It was 2:25 AM I sat at my laptop aimlessly scrolling as the minutes dragged by. Only 3 more hours left until I needed to start getting ready for a long day of work. I leaned back in my chair and cracked my neck. As I heard the tension being released from in-between my vertebras with a few satisfying pops I contemplated crawling into my bed and calling it a night, but my over stimulated brain was still rushing after several hours of scrolling through endless tweets, half reading reddit posts, and hitting the next recommended videos on YouTube. I eventually found myself in the deadly cycle of switching between the home page and the inbox page on Facebook. I reached across the table and took a long swig of my now-flat Pepsi than lurched as I felt a trickle running down my chin and onto my exposed keyboard. Quickly using the sleeve of my hoodie I frantically wiped off the keys that the sugary liquid splashed onto. I cursed under my breath. “I really need to stop snacking at my computer,” I thought to myself as I observed the many crumbs scattered between the keys. I pulled my sleeve up over my thumb and dabbed it twice onto my tongue and began to scrub in between the keys. Don’t judge me! I'm sure you have done it too. After looking over my somewhat cleaner keyboard with satisfaction I looked back onto the screen. A massive jumble of letters were strewn across the google search bar as the result of my late night keyboard scrubbing session. I briefly considered googling my own name for the third time that night but then decided that those 3 hours of sleep might be just enough to get me through my next 8 hour shift. As I was about to stand up a small square suddenly appeared in the corner of my screen. It was plain white with a red frame with the bold letters flashing from blue to red reading, “This link will disappear in 60 seconds.” Below a small timer began counting down from 60 to 59 to 58. I grunted in amusement. “Nice try,” I thought to myself, “probably some low budget website or internet scam trying to trick me into taking their surveys or giving out my credit card information so that I can win that free new iPad.” The numbers counted down from 40 to 39 to 38. As the numbers counted down my curiosity of where that link will take me began to grow. I hovered the mouse over the box then stopped myself. “What if clicking this link would install some malware virus onto my computer? I have already had a computer virus once before after pirating a whole season of “Rick and Morty” onto my computer.” The numbers continued to count down from 24 to 23 to 21. I reached for the top of my screen and began to close it. “What if it was the FBI trying to bait me into clicking a link to an illegal web-sight.” Just as the screen was about to meet my keyboard I stopped. “What if it really was a once in a lifetime opportunity and by clicking this link I would get the chance to view something no one has ever seen before.” The thought of never knowing where that link would take me is going to drive me crazy and I could surely see myself losing sleep over it. I slowly lifted my laptops screen again and saw the numbers count down from 5 to 4 to 3. I gritted my teeth and cursed my overactive imagination and gullibility. I reached down to my mousepad and clicked the link just as the timer reached 1. A New tab appeared on my screen as what looked like a video began buffering. I held my breath and braced myself for disappointment. I hoped to God It wouldn’t be some kind of really messed up porn. It was going to be hard enough getting myself to sleep let alone spending the night trying to erase certain images out of my head. I bit my lip as the buffering eventually stopped and the tab was now filled by a full screen video. I blinked in confusion as all I saw was a very blurry video feed with a blinking red dot in the corner of the screen next to the words LIVE. I stared for a few seconds trying to make out what exactly I was supposed to be looking at. From what it looked like it appeared to be the shape of someone’s silhouette from his head to his shoulders. “Did the link bring me to live stream chat with some random person?” “Hello?” I stammered nervously as the dark face just stared at me in silence. A second later I heard my voice echo from my computer repeating the same “Hello.” I waited a second before trying again. “Can you hear me?” The person on the other end of the stream just sat there as I heard my voice again echo from my computers speakers. It kind of sounded like when you’re on the phone with someone and they have their volume turned up to loud so you can hear your voice repeating while you’re talking to them. I sat there for a full minute not saying anything, waiting for the person in the livestream to respond, or move, or do pretty much anything. They just sat there the whole time barely moving. Than from the corner of the screen I saw another figure standing in the background. It also appeared to be the shape of a man. At first the second figure also just sat there unmoving, than began to sway back and forth. It was kind of like the way a tree sways in a gentle breeze. This continued for another minute than it stopped and went rigid. It’s head began to twitch to the side every so often becoming faster and more rapid as time went on. I then saw it begin to raise an arm toward the other figure sitting closest to the screen who during the duration of this time just sat there motionless as if unaware of was going on behind it. I then shifted my gaze to the figure behind as it began to slowly walk closer and closer to the person very slowly and jerkily. It walked in a slow, in a zig zag like pattern. It got closer and closer to the person sitting closest to the screen who still to this moment just sat there motionless just staring at the screen not even acknowledging the figure behind them. The figure behind no longer seemed human its movement was just too strange and unnatural. It reminded me of the way a puppet on a string walked. It got closer and closer to the other figure. It eventually was so close that it’s face was nearly resting on its shoulder. My heart began to race! “Why don’t they notice what is going on? Are they drugged? Are they asleep? Is this some kind of prank or some sick snuff film being streamed on the dark web by some psychopath?” I wanted to yell out to the person warning them of the figure standing dangerously close to them who’s movement was of no doubt no human being. God, I wish that the image was more clear. It was just so dark and blurry that I could barely make out what I was seeing. Just when I thought it was about to be all over, the twitching figure stopped and went absolutely still just inches away from the person in front. By that I mean, unnervingly still. Although the figure in front remained still there was just enough movement to know it was alive. It’s shoulders raised rhythmicity as it were breathing and I would catch small movements of its head. The figure behind though was as still as a corpse. Than slowly it began to crouch down off camera and I could no longer see it from behind the seated figure in front of the screen. After my heart began to slow down I leaned in closer to the screen to try to get a better view of the mysterious figure in front of me. Than to my surprise the seated figure leaned in as well. I slowly tilted my head to the side in mild confusion than seconds later the figure seated in front did the same. “This guy is mimicking me,” I realized in amusement. I raised both of my hands slowly than seconds later the seated figure slowly did the same. I lowered my left hand and the figure lowered its left. I held up two fingers and the figure did the same. I then noticed a small light at the top of my computer monitor. A steady green light right next to the monitor camera. It was then I noticed that my camera lens was extremely dusty. It’s a wonder that the figure on the other end could not even see me. Using the same technique as before I reached my sleeve up and gently wiped the dust off of the monitor camera. The second my gaze returned to my screen I felt my heart began to race. The image on the screen was now clear as day, the figure I have been staring at this whole time was me. This whole live stream was not a 2 way video chat. It was just a recording of me sitting in front of my laptop. The figure was not mimicking my movements, it was my own reflection. The only reason it movements seemed delayed from mine was because a live feed is always a few seconds behind the actual recording. That also explained why my voice was echoing before. Than just like that the image disappeared from the screen. The tab I had open no longer showed the link with the flashing letters or the timer, but just small text reading “eRRor 404.” My mind raced as everything began to settle in, if that was a live recording of me, than that means that the lurching figure behind was actually a recording as well? I made two mistakes that night. The first one was clicking that link in the first place. The second, was turning around afterwards.


#Welcome to the Micro Monday Challenge! Hello writers and welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words (no poetry). However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I provide a simple constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. This rotates between simple prompts, sentences, images, songs, and themes. You’re free to interpret the weekly constraints how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.**   *** #This week’s challenge: **Sentence: “The truth was stranger than fiction.”** **Bonus Constraint (worth 5 extra pts.):** - All or part of the story takes place in the . This week’s challenge is to use the above sentence in your story, in some way. You may add onto it, or change the tense if necessary (i.e. “was” to is”), but the original sentence should stay intact. **Stories without the above sentence will be disqualified** from rankings. The bonus constraint and use of the image are not required. **Don’t forget to after the submission deadline!** (The form usually opens at about 11:30am EST Monday.) You get points just for voting.   *** #How To Participate - **Submit a story between 100-300 words in the comments below.** You have until **Sunday at 11:59pm EST**. (No poetry.) - **Use to check your word count.** The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words or over 300 will be disqualified from campfire readings and rankings. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post, exclusively. Micro serials are acceptable, but please keep in mind that each installment should be able to stand on its own and be understood without leaning on previous installments. - **Come back throughout the week, read the other stories, and leave them some feedback on the thread.** You have until **2pm EST Monday** to get your feedback in. Only **actionable feedback** will be awarded points. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Please follow all subreddit rules and be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here; we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. You can find a list of . - **Nominate your favorite stories at the end of the week .** You have until **2pm EST** next Monday to submit nominations. (Please note: The form does not open until Monday morning, after the story submission deadline.) - **And most of all, be creative and have fun!** If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail.   *** #Campfire - On **Mondays at 12pm EST**, I hold a Campfire on our server. We read all the stories from the weekly thread and provide live feedback for those who are present. Come join us to read your own story and listen to the others! You can come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Everyone is welcome!   *** #How Rankings are Tallied Rankings work on a point-based system. You can complete the following things for points. - **Use of prompt/constraint:** 20 points (required) - **Use of bonus constraint:** 5 points, unless otherwise stated (not required) - ***Actionable* Feedback:** 5 points each (up to 25 pts.) - **User nominations:** 10 points each (no cap) - **Bay’s nomination:** 40 pts for first, 30 pts for second, and 20 pts for third (plus regular nominations) - **Submitting nominations:** 5 points (total) *Users who go above and beyond with feedback (more than 5 detailed crits) will be awarded Crit Credits that can be used on r/WPCritique.*   *** #Rankings - **First:** - Submitted by u/rainbow\-\-penguin - **Second:** - Submitted by u/katherine_c - **Third:** - Submitted by u/katpoker666 - **Bay’s Spotlight:** - Submitted by u/FyeNite - **Crit Star** - u/FyeNite *Crit Stars: Don’t forget in order to receive your credits, you also must have made at least one post on WPC *or* have linked your reddit account to the sub on our .* *** ###Subreddit News - Join to chat with authors, prompters, and readers! We hold several weekly Campfires and other fun events! - Join in our weekly writing chat on . We discuss a new topic every week! New here? Come introduce yourself! - Try your hand at serial writing with ! - You can also post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


From the very first moment I opened my eyes to this unknown world around me, I was in here, in this box-shaped glass. A vast room with weird-looking glass walls. The thick layer of glass is sapphire blue, with nothing to be seen outside it. With no doors or windows. I’ve always wondered, from where I’m getting this delicious food. And where are these people who deliver this food coming from? Three meals per day, but no more than that is allowed to me. I was young and oblivious to what's around me.

