have condemned us to this fate, but we all know it is for the greater good” The voice pauses for a long while. He is audibly heard sighing before resuming what he was saying. “It was an honor to serve alongside all of you,” the voice on the intercom then pauses once more and his voice is shaky. Taking another deep breath, the man speaks once more “If there is a god out there, may he have mercy on our souls. This is Radio Master Nigel signing off, for the last time. Goodbye my friends.” As the still playing song wraps up, the click of the intercom being disconnected is heard and the ship once again falls silent. Two Radio operators sit together in their compartment, one of them having just finished his final message. A quick nod from him indicates for the two of them to begin tearing apart the communication controls to ensure that any message that is sent out reaching for help will never be sent. When the deed is done, the two radio operators look at each other and take a seat. “Now what?” one of them asks. “Now?” The younger radio operator leans back in his chair “Now we wait until both of us die,” The younger operator who asked the question nods and too leans back into their chair. “If you’d like, I can shoot you now. Spare you the trouble of starving or whatnot” offered the older radio operator. “There’s only one bullet left though, besides, I already promised that I’d die alongside you,” The second operator chuckles at the adamant nature of his colleague. But, he still very much appreciated their conviction to a promise. “Suit yourself,” “Hey Nigel?” asked the younger operator. “Yes?” “I think I’ll try this Sinatra fellow you keep buggin’ me about” A very large smile spread across the older operator’s face. He grabbed his tablet and his headphones and swung his chair next to the younger operator, pointing out his favorite song from the artist. “Trust me dude, you are going to love this guy” “That awaits to be seen,” said the younger operator as he placed the headphones upon his head. The older operator smiles once again before pressing start on the song. In the silence, the faint words of the song can be heard “Fly me to the moon...


Deep, from the waters An unyielding force swims ashore Broken, born anew The Samurai walks through the tall grass, it is a lonely, still night. The kind of still that watches patiently from the shadows. Finally, he is greeted with the wind, which howls through the shaking branches of sakura and silver grass. His love so close now, he walks. The air was once clear Then leaves changed their color There is no return In the quiet open of night he ponders his being, which quick draw will be his last? He has cut his way through the land, a Ronin demon, rumors of his mutilation sweep the land like the wind that caresses him now, an unchained bringer of death. However, the demon’s blade is a myth, and myths are something fate is no stranger to proving. He takes a deep breath as the wind now calms to a breeze; so soft you can hear the blades of silver grass speak to the earth, and the branches of sakura crack and twist in gnarled life. One moment too soon Or hesitation, too late One moment is fate The Samurai walks so straight. His straw hat sitting atop his head, as if to shield his eyes from the wind’s calls and visions of death. Bushido is not a code, nor a moral, it is a way of life. The Hagakure. The way of Bushido is not to serve a master, truly , it is to serve a purpose, that purpose is honor. The death that lurks every corner for Samurai is not a nightmare, rather, a dream. One wishes to wake from a nightmare, but a dream is just a walk that every man must make. In the mist it calls The one true knowledge of man Heart disconnects mind The body always heeds to the begging of the heart. There is only one who waits for him, maybe two. Once a warrior, now the Demon’s Blade, soon maybe a farmer. Fate whispers in the breeze, preparing him through the whistles and howls of the branches that guide his path. His destination now days away from the weeks of travel, excitement is not an emotion a Samurai knows, he walks. So careless it loves The sakura's soft shadow A heart drowns in it Suddenly a figure approaches, It has been waiting. It has heard the tall tale of a demon, a ronin coward. The Samurai demon stops walking to stare into the figure while it finishes it’s speech. It is Hatori Musashi, a ronin as well, from the Ashika prefecture, Musashi does not believe in such stories. But how could any of this concern the Demon? We learn in the storm That the rain is a blessing Disguised as a flood The Samurai Demon says nothing. Instead, he speaks through the resting of his hand upon the handle of his blade, the Demon’s blade. In the moonlight between silvergrass and sakura, while the breeze whispers lies in the Demons ear; in the ancient times, when men made their name by their resolve. The two, now still and quiet as the night that surrounds them, look into each other. The wind counts the moments until a decision is made, life… or death… Waiting for the first move. Then, it’s over in an instant, they both draw. The Demon, in lightning speed, attempts a slash but misses. The figure moves in a way of absolution, then swiftly stabs the Demon... deep, to the handle. The wind stops completely, the silver grass stands straight, and the sakura dare not loosen a petal. No more to ponder, they stand for a moment, sword thrusted through a Demon’s heart. The wind begins to blow a new name, and the petals loosen their grip. The figure finally removes his katana from the Demon’s body. Trying his best to stand, the Demon falls on his back. In the moonlight, between silver grass and sakura, the Demon struggles through his final breaths as petals of love gently cover him, a final gift.


