The air entered his nose, flowed through his lungs, then back out his mouth. The oxygen was pumped through his body from his heart, rejuvenating his cells. Thousands of cells at once reformed from a lifeless organism into thriving cells all with a purpose engraved into them. His bones cracked and snapped back into place. Ligaments rebonded with each other from a tangled mess. He is alive. Now standing, he gazed upward towards the stone wall which was once behind him. Although it was night, it was still a shock to him when no end was to be seen. He began walking along the wall. At first limping, he now walked at a steady pace with gentle, deep breaths. His clothes, still tattered, were soaked to the brim with blood. Minute pieces of his broken off flesh stuck like wet glue to his pants where a bone penetrated his skin. After hours passed by, he, at last, saw a break in the forest around him; a road. Once reaching the road, he shifted his head to the left then right then began walking to the right. A little way down the road a light pierced the shadow of night and caressed his eyes. Covering his eyes as they adjusted to the sudden change, he instinctively was drawn closer. There before him stood a small convenience store. Through the clear pane windows, fluorescent lights illuminated the pavement which surrounded the convenience store’s immediate surrounding ground. He walked up to the door where a small laminated piece of paper was stuck to it. On it was the time of opening and closing. He looked at this puzzled. According to the schedule, the store should be closed, but then why were the lights on? Blowing this fact off as a mere mistake, he pushed to open the door and stepped through. The sense of dread overcame him. The air was murky with bloodlust. From the far left corner, a subtle flick could be heard moments after darkness shrouded him once again. The darkness was familiar to him. It took but a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark. But that wasn’t fast enough. A blade swung, slicing through the dorsum of his nose and splitting the pupil of his eye. He doubled over with his hands covering his face. Without hesitation, he came back up with force and caught the side of their jaw with his fist. Now in the dominant position, he grabbed their shoulders and kneed their gut. Taking advantage of the situation, he grasped the knife from his hand. He flipped the knife in his hand as he raised it above his head then plunged it into their back over and over again until their body went limp in his arms. He dropped the dead weight onto the ground and placed the knife next to the body. He walked away as the cuts on his face finished closing. He looked back one more time. Where the figure once laid, there was nothing.


Warning: depiction of alcoholism, child abuse. The light seemed so dim I could barely see. I stood, gripping the desk’s edge as hard as I could.

Am I falling?

No, I thought, you are fine . But these conflicts were so bad they affected my balance.  What year is this?

I know that. It is January 5th, 2125.

I did not understand what was happening. I had wordless thoughts. Emotions? Whatever they were, I believe they frightened me. Others spoke like voices in my head.

Maybe this is thinking for yourself?

The Guru has always guided me. But now I wondered if it was malfunctioning. You have run diagnostics and nothing. So perhaps this is true. I focused on the poster of a mountain scene, something which had helped in the past. I understand Linda Jones had once been-wherever there was. I could not remember. The sun shone behind green trees and high peaks. It helped my balance a little. Just as I felt able to let the desk go, the door opened. Jimmy Pace looked in on me.

No. Not now.

I wanted to tell him to leave me, but Guru spoke up. No. Broken or not, you are all he has.

“J-Jimmy. What is wrong?”

“I had a bad dream,” he said, his voice just above a whisper.

He will be fine. My research shows nightmares are simply the result of stress and are common in children.

He still has them far too often. Right now, he needs comfort.

I connected to the intercom but heard the man’s footsteps, staggering and uneven. Somehow, I walked to the door and looked out. I glimpsed Robert go into Linda’s bedroom. She could not help Jimmy now. So I said what I never had before. “You can s-stay with me if you would like.”

“You don’t sound right. Are you okay?”

Now I could see Jimmy's blond hair, his pale skin. I did not want to frighten him, but I also could not lie. “I think I n-need defragging. In the morning I will be all right.” I hoped. That thought nearly started the conflicts again. This was not the first time I felt this, although tonight had been bad. I should inform my benefactor, but I could not do so. If I had to leave, what would happen to Jimmy?

They say a thousand-mile journey begins with a single step. That simple decision was my beginning. But I did not know it then. All I felt was the boy’s concern. It was not something I experienced often. Jimmy said, “did you have a bad dream too?”

“I d-do not dream as you do. Come.” I led him over to the cushioned bench I use at night. “You can lie here.” I pulled a blanket and pillow out of the storage closet. Jimmy watched me closely. I wondered if he was trying to scan me as I did him every day.

“Where you going to sleep?”

“On the floor.”

 He moved until his back was to the wall. “There’s room for both of us.”

I was about to say he would be uncomfortable, but Guru spoke again; you need him too.

How can I need anyone? Who else do you have?

His mother. Who is my benefactor.

Right. Even the child knows what that is worth. Why else would he seek your company? Again, I felt afraid. It was not that I judged, we do so all the time. We assess a situation and inform our benefactors if their course of action is wise or safe. After all, we have an untold amount of data at our fingertips. But now I judged...this was something new. Not that my anxiety deterred the voice within.  Who else does he have? Unprecedented and as irrational as this is, right now, you two need each other.

I lay on the bench with Jimmy’s head in the crook of my arm. I took a pillow for him, but he just pushed it away. At least my body is somewhat soft, like a human’s. Jimmy put his hand on my chest. “I feel you whirling inside. Look, my hand vibrates.”

“You feel the fans cooling my machinery.” I picked up my charging cord from the floor and plugged it into my impla-chip. Jimmy has one too, just behind his left ear. I wondered why he never found comfort in virtual reality as his mother did. It did not matter. I felt his breaths against my neck, his body’s warmth. I thought he was asleep, but then he said softly, “I think they aren’t running as fast, Seb. Does that mean you feel better or worse?”

“It means I am better,” I answered. “Now tell me, are you better too?”