Accepting anything they gave me, not knowing what’s better anyway. But, the sole thing I had in me was curiosity. Like any other child my age, I desperately wanted to know more, to explore whatever I had in my both little hands. But, the only thing I explored was the varied types of vegetables, fruits, and sweets I got as a meal. My favorite one was chocolate sweets, I loved those so much; I used to cry for them, the days that they send me other tastes. They didn't care tho. With age, I wondered about other stuff like why I'm in here alone and the others are outside; I see them coming with food and nothing more. Every day, Nothing changes they burned the same routines into my memory. Initially, I couldn't comprehend what they say when they communicate with each other.

No one taught me how to speak. No one taught me how to think properly, I was just going with instinct. With time I taught myself some words, the one connected to the food I like. A few years later, I started thinking of a way to escape past that barrier just to see what's on the other side, and nothing more.

But they won't allow me near any of the walls putting me to sleep whenever I get close to one of them. I tried running past them when they come with food, but they always leave behind one of them to keep me from doing that. Not even getting close to the lights of the other side. They enter and leave the same way, through the far end of the wall, but when they leave, the wall returns to its original frozen state. And with that thinking, I've always ended up with the same dead-end, so I started changing my perspective. I started carefully looking at these people’s faces trying to learn about them; I tried to imitate the way they interact, thinking that can help me properly understand them. And to my surprise, a few days after I started my novel way of thinking.

I instantly started seeing splendid stuff while asleep. Random stuff about the people I tried to focus on understanding during the day. I started seeing stuff about the girl I was looking at during the day. I chose her because she was remarkably the closest and nicest one to me, at least from my prescriptive. During one night, I slept naturally at my usual bed timing. And the moment I put my head on my pillow, I started seeing this weird stuff and feeling as if I'm no longer in my body. It felt obnoxiously weird at first, but the same strange power that got over me instantly giving me this dream forced me to get used to it. I was looking through the girl's eyes at the most elegant thing I've ever seen in my life so far. She was looking wonderingly at the clear night sky; I recognized what was she looking at even tho I've never seen it before. At that moment I undoubtedly recognized who I was, and where I'm right now, it wasn't my actual identity, but in that realm it was. I was merely watching. Not able to perform any action of my conscious will. I indeed kept looking at unusual objects for the first time and I kept on learning about them just by looking fondly at them. I went through the next few weeks learning about the world outside this chamber through that innocent girl. She was approaching her days performing her routine activities not knowing that I was observing her actions during the night. I thought I was re-experiencing the events she went through during the day.

Until one night, I noted an odd thing. During the dream I embodied. The girl fell and injured her arm and got replaced with another girl. That frightened me. But later on, when they brought breakfast, she was the one who delivered it to my hand, and she was fine with no visible bruises or injuries. I freaked out for that; I was witnessing events that didn't happen. That got me shocked for a while, and I didn't know what can I do or achieve with that. It's not like I had a way to use the dreams deliberately. The next day, the girl got replaced; it was then that I knew for sure that what I saw a future event. It stunned me at first and got me spending the entire day thinking about it.

Now that the girl is gone I'm back to my normal dull routines. I tried the same approach I took the first time with the other girls that served my meals, but with no results.

Months went by. And one day, the girl returned. I was so happy to see her that and for the first time; I displayed a different facial expression, for the first time I gave genuine positive emotion. When I had done that, the one next to her instantly noticed and told the armed guards. They came in with beautiful glowing chains, used to bind me down. I tried resisting but with no use; I was so scared weeping for my dumb reactions, not like I could've changed them willingly. I screamed at the top of my lungs, just to burst up from my bed frightened. It took me a while to calm down knowing that it was just a dream and that my actions today will get me in trouble. After a long time, it felt strange to get back to that ability. But this time it took me off-guard, it came to me with no outside help. The thing I understood about this dream ability is that it is just a defensive ability that was activated through that girl, but the connection developed with her blew my mind. And, that was the first time I witnessed the complete use of this ability.

By the time that girl entered with the food, I was already calm and waiting impatiently to see her after all this time; after all, she is the only one who can aid me accomplish my goals even if it's not by her own will. From that night I continued searching for specific answers using that girl, and after a couple of days, I got valuable info about what I was eagerly seeking. Using some old books she had with her, I can finally get to unravel the truth behind my lifelong imprisonment.


First time posting here! I was awakened by a sharp jab to my side, one that went through the mattress I was sleeping on. My body fell and bounced upward once more, further adding to my confusion. I groaned softly before a wave of fear came over me. I was paralyzed when the next sharp stab came. Was my brother doing this? It had to be. My mind rejected any other possibility. I rolled over, constantly reassuring myself that this was some half-thought prank my sibling had conjured in his head. A minute passed without the mattress lifting my body upward. I was relieved that it was finally over, and I braced myself to see my brother’s face, complete with a mischievous look. He would quickly confess that he was the one to pull the stunt and promptly exit the room, leaving me alone once more. I opened my eyes, not aware that I had shut them in the first place. A face awaited my gaze. Not my brother’s, I had known that no more than a split second after I had laid my eyes on it. What was looking at me was black, darker than the darkest moonless night. Instantly, my heart skipped a beat. It spoke as my mouth opened to empty my lungs in a bloodcurdling shriek. It held a slender finger up to its crooked lips. “Don’t,” it whispered. “He’ll hear you.” My lips were involuntarily sealed. The entity glanced upward. “We’re in the clear for now,” it exhaled. “Don’t try to wake it up or we’ll both die, got it?” It’s mouth dissolved into a stern frown. My heart was still pounding out of my chest but I replied hastily, trying to keep my voice quiet. Several questions rifled through my mind, but one stood out. My own lips started to quiver, forming the words “what do you want?” The entity became aware of the fact that he was still giving a potentially hostile expression and shifted it to a more passive one: a smile. “Oh, I just wanted to help, that’s all.” It put a hand on my shoulder. “The One on the Ceiling, he scares me too. Why don’t you come down below your bed with me? We’ll both be safe then.” “I… Um...” With what higher level thinking I could muster, I evaluated the situation. Could this… Whatever this thing was, could it hurt me while we were under the bed? And what was he talking about when he referred to the One on the Ceiling? I looked upward for the first time. There wasn’t much I could make out in the darkness, but I could see a giant blob drooping down from the ceiling. It wasn’t moving as far as I could tell, but in the back of my mind I knew that it would be if I woke it up. I shifted my gaze back to the entity and nodded. After all, dying to him was far better than ending my life at the hands of a mysterious blob on the ceiling. At least this creature had sentience and seemed to have a plan with me. “Great,” the entity gushed, almost abandoning the warning he himself gave me. Swiftly, he dove underneath my bed and I saw his hand beckoning me to hurry. I gripped my pillow and pulled off my covers all without making a sound and joined the entity below my bed. I fluffed my pillow and began to talk a bit louder, trusting my bed to muffle some of the sounds we made. “I’m here, are you happy now?” “Yes, very much so,” the entity chirped, a grin spreading across his face. Not one of malice, but genuine happiness. “Thank you. By the way,” he pointed at my pillow, “can I try that? I hadn’t used one in my life.” I somewhat reluctantly handed over the sleeping device and almost instantly the entity buried its face into the delicate stuffing. “This is amazing,” he commented. A few seconds later, he placed it between himself and I. “I’m sorry, that was just so… soft. It felt like I was holding a cloud.” I didn’t know what to say. Normally children would be warned about beings that made homes under their beds, that they would most certainly die if they were to meet them, but this one… The entity stared into my eyes using his own. “Listen, we should start to sleep now. The faster morning arrives, the faster the One on the Ceiling – and I – will disappear. I bet you want that to happen, right?” I sighed and began to relax my neck, my head descending into the comfort of my pillow. “I suppose so. So just what are you, anywa-?” My question was interrupted by a sharp wail. My baby sister. She was only a few weeks old, but aged enough to keep quiet during the night. Even in the occasional call for food or my mother, I was capable enough to take care of her myself. For her to act up now of all times, though, was a fatal mistake. The tide of fear flooded back into my head and my heart started to ramp up its activity to unprecedented levels. “No...” was all the entity could say before my ears were filled with a crashing sound. Peering my head outside, my eyes yielded the sight of a dark appendage slowly reeling my sister toward the blob, the One on the Ceiling. Even though there was a voice screaming in the back of my head for me to do it, I knew I couldn’t attempt to fight back against the monster. I was too weak to do anything. I pulled my head back. There was a sharp crunch coming from the ceiling and my sister’s wails ceased. In my now shock-filled brain, I linked the sound to a cracker being split in two. The entity placed its hand on my shoulder once more, apparently sharing the same expression I felt myself displaying. “Sleep, James. It’ll all be over soon.