Malcolm sat on his bench dressed in thick warm clothing, drinking a cup of hot tea, listening to music in his ear buds. Peace, no stress, no hallucination, just peace of mind. He sipped his tea, when he noticed a glowing string out on the fire escape. Malcolm's eyes followed it up to his lap, he picked it up and tugged on it, feeling it loosely around his neck. It tugged back, and he was encircled in warmth. Something he usually felt when Tala showed her face. ‘ Go, ’ a hush voice said, ‘ Momma, wait for you at the tree. ’ Malcolm could only nod, enchanted as he climbed out the window into the chilly air. He heard so many voices telling him to move, ‘ It's an adventure. Don’t shy away now, ’ a woman said. ‘ Breath, young one ,’ A man said, ‘You fear not what is in you. ’  ‘ Your destiny awaits, kid. ’ and ‘ You belong there, with all of us. ’ Malcolm came upon a cemetery, in the field area a long way from home. Right next to it was a large church-like building. Memorized, he wandered the perimeter of the cemetery and found an opening large enough for him to pass through. ‘ Your almost there. Good job, ’ a male deep voice called. He squeezed through, and fell into the dirt.

‘ Follow the string, she waited patiently. ’ Following it through, passing stones finding himself at the end of the string. It tied to a branch on the weeping willow tree. He tugged on it and it faded away. Malcolm huffed “Damn episodes,” He said looking around. ‘Welcome,’ Tala spoke to him, ‘this is the start.’ He looked up and let out a cry seeing the beautiful woman hanging there, dead as a door knob. Her body spun facing him, eyes opened to look at him, she slowly lifted her arm in his direction. ‘Bend time and space, fill in the blankets, of past present and feature. Let us see what isn’t known, break these earthly chains. Let us see the beginning.’ There his vision blurred and he fell over. He wheezed as he found himself in a crowd of white dirty men. A young woman was dragged up to the disgusting fish barrel. The crown men shouting curses at the young woman. She was covered in dirt and ash, two braided pulls apart and a mess. A ripped up blue dress, and a man threw her against the barrel. Her hands were tied back with rusted shackles. “Hey!” Malcolm shouted at the man but he didn’t even flinch at his voice.  “Filthy witch,” the man slurred. Malcolm strutted up, waved his hand in the guy's face next to him. Nothing. Was I dreaming?... She pushed herself to her feet, and a young boy fixed the barrel up right. People all looked like a puritian or a pilgrim from Malcolm history books. The boy's hands were shaking but he held a frown, stone cold face towards the woman. She was helped up onto the barrel by the stone cold boy. She growled at men who touched her. Her face was angry. An older man dressed as an old timey priest walked out of the crowd with a bit of a limp.  “Emily Smith,” he said with a heavy heart, “you have been found guilty of witchcraft. You have tampered with Rebeckah memories to not remember her attacker and it's stated that you have come to Rebekah and her sister in spirit to take their soul, and by an anonymous court,” the older man said, “You have been sentenced to hang for your crimes. Do you wish to confess to being a witch and end this evil?”

She cleared her throat, stood tall and proudly said a loud voice, “ I am not an evil witch. I am Tala Proxila. I am innocent. I never had blood on my hand.” The crowd went wild in shouts that she should hang. She cleared her throat as a man placed the noose around her neck, and the man tightened it with a glare.

No way...this can be happening , Malcolm thought. “May I see all, in the inferno gates, suffered as I, and that demon I was forced to wed,” she seethed glaring at a man with black hair, “I will watch everything you love, blackens like you, and let it rot. This whole town knows of your horrid crimes you have committed,” she said glaring at a man. Malcolm looked back at them man. He held a devilish smirk on his lips, the man from the painting.

“In the name of the son, the father and the holy ghost, may this wicked witch be sent to the inferno gates,” he said, making a cross, and folding his hand into a prayer, “Amen,” he said and the crowd repeated and fell into angry shouts once more. Tala looked towards the nervous boy who was about to kick her barrel out from under her. She smiled down at him, he looked no older than Malcolm.

 “Son, you don't have to worry, I’ll do it myself,” She jumped forward and kicked the barrel behind her.