Jimmy was silent for three minutes. Then, soft as his breaths, “ye, Seb.” He put the two middle fingers of his right hand in his mouth, as he often did. Then he slept until dawn. I had just awakened, when I heard Robert calling for me. He walked in without knocking, glared at us, then turned and shouted out the door. “For God’s sake, Linda! He’s in here with the aye.” “Okay,” I heard Linda call. “Tell him to get out here. Breakfast is ready.” I covered Jimmy’s ears with my hands, not that it did any good. The boy stirred and blinked up at his stepfather, who turned back to him. “Nine years old and still can’t sleep by yourself,” he said. “Good Christ almighty, you better not have wet the bed this time.”  ***

I was never meant to do child care. Perhaps that was the problem. If so, then I am guiltless. If an A.I. works beyond his scope of programming, there might be unexpected consequences. As it turns out, that was a bit of an understatement. Probably I should have told her this is one of the worse ideas you ever had. Not for me or Jimmy. If I am reset, so be it. As long as the boy is safe. If I could have one wish, that would be it. As I said, I tried to tell Linda. And was rebuffed. “You're supposed to assist me,” she said. I scanned her. Blond hair and blue eyes, like her son’s. Her face was passive, but her blood pressure was elevated, her skin pale. I told her what my abilities were as a personal assistant. For example, keeping a calendar, bookkeeping, cooking, and cleaning.

“Robert wants my help with his software business,” she said. Why not me? I did not ask. “What of Jimmy’s grandmother? I can call-”

“Shush! Sebastian, you know Rob will never-,” Linda said, looking towards her husband’s office. Her heart rate sped up as the door opened.

Robert Jones looked at me. “What’s your damned malfunction?”

“None. It is my duty to inform you--”

“To obey us,” her husband said.

“Yes, Sir. But if I am not suited-” “That's bullshat. Linda, I don’t want that interfering bitch here.” “Please don’t talk about my mother that way.” But soon Linda turned away from his unblinking black eyes. “Mom can be a handful,” she said, then faced me. “If Jimmy could only use the VR world, we wouldn’t need you to watch him. But he’s afraid, Sebastian.”

And so, I had to obey. At least I thought, I can almost pass for human . Some of my brethren cannot. I stand 1.78 meters. I have short brown hair and eyes, fair skin. Even my voice is human-sounding. Slight Midwestern accent, soothing. Or at least so I have been told. I downloaded everything I could find about childcare. I will not say it was easy. Jimmy often ran away from me, would not always listen, and hit me in anger. At first, I told Linda. Robert reacted by forcing Jimmy to plug into the virtual world. I do not know what he saw or felt. But when he came out, he was crying and pale. That day Guru said if they don’t ask, don’t tell. I obeyed that too. ****  I often speculate about the change in the Guru program. Why does it tell me these things?  Perhaps it was the bio-RAM the roboticists installed in me. After all, DNA was never meant to mix with copper and gold. Or so I have heard people say on Sharetalk and other social media sites. Perhaps it was the rain. On December 12th, I picked Jimmy up from school. He did not want to go home yet. I asked him why. “It’s Wednesday, so the asswipe will be home. Bites, broth.” At first, I did not know who Jimmy meant. Then he said, “I wish Mom never married him.” “You mean your stepfather.” “Ye.” Then Jimmy hung his head. Softly, as if afraid, he asked me not to tell on him. “To tell this conversation? I did not plan to do so.”

Jimmy raised his eyebrows. I ran facial recognition and realized he was surprised. “If you do not wish me to speak of our conversation, I will not. Let us go to the playground until Mr. Jones is done with his work.” Jimmy smiled, then ran on ahead. At the playground, he showed me how to climb on the red metal dome. I followed, intrigued. We both sat at the top and Jimmy announced he was king of the world. As for me, once I got my balance I was fascinated. Everyone below seemed smaller, although I knew that was impossible. A warm breeze blew through my hair. I did not expect the rain so soon, nor noticed until it was too late.  Tallahassee winter, Guru said. In what is left of Florida. “Come, Jimmy. We must go. Demonstrate how to get down, please.” He did, and I followed. By the time we were down, it was raining fairly hard. I apologized that I had not realized sooner. “I don’t care,” Jimmy answered. “Rain’s fun.” “It is?” I knew the definition of fun. But not what it was. “ Watch.” Jimmy ran through the puddles. I watched water splashing all about him. “You try,” he said. So I ran, watching the water splash around me, the drops falling. I looked to the sky as Jimmy was doing. Cooling drops fell on me so very softly. They ran down my face, all so new to me. I had been in the rain before, but not like this. It felt like I thought tears might. Like some spring inside me just relaxed. I have liked the rain ever since.  We ran home, splashing through puddles. But Robert shouted at Jimmy for ruining his new shoes. Jimmy ran into the bedroom and slammed the door. Both parents then demanded an explanation. “I apologize,” I said. “But there was no lightning, so I saw no harm in his playing. I can dry out his shoes easily. Really, you need not-” I stopped, as Robert strode up to me. His black eyes were dilated, nothing behind them. I did not scan him, nor spoke. Guru did. Maybe Jimmy’s right about the asswipe part.

I said nothing. From behind, Linda said, “I didn’t think I’d have to instruct you to keep my son out of the rain.” I walked to her. “I told you I am not programmed for childcare. So, it appears you do.” “Why you--” Robert began, but Linda interrupted him. “It’s all right, Rob. Sebastian will dry everything. Won’t you?” “I will.” “Let me make you a drink, babe. Not a VR one. The real thing.” That was the start of the odd thoughts and conflicts, which have steadily increased. The time Jimmy found me was the worse, and they did not get better. What did was our relationship. The boy listened when I told him to do something. He also sought me out for help and comfort. And he tried to help me too. For example, occasionally I stuttered, which I had not done before. Jimmy found me speech programs to try. They were inexpensive ones, for he had to buy them with the little money his parents gave. But he cared. As I have said before, this did not happen to me often. A month after the nightmare incident, Jimmy got me a singing program. He said singing helped one of the kids at school. I tried it and sang an A.I-Jazz song. I was off-key but completed the song. Jimmy burst out laughing, and this made me smile. We sang together until he was hoarse and we had to get him water to drink. **** There is a saying: if I only knew then what I know now. But of course, even I cannot know everything. If I had, I would have silenced Jimmy. But I did not.

Jimmy still came to me when he had a nightmare. Nights were often bad for me too. I encouraged him to talk about his dreams. He stayed until he fell asleep and then I carried him back to his bed. This helped both of us, and his parents could sleep undisturbed.  Of all the things I have done, letting him confide inside the house is the only thing I regret. I wonder if Linda regrets things too. For example, giving Robert that drink. Virtual-reality drinks are bad enough for alcoholics if misused. They’re normally for managing withdrawal. Real-life ones—I believe what can happen is common knowledge.