The Sea “Have you found yourself yet?” “No. But that's okay. Who I am isn’t concrete, it never was.” I stood up the hills of York, looking out upon the rolling fields and grass covering the world below my heels. A farm off in the distance puffed smoke like an old pipe left in a man's mouth. The ends of my jacket fluttered off into the winds, my eyes not caring I stared back off into the grassy sea. “Then what was the point of all that sailing? Every week you spent far from the shores out beyond the thin white line that closes off all that I can see?” “Self discovery. I never found who I am but I discovered there was something there to begin with. I stared into the largest mirror on the planet and guess who stared back? None other than me.” his clothes were dirty. Covered in filth and mud from working in the quiet pastures and fields sowing whatever he could to give back to his mother in that quiet farm, off in the distance that puffed smoke like a pipe left in a man's mouth. “Was it beautiful out there, father?” “It was as if I was staring into an endless mine of lapis. A glistening and glimmering sea filled with adventure and possibility. But adventure gets boring. Endless running and seeing new but old places. The best parts were the silent times. The times where there was nothing to do but sit and stare out among the waters and bask in the infinite expanse of nothing. The ocean is a beautiful wasteland.” I could smell it now. The salt on the air, water lapping at my feet as I let them dangle off the side, the wind carrying salt and sand off into its home once more. But I am here, standing very much on the shore, watching the sea of green waves ripple like the ocean tides, watching the clouds float past a farm in the distance that puffed out smoke like a pipe left in a man’s mouth. “What came of your father?” “He had come with me, out to seek himself like we all do. Out to learn what he is. I remember how he would laugh at my staring at my reflection in the waves, how he would teach me to fish over the side of the boat, how he would tell stories from his past to me as we laughed together. And finally after all that he lay under the mast and looked up at the clouds overhead. He asked me to bring him his pipe and I fetched it for him. He lit it up and said to me: “I have found who I am. And what I am. Out here, amidst the mystery and majesty, amidst this grand body of water we call a sea, I found what I was looking for all this time. And that thing was me.” He lay his eyes to rest, and as he drew his last breath, the pipe puffed out smoke as it was left in a man’s mouth.” Sorry if the formatting is a little rough, still getting used to writing.


“I knew it was you,” the man said, approaching Ired with his arms extended. They had passed each other about a half mile ago. Ired and Siro had been surprised at seeing someone else on this path. Ired first tried to ignore him as he stopped in his tracks and turned to follow, but the strange man charged after Ired and quickly overtook him. “At last, I have found you, Ired of Browerdale, the Chosen one! There is much I have to tell you, but first we must hurry. There are those-” Ired’s blade pierced the man’s heart, silencing him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “What the hell?” Siro cried. “Yeah, I’m really sorry about all this, but it was going to happen at some point.” “I...What? You just killed that guy!” Siro gripped her sword tightly, but did not yet draw. Ired unceremoniously removed his weapon from the man’s corpse, cleaned and sheathed it. “I’m not going to hurt you, Siro. This is just something that happens to me on occasion.” “Murder?” “No. Well, yes, but it’s more complicated. I can explain if you’ll listen,” Ired implored his friend. Siro waited a long second. “Fine,” she finally said, not removing her hand from her sword. “Okay, do you know what Prophecies are?” “What am I, five? Of course I know. Everyone fantasized about being Chosen when they were a kid.” “Yeah, well I *am* Chosen.” Siro’s hand finally dropped. “Really? How? You’re like thirty or something, right? I thought you guys got called when you were sixteen.” “I’m twenty four, thanks. And, yeah, that’s what’s supposed to happen. Thing is, my dad was Chosen too. It’s a family thing, I guess.” “You never talk about your dad.” “He died before I was born. Chosen, remember? We don’t live that long. Thing is, my mom was...I’ll say ‘less than happy’ about what happened to my dad. She did a *bunch* of research on the Prophecies. She read all of them. Seriously. And not just the holy books, she investigated Prophecies that had already come to pass, and learned what actually happened. “She found two things that matter. First, that I was Chosen too. She obviously couldn’t be sure about this, but the circumstances of my birth met all the criteria for one of the Prophecies.” “No way. Which one?” “Don’t know. That’s the second thing she learned. Out of the hundreds of completed Prophecies in history, all but three were self-fulfilling.” “How so?” “It’s not always the same, but more often than not, something a Chosen does early in their ‘quest’ or whatever, causes the whole catastrophic event that they end up dying to stop. So my mom’s theory is, if the Chosen never sets out on their quest, the crazy event never happens, the Chosen doesn’t have to die.” “So, what, when the church tried to call you, you just killed the emissaries?” “Not me, my mom. Poisoned them. One emissary refused to drink the tea - too good to accept hospitality from commoners - so my mom ran him through with a wheat thresher. Hit him in the throat so he wouldn’t scream. I reacted about the same as you did. Mom calmed me down after a while and we had a very similar conversation to this one. We packed up that night and ran. Over the years the church got more aggressive with their calling tactics. A few years ago, they got mom. I’m still here though. That’s what she wanted.” “And you really believe this is going to work?” Siro said, indicating the body. “Well, all Chosen die, right?” “Yeah.” “Yeah. And most of ‘em die as teenagers. A few make it to twenty. As far as I know, only one Chosen made it to twenty one. I’ve got three years on all of them. So, yeah, I believe it’s working.” “Huh...I don’t really know what to say here.” “I know, Siro. I’m sorry. I’ll stay out here tonight, take care of all this. In the morning, I’ll be gone. I won’t tell you where, so if the church comes looking, you won’t have to lie.” Siro silently began her long walk home, but stopped after only a few steps. “No,” she said. “I’m coming with you.” “You can’t be serious. This last year has been amazing, but this is my life. One day, I’ll either get called, or caught dealing with an emissary. Either way things aren’t going to end well for me or anyone with me. Stay here.” Ired began digging a shallow grave for the dead church official. “No. I’m coming.” Ired started to protest, but she cut him off. “You know what it’s like there,” Siro indicated the village they had been returning to. “I don’t want to die, but I sure as hell don’t want to die *there*. I’ll only get out if I run, and my chances won’t get better than now, with someone I trust.” Ired had no response. Losing Siro was something he had prepared for, he had thought it inevitable. This he was not prepared for. “I...Are you sure?” “I’m sure.” “We can’t go back, even for clothes.” Ired estimated how much daylight they had left. “We bury him quick, put as much distance between him and us as we can, and sleep where we fall. When we reach the next province, we can find a real place to rest for a few days and some new clothes. That ok?” Siro nodded, grabbed her trowel and went to work.


You look concerned, watching through the window for hours now, and more anxious than normal. That could only mean that you saw the news. It is there, isn’t it? Terrible news, absolutely, but everything would be okay, you know that. You had been planning it for so long, that there were no mistakes. You made sure of that, there would be no problem. Could you stop? Why are you packing your clothes? Improvising in this kind of conditions is not good. You do not have a backup plan, when did you decide this? Was it today? After reading the news? You were certain that you would not be discovered, ever. This was going to reach the news any time, and it is fine, you do not need to rush. So, you are thinking of running away now. Is this for real? Is that what would solve all your problems? Perhaps the fact of you gone makes you look even guiltier. On the other hand, you should not feel bad, he totally deserved it, but that is not enough in a trial, so, okay, it is completely understandable that getting the hell out of here should be the best choice, but what if it isn’t? Giving up life is never easy, that means starting over, starting from scratch, at least take some time to figure things out in a better way, make arrangements, and sell some stuff to have money… hey! Don´t look away! Consider it, at least, for your own sake. Stop! Do not cross that door, please. Think! Who saw you? Who could know about this? They will never find any evidence that links you to that man, so, why leaving? Just play dead, you know? Keep on with your life as customary, no one has to know, no one will ever know. Case closed. Period. Put that suitcase on the ground; you are not going anywhere, okay? Have some dinner, and go to bed. Just relax; do you believe that you would be still here if they know you did it? That door, that very same door would be on the floor right now if they had a clue. Yes, the fair thing to do is facing consequences and paying for what you did, but this is your life, and you did what you had to do to protect it! For sure, you have no regrets about it, you are just afraid of being caught. That is reasonable, however, frightened people use to act mindlessly and erratically and end up messing everything up, it is like returning to a crime scene, that is exactly how people are caught. Calm down, analyze every detail of that night, and really think if you could be associated to that crime. … There are not proofs, you have an alibi, nobody saw you there, you are the only one who knows, and you are the only one who can take you down. So, what is it going to be? What else could it take to convince you? Not a step further, please! Just stop already! This situation is ridiculous. You are ridiculous! You are safe here; there is no way someone ever finds out. Look at you, you are pale, you are trembling. You are hesitating. Why are you hesitating? Please stay! Please close that door! What are you doing? Don’t… … Okay, you know what? Get out! Flee! As you constantly do! My god… Such a stubborn. And stupid! You are going to be the end of yourself, don’t listen, and just do what you want then… get out… get out! Wow! Leaving town, what a great idea! Not suspicious at all! Fool! For Christ’s sake… Hey! Hey idiot! Look back, nobody is chasing you and nobody is trying to stop you from leaving town either, that is just pathetic. Could someone be more alone? Could someone be more insignificant? That’s right, you are completely invisible, so invisible that they would never know you did it, you know you will never see a day in jail, that is absolutely guaranteed, but go ahead and mess it up like everything you do. Such a pathetic loser. … … Wait… Come back. Sorry… Please come back, let’s drink some water. Sorry! You are not a loser, you are okay, you are normal… you are not insignificant, sorry, really! But please listen, whatever you do, escaping is not an option. That would put you right in the spot. Here is what you are going to do: you will continue living your life like nothing out of the ordinary had happened, keep going to work, keep the same routine, you are going to be fine, nobody suspects anything. He sure had some enemies, a lot of people despised him, it could have been anyone! And nobody saw the two of you together, you were very careful, the plan worked, right? You were very meticulous; they will not find that out. Do you see? You are safe, here. Don’t cry. Just enter the house, leave that suitcase. That’s right, come inside. Breathe! Come on, inhale, exhale, that’s right. You are calm, you have to be calm. Breathe… Let’s unpack. Eat the sandwich. You have been so worried all day that you have not even eaten anything. Is it good? Just as you like it. It is simple to know what you are thinking at this time, and it is funny, you know? You got exasperated today that it had become news, but not the day it happened… Do you see? You are not repented, you only fear of being locked. You fear the consequences but you don’t fear the deed, you don’t fear yourself, what you are capable of, and it is impossible to escape from it. Is it ironic?