“No!” Malcolm shouted instinctively, reaching out for her. The crowd roared in cheers and shouted over her gasps as she slowly began to suffocate. Malcolm couldn’t breath, he reached up and felt the rope around his neck. He saw the crowd cheering for his death below, as he hung. He gasped as he awoke laying at the base of the tree. He laughed harshly grabbing his neck, he felt the burns on his skin from the rope.

He sobbed, “ I’m dreaming...I’m dreaming, ” He repeated to himself. He felt something move, Tala sat in front of him with a soft smile, ‘Breath Malcolm,’ she told him.

Tears fell from his face, as he took deep breaths, whipping them, “You're showing me this...Why?” he pleaded. She reached up and ran a hand through his hair, so warm and tender, motherly.

She said nothing as her lips moved, speaking in silence. “ I can’t hear you, ” Malcolm cried, and laid his head down. He cried quietly beside her, as she rubbed his Back lightly. He fell asleep under the tree, cold and sad.


I haven’t been feeling good for weeks. There is pain in my stomach. I generally just don’t feel like myself. I tell my mom, because I am only nineteen, and can still run to my mom when I don’t feel good (Besides, as a mom, she has been diagnosing my odd aches and pains for almost two decades). She tells me that it’s probably nothing, but if I want to go to the doctor then I should. Her assurance means that I do not call the doctor for another few weeks, when the pain starts to get worse. I make the next available appointment, which is two weeks away. They are a good doctor and have a lot of patients. They tell me that if it’s urgent they can squeeze me in today. I don’t think about it again until two weeks later - the day of the appointment. There is no sense in worrying about it. I go to the doctor alone, because, again, it’s probably nothing. They run some tests and I’m on my way. I tell my mom the next time we talk, that they took some blood and I should know the results in about a week. We don’t talk about it again until I get the results, except the day after my appointment when she asks me if I’m feeling any better. I’m not, but I don’t want to worry her, so I say, “A little.” I get out of class and there is a voicemail on my cell phone. It’s the doctor’s office. They want me to come in and speak with the doctor. Tomorrow. That’s odd. They usually don’t have appointments available on such short notice. “Can you just tell me the test results over the phone?” “I just work at the front desk, I’m not qualified to provide you any medical information” “Ok, then can the doctor or a nurse just tell me over the phone?” “I’m sorry but none are available right now. Besides, the doctor really wants to speak with you in person.” I send my best friend, Katie, a text. “Hey, remember that test I was waiting for results on? The doctor called, they want to see me ASAP so the doctor can tell me in person. Kinda strange, lol” I’m worried, but I still go alone. I feel stronger when I am alone in this type of situation. The only person I would even bring is my mom, but I know that if she is with me, she will do the whole “supermom” thing, and I will revert back to being a child. If I go alone, I have to be strong because I have to be the adult. I’m waiting in the waiting room for about 10 minutes. And then 20. And then 30. Just tell me already. “Carly, the doctor will see you now.” I go back into the doctor’s office. Not the “doctor’s office,” his actual office within the doctor’s office, where he eats his lunch, and listens to NPR podcasts between appointments. He asks me how I’m doing. “I’m fine.” (Just tell me already) Well, we got your test results back, and the results are rather disturbing.” Just fucking tell me already. “You have stomach cancer. Based on the results, I would say it is either stage 3 or stage 4.” You know those “anti-gravity” rides at the fair, where you get inside and stand against the wall, and it spins around really fast and you can’t move much because the centrifugal force is so great? That’s what my body feels like. The force of gravity just increased tenfold. I weigh 1000 pounds. My heart is slowly inching down to the floor. I can’t move. “Ok.” “Because it is in such an advanced stage, there really is not a whole lot we can do. We can try chemotherapy and radiation, but I am afraid your cancer is terminal. I would like to have you come back in to do a PET scan, to see exactly where the cancer is and if it has metastasized.” To see if it’s spread? I don’t care where it’s spread. Why would I care if it’s spread? It’s killing me. I am dying regardless. Did you even go to medical school? Are you a real doctor? “To see if it’s metastasized” – are you joking? I decide right then and there: No more doctor’s appointments, no more tests, no treatments, no drugs. Fuck that. But I can’t move, much less form a sentence. “Ok.” The next thing I remember I am sitting in my car, in the parking lot, crying. I think to myself after a few minutes that crying is stupid and this is all going to be okay. I decide to go on a drive, kill a little bit of time, before I have to go home and back to reality. I drive past my old office. I miss work. I drive a little ways up the Interstate, past the mountains, and think about having my ashes spread in the mountains. I turn around, and realize that this could be my last time driving by these particular mountains. I have a few more of those realizations the whole way home. “This could be my last time hearing this song on the radio, this could be my last time being stuck in traffic, this could be my last time stopping at this stop sign” (The realizations got progressively more pathetic the more emotional I got). I don’t want to tell any one yet. I don’t even want to tell my self yet. I want to get a pack of menthols and a chocolate glazed donut. I stop at the gas station I used to go to every day before I quit smoking. There’s a new clerk. Must be new because he is way too enthusiastic to be working at this shitty old convenience