Is that first drink why I am here, trying to comfort a scared child? I know he is by his heart rate and his pallor.

We were in Jimmy's bedroom, trying a new singing program. Robert shouted at us to stop. “Yes, S-Sir.” “What’s wrong with you now, stupid aye?” I focused. “I am fine.” Jimmy said, “I’m just trying to help his speech.” Robert came to the room. He swayed, and I could smell the alcohol. “Shut the jack up,” he said. “My damn head hurts and you’re making it worse.” “My apologies, Sir,” I said. Robert turned to go and as he did, Jimmy whispered, “stupid asswipe.”  I thought the man did not hear, but he stopped. He was as still as a shut-down A.I. Then he said, “What did you say?” Jimmy shrank away from him. “Nothing, sir.” “Aye! What did he say?” Robert was red in the face, his hands clenched. I said, “Sir, J-Jimmy was s-speaking to m-me.” “Come here, boy.” Jimmy did not move. “Come here!” Robert removed his belt from his pants. Jimmy looked at me but I could do nothing. My conflicts were so bad if I was not sitting I might have fallen. Robert strode in and grabbed the boy’s upper arm. “Stay there, aye,” he said, ignoring the boy’s crying. He pulled Jimmy to his feet and half dragged him out the door. And I could do nothing but ride this out. My fists clenched. We have to do something. But he ordered me to- Jimmy’s scream cut through the apartment. The sound broke some programming within me. I had this amazing, unknown clarity. Is Linda home? But soon I saw she was not. And might not do anything even if she was. It has to be us, friend. Another scream. I followed it to Robert’s office. The door was locked. But in emergencies, I can override an electronic lock. I opened the door and witnessed horror. Literally. Jimmy was in a chair and hooked to the virtual world. His body strained against wrist restraints; he whimpered. Meanwhile, Robert watched a holoscreen. On it was what Jimmy saw, felt, and experienced. They were things he had described to me, fears many children have. A monster crawled out from a closet. Another crept from under a bed. They had bodies blacker than the dark of Jimmy's bedroom. Their red eyes glowed and their mouths were full of fangs. Robert saw me. “You’ll say nothing about this. Now, get out.” “How d-did you know--”

I scanned his office. The truth broke something else in me. “You installed s-spyware. And eavesdropped on our c-conversations. Then you recreated J-Jimmy’s nightmares and t-trapped him within.” Robert grinned at me. “I’m trying to get him to face his fear.” “N-No. You wish to t-torture him.” I sensed the man's pulse and recognized his expression. “Y-You enjoy--” I could not speak for stuttering. I connected to the VR computer and shut it down. Robert shouted something. I believe he said, you bastard. I could not hear even Guru, only my whirring fans. I pulled the cord from Jimmy’s impla-chip. Robert hit me and I pushed him away. I unbuckled Jimmy’s restraints and lifted him into my arms. “C-Come. We are l-leaving.” Robert grabbed for Jimmy, who clung to me. “I’ll call the police,” he said. “They'll hunt you down as a dangerous machine. And destroy you!” “So b-be it.” “You need to obey!”

 I pushed him again and he nearly fell. I thought I saw fear in his eyes. Good . “I b-believe the p-proper term is jack off , Robert. N-Now, remain there.” My first order. It felt—my conflicts eased. Linda stood at the front door. She stared at me and her hysterical, crying son. I then gave my benefactor my second order. “Do not s-stop us.” “Why?” she said, hand against her mouth. “What the hell happened?” “Ask your h-husband,” I answered. Then I ran and did not stop until I was on the auto-bus. Thankfully, it was empty. We rode in silence, Jimmy leaning against me. He did not speak until I asked the bus to stop. “This is Grandma’s street.” “Yes.” “Don’t leave me alone!” I took his hand and we got off the bus. “Do not worry," I said, thinking, I will see you are safe. Only that will I obey. We are at a light blue, two-story house and all the lights are on. Does Jimmy's grandmother somehow expect us? I will know soon enough.