It is getting exhausting that you always go through the same process. This was not the first time, and it won’t be the last. Just accept who you are, it would make things easier. Finish your meal and go to bed. Rest. Sleep tight.


Disclaimer: This story is based off a real event and personal experiences of a child drowning. Names have been removed, genders and ages have been changed, some events have been altered, and location has been left out in effort to maintain patient privacy.

Child found floating face down. Bath water still warm. Mother desperately crying while trying to save her child who’s dying. Twenty-nine, thirty, off the chest, deliver two breaths. Child’s older sibling stands back and watches as she, the witness, the discoverer, the one who was supposed to be watching, calls 911. Her hands shake, voice quivers, tears drop, heart pounds as the memory of her mother continues to try CPR on her drenched brother, imprints itself. Guilt, pain, and blame is not something she can tame. Distant sirens wailing quickly turn into screams at the front door. Paramedics run in with life-saving supplies in hand. Police stand aside until it’s their turn to take the drive. Mother is pulled away from son. Her grief so heavy, it is impossible for her to stand. Pulse checked, none. Heart electrocardiogram (EKG) shows a small quivering of the heart, ventricular fibrillation. A rhythm paramedics can shock. Defibrillator charged. All clear, shock delivered, CPR restarted and epinephrine (epi) administered. Pulse checked, heart rhythm read, shock delivered, compressions restarted, epi given every three minutes, again and again as the lifeless child is placed onto stretcher and rushed to the hospital.

The sound of heart monitors beeping, IV pumps screeching, call bells ringing. People coughing, sneezing, many wheezing, and the yelling of nurse, nurse, NURSE!!! Hallways lined up with patients on stretchers and chairs, every room taken except the trauma room, nurses scrambling, doctors examining, triage (front door) overwhelmed, back door (medic entrance) flooding with patient after patient. A typical day in the emergency department.

Finally, a moment to breathe and a millisecond to chart. Patient disoriented to place and time. 20 gauge IV inserted to left upper arm, blood cultures and lab work drawn. Patient is tachycardic, hypotensive, and febrile. One liter of normal saline hung to bring down heart rate, raise blood pressure, and follow sepsis protocol. “Hey Dr. V, can you put- “, red phone rings. Everyone looks up, stares at each other, then stares at the phone. Charge nurse answers, we continue to stare in silence. Phone put down. Charge nurse speaks, “code coming in, three-year-old drowning, CPR ongoing, approximately three minutes out”. All eyes widen, action begins.  Respiratory therapist notified; emergency department pharmacist made aware, main nurse assigned. Rest of code team given tasks. One to two nurses for IV placement and lab draws, one nurse for medication administration, one nurse to obtain vitals, if possible, and use as back up to help with other tasks, two patient care technicians assigned for CPR. Police now take the wheel. Mother and daughter questioned. Daughter explained chain of events. Mother left household to pick up daughter’s seizure medication. Mother told daughter to do the chores. Daughter was vacuuming and stopped to check on little brother. Brother found facedown in bathtub. Brother unresponsive. Mother comes home to drowned son and daughter in total distraught.

Cries of grief unbearable to hear. Daughter is taken to the hospital by police. Mother placed under scrutiny. Police refuse to let mother leave for hospital. Mother is now under investigation.

Code team ready, waiting in trauma room. Paramedics appear through back door. CPR ongoing. Child is moved to stretcher and code team begins their assigned duties- IV placed, labs drawn, vitals taken, pharmacist draws up pediatric doses of epinephrine, respiratory therapist connects patient to ventilator. Heart arrythmia changed. Rhythm is no longer shockable. Doctor enters room. Paramedic reports to main nurse and doctor. Report given. Three-year-old child found face down and unresponsive in bathtub by older sister. Sister did not witness how even occurred. Downtime approximately 15 minutes since medic arrival. Downtime at home unknown. Patient remained in ventricular fibrillation. Three rounds of epi given, defibrillated three times. No patient response.

Daughter arrived and placed in consultation room with police officer. Triage nurse nearby kept watch, as daughter was a minor. Mother was still at home being questioned about child neglect.

Despite team efforts, patient condition remained unchanged. Doctor ordered to continue CPR efforts until mother arrived. Chest compressions, epi, ventilator, repeat. The team was silent. Every one of us were lost in our emotions. Due to doctor’s orders, the code team carried on with their duties. Not a single person wanted to prolong the nightmare they became a part of, but they did anyways.

Word is out. The mother has finally arrived. She is brought back to see the code team putting all efforts into saving her child. Dr. V approached mother and explained the enormity of efforts taken. Her child was without oxygen for too long. Brain death likely. Her son was not going to make it. The mother fell to her knees. Her howls of lament broke the hearts of all those around. Charge nurse assisted mother into an empty patient room. Daughter was brought back to mother. Doctor orders team to stop CPR. Time of death called. Nurses break down into tears. The doctor walks out. A solemn look on his face.

Inconsolable, the mother is admitted to the emergency department. Charge nurse assigned herself to the mother. She begged for the nurse to end her misery. Her wish was granted. Temporarily. Doctor ordered sedatives and anti-anxiety medications to ease her mental anguish. Wails turned to loud whimpers.

For the code team, remaining tears were wiped away. Sadness and thoughts about the situation were compartmentalized. All but the main nurse and a patient care technician walked out. They traveled back to the nurse’s station. Fake smiles on their faces as if nothing ever happened. Back to their patients, they act happy. They pretend a child never died. They tend to every patient request. They move on because they have to. The emergency department never sleeps, especially during a code. There are many orders to catch up on, medications to give, more patients to bring back to a room for treatment. The nurses who were not a part of the code show exhaustion. They ran the show while half of the staff was in the trauma room. Now it is time to help them while helping our own patients.

Chaos always exists. One way or another, it is always there. It takes a toll on the nursing staff. Just like it takes a toll on the families that suffer. Nursing isn’t for the faint of heart. It doesn’t matter how strong the nurse is, eventually the suffering will break them too.