store. “Smoking is bad for you, you know!” Ha. You don’t say. I wake up the next morning to my dog, Max, licking my face, and my phone ringing. It’s my mom. She asks how the doctor went. I’m not going to make her wait like the doctor made me wait. I’m not going to give her that kind of anxiety. Do I want to tell her over the phone? No. But I also don’t want her entire body to shake with nervousness like mine did for the 20 minutes it would have taken me to get to her house. “He told me that I have stage 3 or stage 4 stomach cancer and there is nothing that they can do.” “ Stage 3 or Stage 4? What the fuck does that mean? Which one is it? There is nothing they can do?! That’s the biggest load of crap I have ever heard, I’m calling them.” Ok Mom. She comes over shortly afterwards. I don’t think she actually called the doctor. But I’m wrong, she did, and thank god she did because I don’t think I could have told her any more details without completely losing it. She doesn’t want me to “give up,” but she says that I should do what ever I think is best for myself. I think it would be best for me to move back to Colorado. Spend my last few months in the mountains, in the snow, where my best friend lives, and smoke a ridiculous amount of marijuana. I never really smoked pot. I mean, I did a few times in high school, but it was just never my thing. I think now I would like it to be “my thing.” I want my mom to come with me. She likes Colorado, too. She used to live in a little ski town in the mountains. Her and my dad got married there. She comes with me, and I don’t even have to ask. I call Katie after my mom leaves. “So I have good news and bad news. Good news is, I’m moving back to Colorado. Bad news is it’s because I have stomach cancer… and I’m not going to, well, it’s terminal.” Katie and her husband grow marijuana for one of the local medical marijuana dispensaries there. She decides that she is going to grow a new strain of marijuana for me, one that she says will have really high amounts of the chemical compound in the plant that helps with cancer symptoms. I don’t remember the science-y part of it. CDC, maybe? No. That’s Center for Disease Control. CBD. The chemical’s name is CBD. Some friends send you flowers when you get cancer. Katie personally grows a pot plant for me. This is why she’s my best friend. She knows that I don’t want to cry about it, or get depressed and sulk around for the next six months. She knows that I want to enjoy the little things and do a couple of the items on the bucket list we made together in seventh grade. It doesn’t matter which ones. My mom and I work out all of the logistics. I don’t think I’ll make it a full year, so we get a vacation rental. You can rent those by the month. We make sure to pick a place that has a big backyard for Max. My mom can pretty much run her business from anywhere there is internet connection, so we go to the Apple store and I help her pick out a laptop. I’ve never been to an Apple store before. It’s pretty cool. I wonder if anyone here can tell I’m dying. I’ve lost ten pounds. My hair is thinning. My skin looks grey? This is new. Just noticed that in the reflection of one of the computers. Maybe it’s these fluorescent lights. Two months later, we hire a professional caregiver to come and stay with me while my mom has to go back to Arizona for a couple of days for work stuff. We also have our neighbor come over and help take care of Otis. He’s pretty low maintenance, but I can’t lift his dog food bag to feed him. Otis and I watch a lot of movies together. I like that he is a dog and doesn’t understand that I’m dying. I’m glad that my mom is getting a break from taking care of me; A break from having to pretend to be so strong all of the time. Sometimes I hear her crying, and it hurts more than the giant tumor in my stomach hurts. I know Katie would come take care of me at the drop of a hat, but I can’t ask her to do that. I don’t do much, except sometimes my mom wraps a bunch of blankets around me and we go sit next to the biggest window in the house and watch the snowfall. Something about growing up in the desert makes me feel like snow is a little bit magical. I can still walk, but only for short amounts of time. I’m having a hard time eating. I’ve lost another ten pounds, and I’m starting to look like a skeleton. Too bad Halloween already passed. The day that I fall trying to get out of bed is the day. I’ve read about dying enough to know that once the falling starts, the really slow, terrible death starts - The pain, the loss of mental facilities, the incontinence, the sleeping 23 hours a day. I don’t want to be that person. I don’t want to lose all independence. I don’t want my mom to see me like that. I call Katie. I’m getting weaker. When did it start to take so much energy to talk? This is new. I tell her that I love her and that’s all I need to say. She knows; We have talked about this. She starts crying. I start crying. “I love you too. I’ll see you later. And I’ll bring you a jet pack if we have them by then.” My mom and I had previously discussed this, but unlike Katie, she doesn’t want me to tell her. She just wants me to sneak out while she is sleeping, and do it. I’m ok with that. I don’t think I could tell her, anyways. I put a coat on. And then I put my shoes on. Max wags his tail like he think’s we’re going on a walk. “Not you, buddy, just me.” I’m scared. How will my body know it’s time? I don’t want to be stuck out there, alive. Hopefully the cold will help. I make it about 500 feet, which is a lot less further than I was hoping to be, but a lot more than I thought I actually could get. I can hear Max barking. I fall on my knees. About a minute passes. It feels like 5000 years, but I’m glad this minute felt so long because it’s my last minute. For 5000 years, I am thinking of all of the reasons not to do this. “What if I had tried chemo?” “What if I start to try chemo now?” “What if I miraculously recover?” “What if tomorrow they find a cure for cancer?” Ridiculous.