Tomorrow will be a better day. You say this to yourself while looking out of the living room window. Despite the forecast saying it would be blue skies today, it is now raining a steady gray drizzle that casts everything in a faded, drab light. You shake your head and collapse onto the single sofa, maybe pouring a glass of wine first, and try to speed up the last few hours of the day by flicking through the television channels. It offers some background noise and a distraction from the day if nothing else. At 8.00 AM your alarm goes off. Pouring cereal, or making some toast after you get out of bed, the morning news is talking: It looks like a sunny day, with a steady temperature and light breeze. The kettle boils and you make a tea or coffee, glancing at the calendar on the fridge while finding the sugar, or milk, or even both. You have a lunch appointment at the nice new local restaurant with your colleague. It looks good, and your colleague is paying as thanks for covering one of their shifts a while back. Then in the evening, your son is going to visit. Yes, you promise yourself, it will be a good day. With a deep breath, you finish breakfast and get dressed for the day. Catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror you smile slightly, it is a professional look. Business fashion might not be exciting, but it is more effort than a lot of people can muster, and that small effort is commendable. ‘Dress for the job you want,’ you say to yourself, heading out the door to catch the bus. The phone screen says 08.50 AM. The bus was supposed to arrive at 08.40 AM but for the last 20 minutes of waiting, it has not shown up. The sky above is overcast, clouds covering the forecasted blue skies. You shake your head - the haze will burn away and the bus will show up. The forecast did say sunny, after all. You are right about one of those points, but it takes another 15 minutes, and the phone is already showing several texts from the office asking if everything is fine. Maybe you reply, maybe there is no point since you will be there shortly anyway. Ultimately, it does not make a difference. Arriving at the office there seems to be far fewer people than usual. “There’s a cold going around, half the office is off sick today.” your colleague explains, sniffing loudly. “You know what that means...busy day for us.” They give you a smile, but you know it is forced – no one likes working with only half a team. “But we’re still on for lunch!” they finish, disappearing to their desk. You are not convinced. They sound sick enough to be off themselves. With your coat hung up you try to get started as quickly as possible. There are 3 hours until lunch, and then 5 more to the end of the day. You can make it. There is a lot to get done, but the restaurant menu is available online, and a quick look over that is motivation enough for the morning. At least the time will go quickly. In fact it seems to go very quickly - too quickly really, and you are approaching lunch without anything from the morning complete. There is only 40 minutes until your reservation. The delicious menu has now turned from a motivation into a taunt, mocking you from near the ever-growing mountain of unfinished tasks. To top it off, the overcast skies outside seem to be making their way into your head, and you fight to manage the fog in your brain. Another cup of tea or coffee gives you a temporary boost, just enough to get you to noon. Your colleague appears and you open your mouth to ask them to wait just a few more minutes. That is enough time to finish the task you are on before leaving, but they speak first. “I’m sorry,” they say, blowing their nose so hard you have to wonder if someone just started up a chainsaw. “Boss is sending me home. He doesn’t want me getting everyone who’s left sick. I should be in tomorrow, hopefully, we’ll do lunch then? I’m still buying.” You nod, your shoulders dropping. It has to be admitted that they do sound terrible. You tell them to go home and get some rest, and thank them for their help already. It is not their fault. A glance around makes it clear the whole office is behind for the morning. There are too few people in, and there is far too much work to do. Everyone is hunched over their desks, brows furrowed. You sigh, perhaps make another cup of tea or coffee, and decide that lunch can be short today. There is no one to enjoy it with anyway, so what difference does it make? You work for another 30 minutes before the hunger gets too much to ignore, and there is no sense to putting it off further. As you leave the office alone you notice the cloud cover has increased. The sky is darker and the temperature a few degrees lower. The forecast for today was definitely wrong. Lunch is a simple affair at a nearby food stall. There is not enough time for a proper meal, so you get a hot pasty, or a box of noodles. Something simple that won’t take long to prepare or to eat. The wind is starting to pick up, blowing dust around in swirls, so you hurry and get back to the office. At least the office is warm. You return to work. It is 1PM and chaos now reigns. Orders have been delayed, paperwork is not filed, and somehow even fewer people are present than before lunch. The manager has rolled up his sleeves and is helping wherever he can. At least he tries, even if it does not help much. You give a glance to your clock. Only 4 and a half hours to go. Time for another cup of tea or coffee for a final boost. The sky outside has turned a thick, dark gray. It will definitely rain today. For the next few hours all you see is the work, trying to ignore the ticking clock as you try to get as much done as you can. Anything left will only be there tomorrow. The phone vibrates, breaking your flow of work, and on the phone screen your son’s face is showing. The clock says 4.30 PM. Strange, why is he calling so early? “The contractors have brought the wrong cabinets, naturally, so they need to return them and re-deliver this evening instead,” He says, clearly unhappy. You know what this means. He will not be visiting today. “I managed to get free labour from it though, and tomorrow they are going to set up the whole kitchen for us as compensation for the mistake! So, maybe you want to come over for dinner this weekend when it’s all finished? See the final kitchen, we will cook, if that would be ok?” Of course it would, even though you had been looking forward to seeing him today. It is not his fault. You close your eyes tight for a moment and agree to the new plan. With the phone hung up you glance around to make sure no one is looking and let out a long sigh, letting your head fall into your hands. Keep it together. Slow breaths. There is only one hour to go, you can manage. As it turns out, the manager gives up early today anyway. He says there is no need for anyone to stay past 5.30PM, despite how little has been completed. Maybe you wonder if he has his own reasons to finish on time today, maybe you admire him for not trying to push a clearly hopeless day. Not that you were planning to stay even after your own plans had changed. As you sit on the bus home the rain starts to fall in earnest. You look out the window and, not for the first time, think about how wrong the forecast had been. You sigh to no-one in particular and pull your coat a little closer to keep what little warmth there is around you. Maybe you get off a stop early to get some takeaway for dinner, or maybe you microwave something from the freezer. You just want the day to be over now, and cooking a full meal is just too much effort. It is unlikely you would eat it all anyway. The television provides background noise but not entertainment as you rub your head, taking a few long, slow breaths. Tomorrow will be a better day. You repeat it several times. You, and hundreds, even thousands are saying exactly the same thing. You are not alone though. At some point it will be true. Maybe not tomorrow, or the tomorrow for a while, but eventually a tomorrow will be a better day.


Warning: racial epithets and violence My name is Brad Chao. I'm living in Chicago now but I spent my growing-up years in the Mississippi Delta. It’s now 2001 and I just turned 80 years and have been thinking lately about my early life down south. I never fit in there despite my goal of trying to be accepted. The worst thing that ever happened to me took place there when I was only a teenager. The events almost cost me my freedom and life. I ultimately had to flee for suspicion of murder with the sheriff on my tail. We Chinese were a handy target for the bullies in town but I’m getting ahead of myself.

You may be curious about how I got to Mississippi in the first place. I was born in 1921 in a poor area in southern China. Rocky, dry land, and large families with too many mouths to feed. At age 15, I took off, seeking a better life. I made my way to Canton, now Guangdong, and was hired as a mess boy on a passenger ship bound for New York. I jumped ship when we arrived in port. I quickly found work in a Chinese laundry in Brooklyn but it was not a satisfying life for me, particularly since I was by myself. My uncle, Charlie Chao, had come to the U.S. around the turn of the century and settled in Rosedale, Mississippi, which had a small Chinese community. A speck of a town with a handful of rundown stores, one of which Charlie rented to sell groceries to black people. Chinese grocery stores played an important role in Mississippi rural culture because white store owners wouldn’t sell goods to them. Their stores, small shacks really, filled an important function in small towns. They served as gathering places for blacks who wanted to socialize with their neighbors and also for job-finding. They also offered credit that was essential to the very poor people. Anyway, Charlie was growing quite frail. He had sent a letter to me in Brooklyn, offering me a job in his store which I quickly accepted. I was his only heir and also his only family. He had lost his wife about 30 years previously and had no kids of his own. It was tough work, mainly because of the long hours. Sun up to sun down, 365 days a year. None of us Chinese had been to school back home and spoke poor English and, perhaps, even poorer Chinese. We lived in the back of our stores, squeezed together like sardines.