The eerie silence permeating the large, tall room was possibly more disturbing than the repetitive, slightly creepy jazz music that the weird woman in the adjacent room was listening to. It wasn’t total silence, though, as it was periodically interrupted by the relentless, slow ticking of a clock high up on the wall. The room where Mr Flores had been waiting for quite a while already looked like the study of an intellectual; two tall bookshelves, spanning the whole width of the room (and probably its height, too), stood on the sides of the imposing door behind Mr Flores, lit by several soft yellow lights. They were bursting with books, yet very tidy nonetheless. In front of the bookshelf on Mr Flores’ right, quite far from him, were a few armchairs and a sofa, resting on a large, dark carpet. At about the same distance but on the opposite side was a large grand piano, with a couple of tall indoor plants around it. The walls were mostly empty, except for a few disquieting paintings of cloaked figures and skeletons visiting terrified, desperate-looking people, and the candelabra mounted symmetrically next to each of the large, Gothic windows. Nothing in that room, or the adjacent one, felt particularly normal; things looked normal (except perhaps the paintings), but that’s not the feeling they gave Mr Flores. Not even the desk—an exquisitely elegant, dark brown writing desk, clearly an antique—felt quite normal, although there was nothing strange in its appearance. Few ornaments were orderly arranged on it, dividing short rows of equally tidily arranged books, probably appointment diaries. An ancient-looking quill and an ink pot sat on the desk, right next to a few yellowish sheets written in the neatest handwriting. It looked like nothing but the fine desk of an academic, and yet, it felt as oddly ominous as the rest of the room. Nothing, though, could look more ominous than the windows—or rather, what lay beyond them. Absolutely nothing. Nothing but pure black, as though there was no world outside that could be seen. More than once, Mr Flores had been tempted to get right up from his chair in front of the desk, where he had been waiting for his mysterious, tardy host for far too long, open one of those windows, and stick a hand out to make sure they weren’t painted black. He wondered what kind of an intellectual could live there. He had to be an intellectual; the nameplate on the door clearly said he was a PhD, a doctor—but of what? With a name like that… It was very much appropriate to the vibe he got from that room, although maybe it was because of that name, not the appearance of the room, that Mr Flores got that vibe in the first place. Every now and again, Mr Flores would cast long, hopeful glances to the door all the way to his right, where he thought his host would finally come from. If this was the study where he received people, whatever lay beyond that door must have been a private room of some kind. The wait was unnerving enough as it was, and the incessant ticking of the clock didn’t make it any better, really. Mr Flores turned his gaze towards the devilish mechanical contraption hanging behind the desk, and much to his annoyance, he found that the clock was as useless as it was pestering—it had no hands to speak of, so that he couldn’t even tell how late it was getting while waiting for his host. To think that Miss Coffins, the weird woman typing away by the main entrance, had said Mr Death was waiting for him! “I apologise for the wait, Mr Flores,” said the voice coming from the right. Mr Death—the tall, slender man in a business suit who had just come out of the room Mr Flores thought to be private—jogged lightly towards him, with mild enthusiasm. “Your case needed one final touch, but not to worry—it’s ready for you now.” Mr Flores observed Mr Death in puzzled silence for a few seconds. His skeletal appearance should have terrified him, and yet, all that Mr Flores could feel was confusion. Mr Death’s empty, dark eye sockets were staring right at him, or so it looked, and his face bore a sinister and only apparently cordial grin. Not for a moment did Mr Flores think that Mr Death was endeavouring to look friendly; rather, it was as though the façade was meant to be obvious. “My… my case?” he finally ventured asking, fidgeting with the ring on his hand. “You look nervous, Mr Flores,” observed Mr Death. “Is something the matter?” “Not really,” Mr Flores stammered. “It’s only…” “Yes?” Mr Death encouraged him. “This… invitation was rather sudden,” he explained. “And unexpected.” Mr Death snorted, stifling a laugh. “If I had a nickel… Ah, you will forgive me, Mr Flores. I didn’t mean to sound disrespectful, but I get that pretty much all the time.” Mr Flores looked away from Mr Death back to those dead windows, and swallowed hard. The situation was like the weirdest dream—nightmare?—and yet, he’d never felt more awake in his life. “Perhaps I could show you around, to calm your nerves, yes?” Mr Death suggested. “I take it you are already acquainted with my study, as I kept you waiting here so unforgivably long.” Mr Flores found himself nodding silently, slowly, looking nowhere in particular. Mr Death’s proposal wasn’t particularly appealing, but he felt he did not have an option. “Excellent,” Mr Death said, looking pleased as he showed Mr Flores the way. “If you cared to follow me.” As they made it for the study entrance, Mr Flores cast a quick glance at the door that Mr Death came in from. He now had a strong feeling that he would not leave the place without being shown that room too. He had a strong feeling he would simply not leave the place. “May I ask you a question?” Mr Flores asked, as they passed in front Miss Coffins’ desk. She didn’t even lift her head up from the typewriter. “By all means,” Mr Death replied. “You talked about ‘my case’.” He took a pause. Mr Death hummed affirmatively. “Are you a solicitor?” Mr Flores asked out of sheer wishful thinking. “Not quite,” Mr Death said, “though in my profession I do deal with people’s last wills quite a bit.” “I see,” Mr Flores murmured, jolting lightly as the door to Miss Coffins’ office shut behind them. Mr Death turned around and stared right at him. “I thought you might be a solicitor, or a barrister, or something,” Mr Flores justified himself, “because of your study, you see… And I understand you’re a doctor, so… Although, you don’t go by ‘doctor’, I gather?” Mr Flores was feeling an indescribable urge to prolong the small talk. For as long as possible. “That’s right,” Mr Death confirmed. “You know, I never cared much for titles. Right. Here we are.” Mr Flores looked around. Nothing but black everywhere. As he turned around, he expected to see a huge mansion behind himself, but there was just a door. An elegant, brown door, bearing the same nameplate as the study door, and nothing else. The door stood literally in the middle of nowhere—in the middle of nothing, as though it had been planted into the ground, as Mr Flores could ascertain by circling it a few times. Somehow, despite the total blackness, he could see Mr Death and himself very clearly. The place was completely silent, except for the howling of a wind that just wasn’t there. It was as though there was no air at all. Yet, Mr Flores drew in a big breath and sighed deeply. “It’s cold,” he said. “And dark. What is this?” “This is me,” Mr Death said, somewhat pleased with himself. “I am afraid I don’t understand,” Mr Flores said, slightly shaking his head. Except he did understand, all too well. “I am sure you will,” replied Mr Death, condescendingly. He opened the door again, revealing Miss Coffins’ office. “Shall we?” Mr Flores followed Mr Death inside, all the way to the study. He’d never thought it, but he was actually glad to be back in. The study was far less disturbing than that endless black, and for that he made it a point not to look at the windows ever again. “Tell me, Mr Flores,” Mr Death asked. “Do you remember getting my ‘invitation’? Or arriving here?” “Not really,” Mr Flores said resignedly, shaking his head with a glassy look. “What is the last thing you remember?” Mr Flores made an effort to recall. “I think I was watching TV. Last night, I think it was.” “Right,” Mr Death said as he moved towards the only other door of his studio, sheepishly followed by Mr Flores. “What next?” Now that he was closer, Mr Flores could see a sign on the door. He felt shivers down his spine as he saw what it read—Collectables. “I’m not quite sure. I think I wasn’t feeling very well.” “Regrettably, my customers hardly ever do,” Mr Death interjected with palpably fake mournfulness. “At the same time,” Mr Flores went on, “I think I was rather sleepy. That tells you something about the entertainment value of programmes these days, I guess.” He chuckled lightly, and Mr Death promptly followed suit. He was hoping that an improbable exchange of pleasantries might somehow temper the feeling of dread growing inside him. “Did you recover from your ailment?” Mr Death enquired. “Well, whatever it was, I don’t feel it right now.” “That is not surprising. At any rate, you don’t seem to recall what happened next. Do you?” “I… think I might have fallen asleep?” Mr Flores said, tentatively. “Indeed,” Mr Death nodded approvingly. “You see, Mr Flores, you’re one of my lucky customers.” “Lucky?” “Why, yes. Not everyone has the good fortune of arriving here in their sleep. But I digress; it is time for you to go.” Mr Flores felt as though he was coming back to life. “I may go?” he asked, hopeful and incredulous. “I don’t mean to sound rude,” Mr Death said, as he slowly opened the door to the Collectables room, “but as a matter of fact, you must go.” Mr Flores looked at the dark chamber before him. Mr Death’s words sounded even more ominous as they echoed inside the large, dark chamber studded with a myriad of small, dim lights stretching far into the distance. His hopes vanished, as quickly as they had been raised. “But I wouldn’t know where,” he stalled, trying to conceal his despair. “Not to worry,” Mr Death reassured him, wrapping a gelid arm around his shoulders. “I’ll show you the way,” he added, as their footsteps echoed deeper and deeper into the chamber.


In through the nose, out through the mouth. A mantra he’d repeated as long as he could talk. It was how his parents calmed him down during temper tantrums, how he’d prepared to act in his school play, how he worked up the courage to ask a girl to dance. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Nothing could prepare him for this. One of the only memories that lasted longer than his favorite eight words was standing on his kitchen table, bicycle helmet on, and arms spread wide. He’d announced, “I’m going to fly!” and jumped into his father’s welcoming embrace. In through the nose, out through the mouth. He remembered his conversation with his high school sweetheart at 3 a.m. She’d brought up that she would love the superpower to turn invisible. She could sneak up on her older brother and give him a nasty wedgie. She could sneak peeks at whatever she wanted, from test answers to gossip-inducing text conversations. He’d disagreed, that the only one he ever could want or need was the power to fly. There was no single reason, really. He just wanted to be able to jump out his window and leave at a moment’s notice. Just like that, there would be no one to stop him. To start flying and decide where to go once he was already in the air. In through the nose, out through the mouth. The evening air chilled his skin, with only his hot breath warming his lips. Regardless of the cold outside, his heart warmed from the memory, and the anticipation. In through the nose, out through the mouth. The music of the wind tickled his ears, and its gentle touch ran through his hair. It caressed his face as a single, joyous tear wrenched itself free from his tightly shut eye. In through the nose, out through the mouth. It was time. He unfurled his wings. Wings that had appeared only that morning, folded against his back. Wings that matched his hair both in color and in the way they felt when the breeze kissed them, each feather a reminder of the earthbound life he had lead up to today. In through the nose, out through the mouth. The day had rushed by, with him cautiously experimenting. He had glided from the balcony of his second floor apartment to the soft grass below. He had lifted himself off the ground by a good few inches with a single beat of his wings. He had wrapped them around himself like a blanket when his air conditioning was just a little too low. In through the nose, out through the mouth. He stood in a parking lot, vacant, except for himself and his two companions: the breeze and the setting sun. The former told him it was time, finally, to fly. It would hold him up. The latter told him how proud it was of him, and, despite its warmth leaving, its love would not. It would shine just a little longer if he could rise high enough. In through the nose. He brought his wings down, with as much strength he could muster. Out through the mouth. His body responded, the earth falling away. In through the nose. He repeated the motion, his feet now more than two feet off the ground. Out through the mouth. He noticed people watching, and elected to ignore them. In through the nose. The wind whistled past, giving him extra oxygen with which to fuel his already aching muscles. Out through the mouth. The sun whispered quiet encouragement. In through the nose. Each downward stroke more powerful than the last, he continued to rise. Out through the mouth. The stars began to appear, twinkling like cameras in a stadium. In through the nose. The moon began to rise, the lighted half echoing the sun. Out through the mouth. The dark half was silent. In through the nose. His wings pushed down again. Out through the mouth. He was above the rooftops now. In through the nose. The clouds came ever closer. Out through the mouth. The sun kissed him goodnight. In through the nose. He rose some more. Out through the mouth. He rose. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. He was flying He was **flying**. He lunged forward, clumsily, and tumbled headfirst into an awkward, but effective position. His wings spread wide, flapping downward whenever he needed a boost up. He soared in a straight line. The city beneath him shone like the now very visible stars above. He shouted his approval to the heavens, for all to hear. He gave it his all, since no words could truly describe how he felt. It was exhilarating. Unbelievable. Life-changing. Indescribable. He banked left, his eyes wandering across the landscape. The wind rushing past his face made his eyes tear up, or was that happening anyway? He **flew** past a radio tower. He **flew** past the downtown skyscrapers, and he **flew** for two hours. He went sightseeing from the clouds, past the airport where his fellow aviators piloted their machines, never truly experiencing flight in the way he could. He dove low and skirted the coastline, watching with a smirk as the night surfers and potheads performed comical double takes at his visage. He had expected his friend, the wind, to turn on him when he was moving this fast, but it did not. It still caressed his face, only with more intensity. It did as it promised, and held him aloft, allowing him to soar among the clouds, under the watchful eyes of the half-moon and stars. Lazily drifting over the city, he realized his muscles were beginning to ache, and his lack of experience meant that could lead to problems, despite the help of the wind and his celestial guardians. He guided himself back to his starting place and spread his wings wide, not flapping until he was close to the ground. He landed with a little too much momentum. His knees braved the impact and didn’t buckle, though they wanted to. He stood, barely able to believe the last two hours were real. Knees bent, arms and wings held out to his sides, he stood, the memories replaying through his head like lightning cutting through a stormy sky. He straightened, his body aching, his mind on overdrive, an amazed grin plastered across his face. Suddenly remembering something he had forgotten, he breathed. In through the nose, out through the mouth.