Bright, bright, bright. It was always too bright, always bright, always grating, grating at the back of his eyes, in the back of his mind. Peter no longer squinted. The lights that lined the room bored into his brain, boring and drilling, but Peter no longer squinted. The window, the singular window, told him it wasn’t food-time yet, but he couldn’t help but wait, shivering, by the door slot. She would come soon—or maybe not. Time didn’t exist in his blinding cell, not until the sky outside the window slit turned dark. When he stood, he could reach it, peering outside at the endless sky. Peter shivered, sitting on the damn floor. The room had begun to stink again, but he didn’t mind. It meant she would be arriving soon, to clean. Peter loved it when she came. She didn’t look like him, with her stomping boots and her black-eyed mask—Peter often wondered if they were of the same kind—but when he could see her hair, he felt at peace. They had the same brown hair, hair that trickled over her shoulders and cascaded down his back. Sometimes she let him touch it, gently and softly. On very special days, she would stay longer, and run her careful hands down the ridge of his backbone. She would help him to his feet, ever gentle, ever soft, and stretch out his arms and legs so she can run a bit of cold metal down them, bumping into his skin every so slightly, ever so often. He no longer made a sound when she did—she didn’t seem to like his sounds much anyway. He liked hers, though. Peter loved to hear the sounds she made when she came to see him. There was one she made, that she said so gently, with so much devotion. He longed to hear it. He practiced making her noises, so maybe she would stay longer, but she never stayed. Peter bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, both excited and cold. A very special day would be coming soon. Most days, all he could hear was the buzzing of the lights, but sometimes, if Peter huddled by the edge of his cell, he could hear muddled sounds. He thought they might be from others like him, but he’d never seen anybody but her. Maybe there were others out there, others like him. Peter longed to see them. Their sounds surrounded his dreams. He practiced making her sounds a couple times more—she would be so surprised to hear her sounds. Maybe then she’d stay. Food plopped through the food slot, and Peter rushed over, grabbing it as soon as he could so it wouldn’t lay for long on the damn, cold floor. It wasn’t bad—it wasn’t sweet today, but it was food, and he had been so hungry. At this point, Peter knew the routine well. After food came the darkness outside the slit of a window, and sometimes, if it was a very special day, she would come. Surely a very special day was coming soon, Peter thought. He had been waiting for a while now. It was! It was a very special day! Peter leapt to his feet, walking up to the door. She pushed him back as he walked in, which was normal—Peter knew by now that he was not supposed to see whatever was behind his door. She had less brown hair now, and she let him run the tips of his fingers over the feathery ends. He watched her adoringly while she did her measurements. She used the special sound, the one that Peter knew, only once. Peter waited patiently while she tested his memory, his reflexes, using a small shock to let him know what he would done wrong and something small and sweet when he did something right. This was all typical; Peter barely needed to think about it anymore. He made sure not to relieve himself while she was there; she didn’t like it when he did that in front of her, and it always made her leave sooner. Finally, she turned to leave, and Peter made his move. “Peter,” he sounded, and she turned with a start. Peter bounced up and down. He surprised her! Maybe she’d stay. “Peter,” he sounded again, and to his delight, she started making sounds of her own. “Peter.” She made more noises, wiggling her finger back and forth on the little item she always brought with her. Then she said something else to him, but that sound he didn’t recognize. “Peter,” he tried again, but she didn’t seem as surprised this time. He was far taller than her now, but she could still put one hand on his head. He closed his eyes. Maybe this time she’d stay. But she didn’t. She left, leaving Peter in the cold, bright room alone. It was okay. That was okay. He would practice her sounds and maybe next time she’d stay longer. Peter settled on the floor and put his arms over his head, ready to sleep. Next time, he would be better at her sounds. A muffled thump against his window startled him out of his rest. Something must have smacked against it. It wasn’t the first time that had happened, but