Our social status in Mississippi was somewhere between the whites and blacks. We were shopkeepers which did earn us some degree of respect. But we also weren’t allowed to go to school with the whites. The county did set up Chinese school rooms for our kids, usually taught by a white teacher. We made enough money to put rice on the table but not much more. Most of the Chinese kids in town caught a bus heading out of town as soon as they could. Family ties did keep a number of Chinese in the state but under continuing and difficult circumstances, particularly from the local Klan. I won't go into that here. *** Shortly after I arrived in town, Uncle Charlie took sick and died. I then became the sole proprietor of his store which I had inherited. The Chinese community was always very supportive of me and I never felt lonely or heartsick. My life was as good as it gets down there until one evening when I seemed to have become a criminal with no special effort on my part. Bursting through the front door of my grocery store one evening came Mr. Beauregard Tavernier, dragging a large, heavy burlap sack behind him. I knew who he was from town gossip but, of course, he had never set foot in my store. I did know that he owned the largest cotton plantation in the area. He entered in a rush and obviously in a foul mood. He was grunting as he pulled a heavy sack into the room. I came out from behind the counter and respectfully bowed to him, anxious to find out what why he was there. My humble gesture didn’t seem to put him in a better mood.

“Don’t just stand there, boy,” he said to me.  “Can’t you see that I need help with this here load,” he shouted. “Help in what way, Mr. Tavernier? I'm sure what kind of help you need.” My question definitely put in an even fouler mood. In retrospect, it truly was a stupid question but chalk it up to me being scared shitless. “Quit your yapping, boy! I need to store this here sack out of sight for a while,” he said, glancing around the premises.

He then said: “Where does that door yonder lead to?”

"My storage room for canned goods and sacks of flour," I replied. "No customers are allowed back there," I replied. "That suits my purpose for my package ," he replied. "Now help me get it back there." The two of us pulled his heavy sack back to the room. Both of us were straining because it was so heavy and flopped around. “You hear me good now, boy. Y’all hold onto this for a day or two until I find a more suitable

place for it. Right now, your store is my best choice, at least for a spell. No one’s gonna think of your place when lookin’ for the

corpus delicti . But that’s pretty fancy talk for y'all. Pay it no mind.”

“Anyone asks,” he continued, “you never seen me this night or any other. I’m goin’ to send one of my boys back here tomorrow night to collect it. You’ll need to help him boost it onto the truck. Don’t let anyone see what you’re doing. The dark night will help but there are a lot of ‘eyes’ in this part of town.”

He then rushed out of the store as quickly as he had entered, never looking back. I just stood there, shaking my head and wondering what had just happened. I did not have a good feeling about it. It was clear that I had few or no other options so I went along with his directions. *** The next day around lunchtime, a sharp rap came on the front door. This time it was Sheriff Burnley who stepped inside. No one ever knocked on the door so I was on high alert to see who was there. His visit, though, set a new record for me—two high profile, white men showing up out of nowhere in my store in just two days. He looked around suspiciously and then beckoned for me to come over to him from behind the counter. I was in a state of shock, continuing from the previous night, and aware that I was in deep trouble. “You Brad Chao? he asked.

“Yes, sir, how can I help you.” “Well, to start and unfortunately, there’s been a lynchin’ of a colored boy in town. Age 16 years. You may have heard some talk about this? It’s on everyone’s lips. This gossip will truly be the death of me.” “No, Sir. What you are saying is none of my business. I don’t pay no mind to town gossip. I try to keep a clean record and just run my store for my black customers who are also good citizens.” “I decide who’s a good citizen,” the Sheriff replied. “More to the point, I was told by one of your neighbors that Mr. Beauregard Tavernier was seen entering these premises last night. That seemed strange to all of us back at the station. White men don’t usually have no truk with the the Chinese and their shops. Did you, by any chance, see him last night?”. I replied, trying to keep my cool and provide him with the best, honest answer I could under the circumstances: “Sheriff, you of all folks, know that no white men would be caught dead in a Chinese grocery in town, particularly at night. Only for black folks.” “That’s sure true, the Sheriff replied quickly, stroking his beard and still looking at me, squinty-eyed. “The story didn’t make no sense to me but I am trying to cover all the bases. Lynchin’ has become less ‘popular’ these days in the state and I am starting to feel some pressure from above to find a guilty party. ” For a moment, he appeared to be suspiciously eyeing the back of my store. That’s the last thing in the world that I wanted. “Watcha' got stored back there, boy? he asked suddenly. "Your stock or, perhaps, even some other goods?" “No need to search the store any further, Sheriff” I responded. “You don’t want to go back there. That’s where I live. Very messy. I also cook there on a hot plate. Kind of smells bad. You won’t like it. Best stay away.” He seemed to be satisfied by my words, and also not inclined to stay in my store any longer than necessary. He suddenly wheeled around and strode out the front door, not even giving me a backward glance. I was glad to see him gone, but I didn’t know what to do next. I finally realized that I was in a heap of trouble, none of which was of my own making. I was now apparently on the sheriff’s short list of possible suspects for the lynching, although it made no sense at all. He just wanted to arrest someone but certainly not a prominent white man. *** It was the next night and I was sleeping. I heard a soft knock on the back door. I opened it carefully to see Aaron, a black man who worked for Mr. Beauregard. A truck was parked in the back of the store, idling.

“Boss man, sent me to pick up a ‘package’ that you holdin’ for him in your store,” he said. “He tole me not to let anyone see me transport it. So here I am.” I got out of bed and helped Aaron load the sack on his truck bed and then covered it with a tarp. He motioned me over to him and placed his mouth gently to my ear.

“Mr. Chao, I don’t know what you done and I don’t even want to know. You been kind to us. People in town doin’ a lot of talkin’ about recent events, however. The sheriff lookin’ for someone to pin this lynchin’ on. The ‘trouble’ seems to be puttin’ the town and state in a bad light. You yourself now seem to be the perfect choice for blamin' for the crime. They won’t never pin a lynchin’ on a black man and you may be the next best choice.” With that he hurried over to the truck and drove away in a cloud of dust. *** I began to go over my options to stay alive. They were to stay in town or jump on a bus headed north. It would not be good for one of our community to be under a magnifying glass. Best thing, I finally concluded, would be to catch the bus for Chicago that left early the next morning. The sheriff would soon be looking for another patsy. Unfortunately for him, to charge a black with a charge of lynching would be laughable. I packed my suitcase in a hurry, reserving a place for a small Chinese shrine with the ashes of my Uncle Charlie. Nothing much else of value to take with me. A few wrinkled clothes. I knew that hightailing it out of town made me look guilty. I knew for certain that the large number of white people in town who had actually witnessed the lynching knew that I was not involved. All the sheriff needed to do was to ask a few questions in town which he didn’t seem to want to do. No, he would merely let this incident fade in people’s memory with his most important suspect gone to “who knows where up north.”