I’m sat at the far end of a dirty bar, sipping from my pint glass trying to read the suds at the bottom like a fortune teller. I feel a pair of red hot eyes on me. I dare not look up from the glass in case it’s the heavy at the other end of the bar. Maybe he doesn’t like what he sees, maybe he fancies giving his wife a night off tonight and beating a stranger like a case of eggs instead, blow off a little steam. As it happens, it’s a beautiful red head sat alone at a floating table a few metres away. I succumb and look up and her eyes catch mine and pierce right through the iris, looking beyond and somewhere inside me. I’m drunk and my motor skills are fuzzy now, but I fumble for the stool next to me and usher for her to join me. As she walks over, her dress flows off her like cigarette smoke from a burning hot ember. “You look like you’ve had a bad day” she smirks as she sits beside me. She’s not wrong I guess, although I have a feeling she’s about to make this bad day worse in her own special way. “Starting to feel like a bad life, honey” “Tell me about it then, make me feel better about my own shitty life.” The left side of her mouth curls up as she speaks and then she takes a sip of her drink. Looks like whiskey, two rocks of ice and a dash of soda. “I don’t even know your name, maybe I don’t want to spill my guts to a stranger” “It’s Courtney” and she grabs the back of my head and pulls it towards hers, kissing me as my stool almost topples beneath me. “And now I’m no stranger, I’d say we’re quite intimate.” The back legs of my stool land with a shudder on the tiled floor. I sit there, quiet for a moment. “So?” she enquires between pursed lips as she goes to take another sip. I laugh lightly and turn back to the dregs of my drink and sigh into the stale beer. “Just an ex wife holding on to a couple of things.” “What sort of things?” “I suppose a few years back I was hiding a devil inside me that lay a firm hand on her from time to time. I’m not proud of it, hell I still beat myself up about it. I got sober for a bit, that helped. But she couldn’t let it go. Maybe she shouldn’t. I don’t know.” I drain the last drops from the glass and usher the bartender to pour me another. Courtney stops him before he reaches the tap. She looks at me for a moment, her eyes full with sympathy and something else – I can’t quite put my finger on it. ”You want to stay here?” She asks. It’s clear there is a right and a wrong answer. We climb the stairs in her apartment building, marble finished and wide enough to fit a family of four. She pulls her keys from her clutch bag and before she puts them in the door her palm is on the side of my face and she kisses me. This time it is soft and gentle and for a brief moment after she looks me dead in the eye and I feel a warmth I’ve not felt in years. It lasts only a few moments. “Have a seat.” She gestures to the black leather sofa in the middle of the apartment and I perch on the arm, cautious about getting too comfortable. Liaisons are precarious, I assume little. As she’s fixing us a drink, she calls from the kitchen. “Tell me about her. What was her name?” “You don’t even know my name.” I hark back. “I don’t think I want to know your name. It’s easier that way.” She’s now back in the room holding two short glasses of stiff whiskey. She hands me one. The glass is cold to touch but the drink burns and I grimace “So, tell me about her.” “Okay” I take another sip and feel each drop slide down my throat, already I feel the full weight of my eyelids as the alcohol enters my system. “We met when we were thirteen. She moved into the house next door. My mum used to make me walk her to school, I guess she didn’t like the idea of the poor girl next door not having any friends to play with while I rode my bicycle up and down the street with Eddie and the guys. Made her feel good about herself I guess. Anyway, as we got older we became close and eventually it just made sense. She was always nice, good to me, good to the kids. But I guess after twenty years, we just liked the idea more than we actually liked each other. We separated last year. Haven’t signed the papers yet, but that bitch wants everything. Doesn’t even want me to see the kids. Yeah I hit her, and I don’t know if she deserved it, but it was years ago and now she wants everything I’ve got.” The whiskey has hit me now. I can feel the blood flowing through my body, circulating the alcohol, carrying it straight to my head. My hands feel cold and my grip on the glass feels weaker. Courtney is watching me intently now. She notices every twitch and every bead of sweat. “...” I try to speak but a strained breath is all I can manage. The glass slips through my fingers and shatters on the hard wood floor at my feet. I slip backwards and my position on the arm of the chair is compromised as I topple to the floor. My legs are weak now and struggle to find a grip on the floor as they slip through the puddle of whiskey and shards of glass. Courtney stands above me showing no signs of concern. The corners of her mouth turn upwards as my body stops responding to the neurons firing at full capacity, desperately willing my my arms, legs, anything to just do something. All I can do now is look helplessly at the woman stood over my lifeless body. The walls and furniture are fuzzy now. My periphery begins to blur into shapes and colours and features are hard to pick out. Though my view is hazy, the fiery head of hair on my assailant cuts sharply through it all and as she stares into my eyes and past my iris in the same way she had done only a couple of hours earlier, I knew hers would be the last face I saw. Just as quickly as it had deteriorated, my vision clears and I can see things like crystal again. But what I see now confirms my fear. I look down on the red head and my helpless body lies at her feet. I watch as she reaches for a cushion from the sofa, plush and the colour of blood, and presses it down against my face, obstructing the air. I can see into my own eyes, I’m still alive, but there is no coming back. She pushes down harder. Courtney begins to speak but all I hear is a faint muffle as if she were in the adjacent apartment. I watch her mouth move and try to piece together the shapes with the rhythm I can just about make out. “Victoria says ‘hello’, she won’t be needing you to sign those papers after all.


Have you ever heard the expression “The truth will set you free?” I am here to tell you that that statement is very accurate. I am going to tell you a story about a woman who always lied. Her lies got bigger and bigger until one day she had herself in such a conundrum and had no way out. Let her story serve to you a lesson on the importance of truth.

Kennedy grew up in a large family. She was one of five children. Smack dab in the middle. She spent the majority of her childhood fighting for a spot in the bathroom to get ready for school, for mom and dad’s attention and for teachers to remember her for her individual characteristics; not just the family name she was attached to. One day, she grew terribly frustrated when she wanted to get into the bathroom to get ready for “Opposite Day”. It was Spirit Week at school and it was her favorite. She needed to make sure she looked just right! That also might help her be remembered by her teachers as more than just one of the “Crawford 5”. She hollered on the other side of the bathroom door and told her older sister Avery that she had to get in the bathroom immediately as she had stomach pains. Avery reluctantly opened the door and got out. Before she was even fully out of the door frame, Kennedy squeezed past her and slammed and locked the door. Now that she had the bathroom to herself she could get ready just the way she wanted. This was the first of many, many lies. Kennedy learned that if you said you didn’t feel well, you would get special attention from parents and teachers. Any time she craved attention or affection, she would hold her forehead to a heater or run around and make her face red and then say it was due to not feeling well. Soon enough, parents and teachers stopped what they were doing to swoon over her. If we fast forward a few years, as she entered college, Kennedy began to weave further lies about people other than herself to get extensions on assignments, an offer for special extra credit and even a placement on the cheer team. When Kennedy tried out for cheer, she initially didn’t make the cut to be on the team. When the cheer coach told her, Kennedy made herself cry and made up a lie that her mom had been sick and she was worried about her and therefore unable to fully focus on her tryout. The coach felt bad for her and allowed her onto the team. When applying to college, the admissions essay requested exploring a hardship one had overcome. Kennedy found herself fabricating an extreme exaggeration of a very minor incident that happened. One day after school, a friend of hers came over so they could help one another edit their essays. When Kennedy’s friend confronted her on how ingenuine her essay was, Kennedy became red in the face and found it impossible to make excuses for why she had written what she did. Kennedy’s friend then stated that she did not want to maintain a friendship with someone who was so comfortable with lying. She challenged Kennedy that if she was content with lying for something as important as college admissions, she did not care to find out what other things Kennedy would be okay lying about. When her friend left, Kennedy sat there in contemplation on how to untangle the mess she made but felt too far gone. It was then that she accepted that a life of lies was the bed she made for herself and was now being forced to lay in. The web of lies continued to grow well into her adult life. The sad reality is that at this point, Kennedy herself no longer knows what the truth is. She has lost all genuine characteristics she once had and now truly believes that lying and prescribing to the ideas that she thinks are best is the only way to be successful. Kennedy has had a falling out with all of her closest friends and relatives who all have told her that her company is not one they would like to keep. Her hometown is a small, close-knit community and if trust and truth are not foundations one operates on, the community will not have it as it will destroy the very foundation of values they created.

When she was a young child, Kennedy could make friends wherever she went. For birthday parties, her favorite thing to do was pick out favors for all of those who attended. She loved being generous and caring. When her lies started, she lost all of her friends. Kennedy had no one in her life for whom she could rely on for support. It is a dark and lonely life when you have dug a hole for yourself so deep that you see no way out.