as he trotted over to the window, he found it was different now, for the first time in eighteen years. There was a crack, splicing down the middle. Peter pressed on the window gingerly, and the freezing glass shifted under his fingertips. A cold stream of air swirled in, and with it, a tiny speck of something wet that settled and melted on Peter’s skin. He pressed harder, and harder, and harder and suddenly it snapped, and the glass under his fingertips was suddenly gone and his arm was out, out in an environment that was much colder than his own. Peter pressed on the other side, and this one cracked too, but this crack stung his skin, as if she was still there, shocking him for being wrong. Peter pulled his hand back in shock—it was wet now, and vividly red with blood. It was colder in the room now, with the frigid air flurrying in. Part of Peter wanted to stay behind, to huddle in the corner. He doubted this is what she wanted him to do. But part of him felt exhilarated. Peter propped himself up on one elbow, standing on his tippy-toes and ignoring the biting sting in his arm when it pressed against the jagged edge of where the window had been, and what he saw amazed him; there was so much outside his room, so many more colors, so many more shapes. Entranced, he stuck his other arm through, ignoring the cold, ignoring the stinging of his arm. Suddenly, wildly, taken by this other world, Peter launched himself through it, bits of where the window used to be piercing and tearing at this stomach and the paper-thin skin of his thighs until he was falling, and then he landed in something cold, something wet, knocking this wind out of his lungs. And when Peter stood up again, he wept. The world outside his room was so much bigger than he’d known. Something alive, something he’d never seen, fluttered over his head, making a sound he’d never heard. The wind blew over his naked body, making the thin hairs that covered his body bristle, before the wind swept past him, rustling a huge, spindling something farther down the path. Peter took a few steps toward it, his feet sinking into the white wet something that covered the ground. He took a few more steps, more than he’d ever taken in his room before, and soon he was running, speeding, faster than he thought he would ever move, and out of his mouth came a sound he’d never heard, and it filled his heart. He reached the spindling something, touched the rough covering, felt pieces break off and crumble in his hands. The fluttering thing, the one that had flown over his head, lighted on the spindling something, looking down at him, and making a sound that was high and piercing and startling and Peter couldn’t help but shriek after it in delight. It flew away from him, and he followed it, running faster than anything Peter had ever seen. He followed it a ways, until the white wet powder that coated his bare skin began to make his feet numb until they wouldn’t move. Peter was surprised—his feet pierced, like the cuts on his arms and stomach, but when he sat to look at them, he couldn’t see any holes or any blood. His arms started to feel sluggish too, Peter noticed, and when he looked at them, he saw them change color from pink to blue to grey. They were hurting too, and Peter started to feel less sure of himself. He took to his feet again, plodding after the little fluttering thing, but it didn’t last. His feet, his legs were too tired. It was okay, though, Peter thought, falling to his knees. He didn’t mind. He was starting to feel quite warm, actually, which was nice. He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made a mistake though; he knew she wouldn’t like him being out here, and he hated to let her down. His stomach and thighs were sticky with blood now, seeping and dying the fresh soft powdered ground. Peter lay down. The ground beneath him was soft, at least—he liked it more than lying on the cold tile of his room. And the sky—oh! —the sky was so much richer now that he was outside, and speckled with the little fluttering things, calling to each other as they traversed the sky. Peter loved it all, as much as he loved her, and he wished he could show her all of this wonder that had been outside his room the entire time. Most of all, he just wished she was there. Peter couldn’t move his arms or legs anymore, but it didn’t matter. It was okay, just to look up, look to the sky. He had hardly closed his eyes when he heard her voice. She sounded so far away from him—he tried to sit up, to see her, and he found he couldn’t. That was okay. “Peter,” she called, and he sounded back. Peter was happy, as the strength left his chest. She had gotten to see the outside world with him after all.