She couldn’t make up her mind as to what to do with them. It had been long enough since the death of her beloved husband for her to feel strong enough to sort out a few things and move on. Of course he was the love of her life and they had many years together but she couldn’t be sad any longer – it was time to find new things to do, grow and flourish….’goodness only knows how much time I have left on this earth’. June had decided to sort out the attic once and for all. Bill had been gone for a year now and she had felt for a few weeks that it was the right time to get cracking on it. She really didn’t know if she was going to sell the house and downsize yet, but no matter what, the attic needed sorting. The big cardboard box had been sitting up in the attic for a long time. It was covered in dust and she wiped it all off with a dry cloth. “Look at all this tape I put on it. If Bill was still around he would be telling me how wasteful I was!” she said aloud as she broke a nail trying to take it off. “What I need is a knife or some scissors to open it”. She climbed back down the stairs and into the kitchen to find her scissors, took them back up with her to the attic and cut down the middle of the tape. The top opened up with the smell of moth balls still quite overwhelming even after all this time. ‘Oh yes, of course’ she thought ‘it’s mainly all the children’s clothes. I forgot about this box. I’ll just tape it back up and take it straight to the charity shop. I’ll have to get John, when he visits next to carry it down for me though’. Plonking herself down on a stool she surveyed the room – ‘oh dear’ she thought and sighed. She took her asthma puffer as it was so dusty and not being able to breathe was the last thing she needed! Standing up June wandered over to the doll’s house that was leaning against the far wall. It had been made by her husband when the girls were little. Meticulously crafted it had taken Bill months to make, but he did start before the first one was born! The tiny doors were all hinged, and opened and closed quite easily. June touched the curtains she had sewn for the tiny windows, the white and floral cotton was now a light brown because of all the dust that had settled on it.  At the top of the tiny stairs and inside the bedroom were two little wooden beds with the same coloured bedspreads as the curtain and in between the beds a very small dressing table. June’s flair for arts and craft were highlighted by the mini rug she had crocheted and even a painting on the wall. By the time Bill had got to the stage of making furniture for the downstairs kitchen he had run out of enthusiasm and time, so it was a lot sparser than upstairs! June opened the window at the very top of the attic to let in some fresh air – it was a bit stuffy and a light breeze flew through the skylight window. Some papers that were on top of a cupboard rustled about, with a couple of them blowing on to the floor. June bent down to pick them up and a sudden pang of loneliness ran through her as she saw they were sketches that Bill had done. “Those beautiful trees he sketched when we were on holidays together” she said aloud, placing them down on the table, vowing not to get too sad while up here. She looked around not knowing where to start and feeling a bit overwhelmed by all the clutter that was up in the attic. ‘I’ll do it another day’ she thought beginning to feel tired even before she had started. Then she looked once again at the big box and decided that she would sort through it after all. ‘I’ll need to go through it anyway to see what I can give to the charity shop – it could all be moth eaten for all I know’. Just as she was about to begin the front door bell rang. ‘Oh bother’ she thought, ‘who’s that?’ Climbing down the stairs once again she opened the door to find herself face to face with two of her daughters, the youngest and the oldest! “Hello you two” she greeted them with a hug. “I thought you were shopping together for the day?” “Hi mum. Yes we were but we got there, had a coffee and then decided we couldn’t be bothered. Lisa’s tired and I just don’t feel in the mood”. “Well I’m up in the attic sorting – actually I’ve decided I can’t be bothered either but I am just about to go through a box of your clothes from when you were all little girls”. “Bring it down and we’ll go through it with you. Jessica might be able to use some of it when she has her baby”. Between the three of them they managed to get it down the stairs from the attic although June did scrape the skin off one of her knuckles as they shoved the big box through the doorway. “Oh my, I need a cup of tea before we start sorting that big box. Put the kettle on please Pauline”. After the mother and two daughters had finished their cuppas it was time to get stuck into sorting the box and see what clothes were in it, salvageable or not? The moth ball smell permeated the air so June opened the front door so let it out. “Now remember girls, a quick job is a good job. Let’s not take too long with this”. “Yes agreed”. They all reached in for a pile of clothes and sat down to look through them. “Oh it must be all sorts of clothing and not just children’s  – here’s one of your dad’s shirts”. “I don’t remember seeing Dad in that” said Veronica, the oldest of the three girls “that’s quite funky and back in fashion now”. “Yes well he did look rather handsome in it but it got a wee bit tight for him. He always told me “Keep that shirt love and I promise I’ll fit into it again one day!” June held it up to her face and sniffed hoping to catch a tiny piece of his smell but it was overpowered by the camphor -  she still rubbed it on her face, and with a wistful look told her girls..“You know your dad proposed to me in that shirt”. “Did he have pants on too” asked Pauline thinking it very funny. “Of course he had pants on, it was in my day not these days!” replied her mum, smiling. “Yes we were at the drive in movies “she continued “and when it was intermission he left me in the car and went to buy hot chips for us both. When he came back he handed me my chips and sat next to me – we were eating away when he suddenly said  “Oh my goodness look what was in my bucket of chips, and he holds up a ring”. (Veronica went to say “You’ve told us a million times Mum” but her sister looked her in the eyes and shook her head). June looked at her two girls with glistening moist eyes and concluded with “Will you marry me June? is what your dad said to me”. “Oh Mum” said the diplomatic one, “I think you’ve told us that before and it’s so lovely but we’ve never seen the ‘proposal’ shirt he wore!” June dried her eyes with a tissue and folded the shirt carefully saying “Well let’s hope whoever wears this is as happy as your dad and I were”. As the clothes were unfolded and checked over they were either put it in the ‘good pile’ for Jessica’s baby and others or on the charity shop pile. “This must be difficult for you mum bringing back memories of when we were little, a big happy family and dad was around too”. “Well I decided before I climbed up to that dust old attic that I would try to be