At the height of her problem, Kennedy was alone on a vacation at the beach. She found herself unable to start conversations with passerbys about even the simplest of things. Kennedy was finally starting to see that this life she had created was not a good one. She continued to sit on the beach, staring at the waves crash against the shoreline and allowed herself to begin to come to terms with all the lies she had said over time. She remembered how happy and carefree she felt in her younger years before this full-time job of fabricating stories and lies took everything over. Kennedy found herself crying and smiling at various times as she sat there on the beach. She wanted to feel that freedom, that virtue again. She took out her phone from her bag and opened a notes document. There she began to write a list of all of the people she needed to make amends with. She tried to write out all of the lies she had told but there were just too many. Kennedy resolved with herself then and there that she was willing to do whatever it took to earn the forgiveness and acceptance of those she once held so close. Upon returning home, Kennedy got help from a therapist and began to make her amends. Though hesitant at first, her family began to slowly let Kennedy back into their lives, though they were all guarded initially. Kennedy spent a lot of time re-figuring out who she was, the things she enjoyed doing, the company she liked to keep. She was essentially building back from square one but the hope of having a normal, truth seeking and truth telling life was a force that pulled her through. Kennedy now has a podcast where she inspires people from all over on the importance of telling the truth. She is very transparent in her journey which allows leverage with those who may be struggling with the same past she once held. Her most recent podcast episode ended with her saying “Let this story serve as a lesson. Though the road where you tell the truth may be longer and the goals you may be trying to achieve may take longer to get to, the journey will be a much more optimistic one. When you live a life of truth, you can feel good about the steps you are taking and you have by your side to share the experience with. As the old adage goes, the truth will truly set you free. “


           Lessons on the move The sounds of nightlife in Africa's largest gaming reserve were menacing to say the least. What was even worse were the growls, and glowing eyes that lurked hunching low in the grass. As morning came and the sun began to rise we moved through a field, in the humid African plains thankful to be alive. The blend of dried dead brown and stark healthy green blades of thick grass irritated our face with annoying little cuts. We edged slowly toward the extraction site, thinking about the dumb luck that landed us here. No time to worry about that now. We crouched low and moved through the grass hoping we did not hear the menacing growl again. We certainly didn't want to see the lion's face. This was his turf, he had every advantage here.

I looked at Gary, and he glared back. We didn't like each other, but here in this moment our hope for survival far outweighed our longstanding feud. A feud that had kept us enemies for so long that neither of us could remember how or exactly when it began.

Sergio, was the name the locals gave the "man eating" lion that was lurking somewhere in the foliage. Gary and I couldn't believe our horrible luck, ending up here together 30 miles from the camp. If he would have listened we would be on the air conditioned bus watching the wild cats hunting antelope instead of us.

If I'm being honest here, (as we tend to do in life and death situations) the feud was probably my fault. I was young and immature when I first met Gary in the third grade and he already knew he was going to follow in his father's footsteps and become a doctor. His parents were wealthy and my dad struggled mightily to put food on our table. My mom and dad had divorced when I was seven. Gary seemed to have the perfect mom and dad. They traveled together and- "Yo, Marv?" He tapped me on the Shoulder, "You daydreaming again?" "Um no!" I snapped back, not willing to admit I could barely keep my eyes open from the nearly thirty -six hours straight without sleep. "Hey, Marv. Open that sissy fannypack and give me another drink from that canteen. Then check that map to see how far we have to go?" I ignored him and continued forward. We had just had a sip. The canteen was nearly half gone and I knew exactly how far we had to go.

I just wanted to wallow in self pity just a little longer. Besides, now that I think about it; It probably was his fault. He was cocky, arrogant and driven for perfection. He was pre-med and I would be lucky to land a Job at a factory somewhere in our small town.

What directly led us here was the fight at school. We exchanged a few blows in the hallway near our lockers. Even though the teacher pulled him off of me I felt like I got the best of him. Sarah thought so too, and that's all that mattered to me. He came here because he wanted to keep his precious scholarship and stay in his parents' good graces. I came here because, his parents talked mine into the stupid Idea with a few thousand bucks each. Can you believe it?

"Earth to Marvin." He tapped me again. "What?" I snapped back.

"You might want to look where you are going Marv." He said with a flat tone. I stopped quickly puffing out my chest. I was ready to give him a piece of my mind. Marv was reserved for my closest friends and family. He didn't qualify on either front. In an instant I learned what he was talking about. There was a large dead tree in front of me, and in that tree were several snakes. One of them was near my face about to strike. His hand reached forward with all the authority of a well trained ninja. He snapped his arm out, then straightened it in front of my eyes with a snap of the wrist.

"What would you like to do with him?" Gary said, as he held up an African Boomslang (tree dwelling) snake in his outstretched hand. He looked down at him slowly and weirdly passionate. "He is, kind of, cute don't ya think Marv? I tried to warn you. If we want or get out alive you need to stay alert." "Okay Gare," I said, trying to give him back a little of his own medicine. I stepped toward him a bit. "I don't care what you do with him and and-" I searched for more words that didn't, no, wouldn't come out of my mouth. Instead I leaned in close and looked that boomslang directly in his beady little eyes. I would show him, I wasn't afraid.

"Put him back, let him go, Gary!" I said with all the courage I could muster. We stopped moving and just stood there for a moment in silence. His eyes shifted focus from the snake's head to mine. The snake was surprisingly calm in his grip. "I said, let him go, Gary."

"Have it your way then Marv." He opened the hand on his outstretched arm and released his grip from the snake's head. The white in his palm and fingers began to regain the reddish tint as the blood began to flow back into it. The snake flailed aimlessly back and forth, landing in the tall grass next to the tree. His head raised up looking toward us slowly, as if to say thanks for not killing me. Then he slithered away, disappearing into the thick undergrowth. I took a good look at the tree, the other snakes seemed utterly uninterested in us. In fact they never slithered a muscle. Gary and I eased around the odd tree and continued forward in the blazing heat. Gary may have just saved my life. I wiped the beads of sweat from my forehead with my shirt, searching for a way to say thanks without sounding like I was saying thanks.

"Speaking of snakes Gare, what do you think old Mrs. Gunderson thought when she pulled me off of you in the hallway?" I asked with a nervous chuckle. "She probably thought, my, you look a lot like Marvin, considering all things." He laughed. "I have a question for you Marv, since you got us into this mess. Why Do you hate me?" He managed to say this jokingly yet seriously in the same sentence. I had never really considered the question because I don't know that I ever hated him. I hated the idea of him, I wrestled with the questions of why were some people blessed and born into wealth and good genes, physical specimens (freaks of nature) if you will? But- in that very moment when he asked why I hated him, I couldn't help but to see him as a struggling human being. Did it bother him, to think that someone as gifted as himself wasn't adored by the likes of me. I blurted out, "I hate you because of Maria, and Susan, and that other girl from the fifth grade that liked you and wouldn't give me a second look. I hate you because you have a nice car, you are strong and smart you make all A's at school and Marvin Greenlee Jr. Plays second fiddle for no one. Got it?"

"So that's it huh? You hate me because girls are interested and I work really hard in school while you are hanging out with those hoodlum boys you call friends. They will get you nothing but trouble. You know what your problem is Marvin?" I paused waiting for his harsh "truth" to spew forth from his lying lips. That's what I expected, and in a lot of ways it would have been easier than what I got. "Your problem is that you waste your talent and brains on nonsense. You have every excuse why Marvin Greenlee Jr., as you so eloquently put it, doesn't measure up. Your parents divorce, you don't have money, as if that gets you C's in school. Marvin you are smart, but you do dumb things and hang around trouble. You are afraid to apply yourself because God forbid you have expectations for poor little Marv!"

I was seething mad. How dare he. I clenched my fist tightly. I wanted to punch his lights out. I wanted him, just once, to feel the pain of failure or just plain mediocrity. I took a deep breath and drew back my arm…

A roar louder than you could imagine, snapped me back to the harsh reality of where we were. According to the pamphlets we received with our maps when we got in the bus this roar can be heard in the wilderness five-km away. The thick blades of grass parted quickly and Sergio emerged, leaping from about twenty feet away. I lept on top of Gary with my best form football tackle. Sergio seemingly flew over us claws swiping in mid air, his mane swaying back and forth as he tried to adjust in midair. I grabbed Gary's hand and helped him up as Sergio landed and slid to a stop several yards away.

"RUN!" I yelled. Then I thought how do we get out of this. "The tree, the snakes, Gary. Maybe our only chance." I pulled him toward the tree where he saved my life. Hopefully the snakes were there.

I released my grip from Gary's hand then stopped. "Get back to that tree!" I yelled. Sergio regained his grip and stood up straight. He turned to face me. Our eyes locked for a moment. He let out another ferocious blood curdling growl then lowered himself down. He disappeared into the thick grass. He didn't chase us directly. He blended into the lush undergrowth. The silence was unnerving, He could leap at us from anywhere at any moment.

Gary made it to the tree first. I was close behind. "Gary do you see any of the snakes?" I asked in a panic. Gary and I scanned the tree quickly looking for the uninterested snakes.

"Exactly what is your plan here and why do we want to be near a severely poisonous creature that can kill us?" Gary asked. "You don't remember, do you Gary? Mr straight A's. Maybe I am pretty smart after all. I guess it's time to apply myself. This tree isn't real Gary, its an emergency communication center for the reserve. Here take a look." I sat down next to the tree and wiped the sweat from my forehead once again. I unzipped my "sissy" fanny pack and took out the map of the place and pointed to E-9. I took a drink of water from the canteen and offered a drink to Gary. He stood trying to regain his breath while I sat back with a sly smirk on my face pointing at E-9.

He sat next to me. "Have you lost your mind Marvin?" He asked. I didn't say a word. I just took another sip of water, stood up and located the small cluster of snakes. Then I picked them up in a quick scoop and tossed the whole painted plastic snake pit at him. He nearly fell over as he tried to dodge it.

"The thing is Gare, this is a phone station and those imitations were hiding this phone!" I reached inside the hollowed cavern that the faux snakes had previously concealed and pulled out a large phone that looked like something from the eighties. I held it up and exclaimed. "E-9 Gary. If you had read the info they gave us and took that sissy fanny pack maybe you would be prepared Gare!" Oh the look on his face was classic. All we had to do now was call and tell them our location then they would send out a rescue jeep and we would be back in that air conditioned bus sipping on an iced coffee before noon.

I pushed a big red button on the bottom labeled call. Gary scrambled back to his feet and inched close to me. The phone clicked and beeped and then we heard a glorious sound. The phone was ringing. I never thought the old generic ring tone could sound so good. One ring, then on the second ring someone picked up. "Hello, you have reached Selous home of Africa's largest gaming reserve. This is an automated emergency line. If you are lost and know your map coordinate please press one now." Beeep… I pressed one and listened intently for further instructions. The line clicked and beeped for a few seconds. "Please say your coordinate now. Letter first then number and we will connect you to the nearest rescue station" E-9 I pushed the letter then number on the monstrous phone.