sensible and not too emotional today, but yes it is hard for me. I’m glad you two came – you’ll let me know what to keep and what to get rid of I’m sure!” “I remember you in this little dress Lisa. We bought it for your second birthday, but you didn’t get to wear it for your party. We had it all planned; it was in the park up the road from where we lived”. “You mean that tiny house we all squeezed into, two bedrooms and a back verandah, one bathroom and a tiny square of a garden?” “Yes that was the one, although it wasn’t that small, you and Jess shared a bedroom, as did John and Martin but that’s what you did in those days”. “Anyway, I had the table all set up with the party food and the parcels wrapped for the games, you girls were all dressed up in your little frocks when suddenly your dad came running into the garden yelling that your cousin Margaret had been knocked off her bike and been taken to hospital. She was seriously hurt with head injuries, and it was ‘touch and go’ for a while”. “So why didn’t I get to wear my dress?” “Well we couldn’t hold your party when your cousin was seriously injured and in hospital. Your dad and I went straight there to support Aunty Liz. Grandma came over. We let the other children know it was cancelled but there was plenty of food for you and your brothers and Gran”. June picked up a very small pair of blue leather shoes and sat staring at them, a far away look on her tired and wrinkled face. “Are you ok Mum?” Lisa came over and put her arm around her mother’s shoulders telling her that maybe they should put all the clothes back in, tape it up and drop it somewhere. “No love, it’s ok, it’s just that I haven’t seen or touched these for years. It just makes me sad that’s all, wondering what he would look like now and thinking of all the life he has missed out on. I’m ok, honestly. She fingered the tiny shoes lovingly “Your dad actually took Martin to get these shoes. I remember how he came back home, it was in the afternoon, and dad put the shoes on him so he could show me. He was so tiny for his age and still a bit wobbly on his legs, he was only two. He stood in the lounge holding on to the arm of the sofa and then ran full pelt towards me. I caught him in my arms and he laughed. His bright blue eyes twinkled and I thought them how lucky I was to have such a happy little boy”. She took a deep breath and put the shoes on the ‘charity shop’ pile “someone will be very fortunate to buy these”. “Oh look at this number” Jessica yelled as she held up a fuchsia pink dress “Did I really wear this to my year 12 ball? Now that’s embarrassing!” “Well we’ve got the photos of you in it!” chimed in her younger sister. “What was the name of that guy you ended up going with? Ray, Roger?” “It was Rick and to be honest, he was awful. He came to pick me up in pants that were too short for him and a pimply face! So between us both, because my face wasn’t much better then, we looked like the ‘worst’ couple at the ball. I hated the whole night!” “You didn’t look that bad darling” said her mum loyally “You had a nice soft stole around your neck and I think you looked lovely”. “Hey here’s the stole…take a look at this” and Lisa put it around her neck and danced around the room calling out to an invisible ‘Rick’ about how much she fancied him and her and Jessica rolled around laughing. ‘What did you wear to your year 12 ball Lisa?” asked Jessica when they had settled down “Umm a lime green dress, it had buttons down the front and tied in a bow at the back. I felt so happy that evening, the hottest guy in the room and he was with me”. I remember how he gave me a sweet little corsage just before we got out of his car. And three years later we were engaged”. “And” added Jess “a year later your husband……. and then your ex-husband. Let’s look for your dress”. They pulled out fabric and clothes until the bright dress was in sight. “There it is” beamed Lisa holding it up - a couple of sizes smaller than I could get into now but that’s to be expected. I don’t remember what I did with the corsage. I said on the night all those years ago that I would keep it forever, but I probably ground it underfoot when I found out Dave was cheating on me!” “Strange question Lisa, but if you could see into the future and knew that Dave was going to cheat on you when you were married, would you have married him?” “That’s a stupid question to ask - of course not. Why would I have – all that heart ache and sadness, the divorce, the cost, children without a dad at home….who would want that?” Jessica was just about to say something else to her sister when she pulled out of the box a pair of black shoes, shiny patent leather with heels at least four inches high. “Oh wow look at these!” she said quickly taking off her own flat shoes and sock and trying them on. “I think these were mine?” she asked “and if they still fit I’m having them”. She tried to squeeze her foot into the left shoe but it was like trying to get a sausage back into its skin! “Too many lumps and bumps on my old feet now” she lamented. “Give me a go, my feet are smaller than yours” said Lisa snatching the shoe off her sister. They fitted her and she happily stood up in them and walked towards the door of the room. “Oh I can’t walk in these, I feel like I’m going to fall over. They are so high. Do I walk funny?” “Yes you actually do, get them off and put them back in the box. I guess neither of us are good in high heels anymore!” June had been sitting watching and listening to her girls in amusement but it was her turn as she pulled out a two piece suit, light blue lines with fabric buttons down the front and a darker blue piping around the lapel of the collar. “Look at this girls” she beamed holding up the articles of clothing. “Oh Mum isn’t that what you wore when you graduated from University? The top student from your class and we were all so proud of you Mum. We still are but to get a University degree at your age was amazing, and then to use it.  Dad cried – I remember looking over at him – I’d never seen him cry before and being a young girl, I didn’t think men cried!” I bet that still fits you, you’ve never put any weight on you lucky thing!” “It probably does still fit me but what’s that matter now after all this time? How many years have I been retired? Too many to count and most of what I learnt and practiced for quite a few years after I graduated has escaped out of the box of information in my head!” The three women sat back down and sighed. “I’m tired of this now” said Jessica “Me too, let’s have a cuppa” added Lisa. “Why don’t we just fold it, put it all back in the box and call it quits” said June. “I’ve had enough of going down memory lane, the dust is making me sneeze and I’m tired. It’s nice to re-live the past for a little while but I’m actually ready for a new beginning now”. “Good idea Mum” said one of her two girls “I’ll drop it off for you tomorrow and then at the weekend we’ll finish sorting upstairs in the attic”. “In fact” continued June “I’m fed up of being inside today and going back in time - let’s go out for coffee and look to the future”.