Beep…beep…beep- connecting. You think it's nerve wrecking waiting for a utility company well think again. The thirty seconds we waited seemed like hours. Finally a voice, broke the series of clicks and beeps. "You are located at phone station E-9. Thank you for your patience. We have dispatched a jeep to your location and it should arrive before sunset." Gary plopped back down, sprawling out in the thick grass. "Well that's just great, before sunset they say. That could be thirty minutes or eight hours." He slapped the ground with his hand causing the plastic snake den to hop on the grass nearly scaring him again. I smiled then began to laugh uncontrollably. I looked down at Gary offering him a hand up, still laughing like a mad man. I think it was a combination of lack of sleep and euphoria. "Oh Gary lighten up." The laughs kept coming. After a few minutes I was able to get my hilarity under control. "Okay Gare, now I'll ask you since we have some time to kill." I paused for a moment and began laughing again. "Or be killed. Ohh look at the grass move it's Sergio coming for ya Gare!"

"You are not funny." He managed to say through gritted teeth. He took a deep breath, then stepped close to me. "Is everything a joke to you Marv. Is this just another day in the unfulfilling life of Marv. Jr?"

"My life is fine Gary! You asked me earlier why I hate you. Now I'm going to ask you the same. Why do you, Gary Sinclare Adams hate me?" His eyes lit up, he brushed a hand through his perfect hair and shook off the drips of sweat that collected on his fingertips.

"That list Marvin would get us past sunset." He chuckled then looked around as if he were checking for someone else listening in. "I don't hate you Marvin that would mean I give a damn. But I'll answer your question. One, you think I have it so perfect, you raze me every chance you get about having money and parents who stay together." He took a deep breath and continued. "My mom, is having an affair and my gutless dad doesn't have the guts to say a thing. She had the nerve to take me to his house and act like I wasn't smart enough to figure it out." A tear rolled down his cheek and he wiped it away. "I hate you Marvin because you don't have to live under pressure. No one expects anything from you. You have it easy, just sit back, do nothing and play the victim card!" I wanted to be mad. I just couldn't. He may have been the first person to actually tell me the truth. I had no idea that people saw me that way. I also never even considered that people like Gary, that seemed to have it all together, were just as messed up as me.

I walked over to him and embraced him in a bro hug. I half expected him to push me away and take a swing. Anything. He didn't. Gary and I hugged and cried together under that fake tree next to some fake plastic snakes. It was ironic in this moment of truth between two struggling teens entering adulthood. We both wanted the same thing. We both wanted what most men really want. Respect, its as simple as that. Before we could mend all of our brokenness and share our darkest fears the roar of an engine broke our embrace. We couldn't have a group of rough and tumble men in a rugged jeep rescue us in Africa's largest gaming reserve see us crying and sharing feelings. Yuck.

So we did what any red blooded American men would do in our situation. We vowed to never tell a soul that we understood each other and connected. Even if for the briefest of moments.

Gary and I spent another month there in the Selous summer program. We learned a lot about each other and life. When we got back to the States we remained and became even closer friends. I stopped making excuses and he stopped being so hard on himself. For the first time in my life I'm excited and looking forward to my future. I'm studying to become a veterinarian. Specializing in large Cats and with a little luck someday my good friend Gary will mend a broken human heart and I will mend that of a beast like Sergio. One thing is for sure Gary and I will never be the same again.


"- and occasionally I drink milk out of the carton, I KNOW. I'm me," I replied sharply, turning my wrist slightly to test the cuff that held my hands to the table. The fuckers had arrested me- at least that's what they claimed it was. But they were Home Office, even had flashed credentials, and I was an American in fucking America. A few sharp questions about my friend and BAM, face down on the dining room table, hands up near my shoulder blades and cuffs on. There was no question that they were dead, I was an internationally licensed operative, upper class, and did I mention that I was an American in fucking America- where and when this was going down? But did they really have to torture me by trying to impress me first? As long as they kept their hands to theirselves I didn't necessarily have to blow up their country, but with their attitude problems it was starting to sound tempting. They were going out of their way to let me know they were monitoring me- like I didn't fucking know. I turned off my cellular, my mic, my security system, and played YouTube if I wanted to fuck- and that was just for privacy during sex. I was aware of the fact that every Tom, Dick and Harry in America wanted to sell my info, especially the Dicks. "Your mother debatably had dementia before she died, claimed it was from psychics. Do you suffer from similar ideas?" Bob asked me, his ugly mug rendered intolerable by his smug British expression. "My family was fairly openly psychic. Barring fiction, I don't believe I've ever expressed similar notions. I'm a Christian Reverend, but I imagine you already know that." The fucker punched me. People think capture and escape scenes in movies are funny, they're not. We only laugh and make jokes because the people who are holding us are dead and we're just making time until that happens, and walking away with a decent story instead of a traumatic experience. By this point I was probably going to crack Intelligence one as well, just for letting the country work itself up into a state where an Operative was considered vulnerable. Between Privates thinking we were their own personal vending machine for wishes, and their bullshit reaction to their own mercenary programme, they had it coming. "Tell us a little more about the man you were sheltering," Tom said to me. He didn't look inbred, but he had the slightly off accent that Americans associated with it. His brown hair was curly, but not every dude sprang for the gel, even in Europe. Blue eyes cruel. "Well, he refused to fuck me. Which is a crying shame, given that he's a whore and he owes me money." Bob and Tom both looked disgusted. I didn't know their real names, but I was trying to construct a framework to track them, so I could politely suggest that someone who cared infinitely less about their reputation remove them from their government positions and explain to them everything that was wrong with what they'd done. If possible I wanted teeny tiny little Christmas trees planted over their remains. I'd deliberately adopted a lower class accent. It made mouthing off easier and hunting them down afterwards even easier than that. They'd run their wrong ends about me. "Are all Americans this belligerent when dealing with Intelligence?" Tom finally asked. "I wouldn't even say that it's belligerence," I answered poking the inside of my mouth with my tongue as I paused. I was bleeding. "It's more like a natural camo. I don't think you can classify it as anything but specious." Tom got up and dragged his chair around to sit far too close to me. I was insulting him in English and he knew it. Bright one, Tom. "Domhnal McGregor. How do you know him?" Tom said. His breath was natural smelling, which shouldn't be a scent. He hadn't brushed recently, or too far in the past, and apparently didn't drink coffee. "Cor, when did we cross paths? I think I rolled the poor bastard back when you idiots were trumpeting off about your political power so badly that the EU kicked you out of your own party. You should probably show up the next time we have a war. It's slightly more intimidating than just advertising that you sent a unit in all over the telly." Bob shot to his feet so quickly that his chair tipped over. He looked impressed that I didn't flinch. I was genuinely starting to believe that I could kill these fuckers with my wrists cuffed to the table but, like I said, that sort of shit is only cool in movies. They fuck you up pretty badly if you miss. It's better to just get through it and keep the damage to a minimum. I wished they'd start questioning me about American Intelligence already, instead of my contacts. I actually needed those. Data I could trade. "Could you be more specific," Tom questioned me crisply, showing more English restraint. I eyed the cuffs, musing over the differences between American and English security devices. I had friends who were cops back in the day, I could slip them, but not quickly. "Right before you buggers got politely invited to leave, took umbrance, and declared Brexit before standing like an unruly cat with your ass in the house and your head out the door, I had the pleasure of running into one whore, Domhnal McGregor, who knocked me up, stole my plane ticket, and headed for the O.Z." "And you continued your acquaintance, despite this... indescretion?" Tom ask, distastefully appalled. "It's how Americans make friends," I answered cheerfully, "I thought he wanted to marry me." They exchanged looks. My file would have told them that I have a genius level IQ (so do some truck drivers, it's a question of what you do with it), but I was also female. Dudes still haven't gotten to the point where they believe that genuinely smarts are stored up top. They probably thought I was joking. I was actually deliberately being serious. In America, that's how he would have done it. In England, he was playing me pretty hard, it's why I still talked to him- he'd genuinely just been on a job. Tom placed the foot of his chair on my own and started leaning forward. It was painful. I also liked my feet, you know, functional. "You realize your life is at stake Ms. Jindra," He told me solemnly. "I'd like a priest," I responded, handling the whole situation with aplomb. Some of the pressure eased off as he lost control from shock. Mind you, first he leaned forward, but he backed the chair off. "A priest?" He asked incredulously. "Why on Earth would we go **fetch you** a priest?!" Bob chimed in, leaning across the table out of habit, trying to press the intimidation factor. "Well, if I'm in fear of my life, I've the right to a priest, according to international law. Also, I keep a blog, so I'd like to be able to go back and have a reliable source for recounting. I'm told you're not technically a reliable witness at a scene if it's centred around you, but I have other theories." "You're threatening to BLOG about this?" Bob lost his shit and threw his chair at me. It wasn't made of goose down. "It's billed as fiction," I explained calmly, plowing straight on, "As true Gonzo Journalism, this doesn't work at all -- and even if it did, I couldn't possibly admit it. Only a goddamn lunatic would write a thing like this and then claim it was true." I'd read them their rights, up was the only way out now, Tom punched me for forms sake but they fell back to conference. I'd have a ride out in about a half an hour, I was far to well informed on international policy for their taste and it had finally dawned on them they couldn't just dump a body (not mine anyways) and they were going to pay out the ass for everything they'd just done. In a moment of sheer lucidity they left the room, no longer wishing to add to the tab. Before the door clicked shut, my mouth opened. It happens if you pissed me off badly enough. "Return the whore as well, he owes me money. I'd hate to have to find you to collect.