Sun peered in through the crudely-made skylight - a hole, really - and illuminated the dust particles floating in the gentle breeze that came through partially broken stained-glass windows. Rotting wooden pews, dust-covered and termite-bitten, lined the faded carpet from the entryway to the altar. The acrid stench of smog found its way into the church. The faraway noise of the high-speed rail and blaring sirens could be heard faintly, just barely touching the overwhelming silence. There had been a time, Nyx remembered, when the silence in this place was welcome. When it was the mark of worship and faith and respect.

The floor creaked something awful as Nyx placed one booted foot in front of her steel one, taking cautious steps into the dilapidated building. As she neared the patch of sunlight on the floor, her rusting ankle joint caught mid-rotation and sent Nyx toppling to the ground.

Only, there wasn’t any ground beneath the sun-lit spot on the floor. The faded carpet caught around her like a net as she fell through the hole in the floor that matched the one in the roof. She landed roughly, broken pieces of wooden boards digging into her back and she wriggled out of the carpet. A few muttered curses later, Nyx managed to free herself from the heap of fabric and walk crookedly to the cellar door that would lead back up to the main floor. Taking a moment to assess the rotting staircase, Nyx decided to waddle back over to the sun-lit mound of fabric in the middle of the basement, seat herself on top of it, and raise her right foot over her left knee for inspection. There was no way the staircase would hold her if the joint stuck again.

Nyx checked her fanny pack with baited breath, sending a prayer to long-deaf ears that the canister of oil she normally kept with her didn’t break during the fall. It didn’t. Perhaps the goddess came back briefly just to pity the poor girl who didn’t know when to let go. A derisive snort left Nyx as she took a ratty cloth from her pack, dabbed it in oil, and began smoothing it over the rusting joint. As if the goddess would listen to her .

Nyx rolled the joint a few times, satisfied with the range of motion, and packed her things. The staircase creaked heavily under her weight even as she tried her hardest to lighten her steps. Luckily, it didn’t send her tumbling back into the basement, but a few steps looked considerably worse than they had before she used them.

A sigh blew out of parted lips as Nix made her way, carefully this time, to an altar that had seen better days. Above her loomed a fading stained glass window with spiderweb cracks scattered across its surface. On it was the image of the goddess that so many looked to for guidance, but no longer answered the peoples’ prayers. She had left them, taking her magic with her. Or so the news had said. Nyx knew the truth, whatever good it would do now because the goddess was gone regardless of how she’d actually left.

Nyx settled herself on her knees before the altar and brought her palms face-up in front of her, the movements coming with practiced ease at having done this as a child. She spoke softly, a dead language echoing off her lips and the small spark of a spell igniting in her open palms briefly before winking out in finality. Clasping her hands, Nyx continued her prayer if only to finish the ritual that once brought her peace.

~~~ Nyx woke up slumped against the altar. How embarrassing. No wonder the goddess left if all her followers fell asleep during prayer. Shaking her head and rubbing sleep from her eyes, Nyx rose slowly, but steadily, to her feet. She looked up to the vibrant stained glass window, picturesque in its beauty. The goddess, all greens and golds and blues, brown hair falling around her face like willow branches - wait.

Nyx startled as she looked at the wholly-intact stained glass window. She turned quickly, surveying the room, noticing that there was no dust floating in the sunlight that streamed through the other, equally intact stained glass windows. The wooden pews looked a bit worse for wear, but there were still places where the varnish was glossy and there was definitely no termite damage. In the center aisle an emerald green carpet, heavily used, ran from entrance to altar, definitely without a hole hidden underneath nor one to match in the ceiling. Flowers - real flowers - bloomed in planters on the windows and in vases scattered around the church.

And there was no sound . At least, not the kind she’d become accustomed to since the city erupted in the area like a geyser. No horns or sirens or high-speed rails. Just the breeze carrying the scent of grass - oh, how she’d missed that - and the chirping of birds.

She had to be dreaming. There was no way -

A loud bang echoed in the church as a tiny figure shoved the doors open. A little girl with hair as black as pitch and honey-gold eyes ran down the aisle to pray at the altar for help Nyx knew would never come. She felt oddly detached watching the memory of her younger self, dark skin unblemished and right leg still flesh, that she didn’t immediately notice when her name was being called. Nyx remembered that her parents had been at work the day she came here, sneaking past her sister to come to the church.

Nyx Her name echoed around her in the room, and little Nyx didn’t seem to hear. Nyx noticed her own, adult hands were transparent, light streaming through her as though she were one of the stained glass windows.

Child... Listen to my voice… The little girl was still praying at the altar.

Not her… You “Me?”

Yes Nyx felt even more detached, though she was hyper aware of the voice that only she could hear. It was warm, like the fleece blanket she used to sleep with as a child. Her younger self still prayed, oblivious.

Do you want to save them?

Them wasn’t specified, but somehow Nyx knew the people being talked about where all those she lost since the goddess left. The day magic died. How did this voice - ?

Do you want to save them?

“Yes.” Nyx had questions, but the words stuck in her throat.

Would you fix your mistakes, knowing what you know now?

She felt the cool steel in her hand. The recoil rattled her shoulder as she pulled the trigger on her best friend. How had it ever come to that? Nyx looked down to see that there was nothing in her hand; still as transparent as she was before. A single tear fell through her hand.

“Yes.” More tears welled in her eyes.

Are you sure?

“Yes.” She sniffled. I can give you the chance, but it requires a sacrifice -

“Anything! Anything to get them back - “ Nyx’s voice broke as tears fell through her transparent hands. “Please.”

Very well.

~~~ Warm tears splashed her hands where they were clasped in front of her. Opening her eyes, Nyx realized she was on the ground in front of the altar where she had been praying before she fell asleep. She did fall asleep, right? Child, you have work to do.

Nyx noticed her clasped hands were entirely too small to be her own. They looked like they had when she was six, before there had been any calluses or burn marks. Before she had to work to survive. She stood quickly, surprised that her prosthetic didn’t catch despite it’s prior oiling. It was more rust than steel these days, anyway. She looked around to see the church as it had been in her memory, silence not quite as heavy as it had been when she arrived at the old church. But it didn’t look so old anymore, did it? Looking down, a choked gasp left Nyx’s lips as she realized her right leg was flesh instead of steel.

And that she was remarkably shorter than she had been when she started praying.

Child, you said you wanted to fix things.


A continuation of “My Night with my Bestfriend’s Girlfriend” (located on my Reddit Profile Page). After I dropped Ashley off at her house, I spent the next hour or so aimlessly driving down backroads; searching for clarity. I tried to avoid the truth, but with each passing mile; I found myself falling deeper in love with my best-friend’s girlfriend. Then, an early phone call broke my train of thought. It was Tommy, asking how the rest of my night with Ashley went. Tommy was the only one that knew that I had a “thing” for Ashley, but he had no idea just how deep my affection for her really went. He opened with the inevitable question of how far did we “go” and was shocked when I replied with a puzzled “nowhere”. He let the topic go but not before asking how I was going to tell Bobby that I spent the night in my car with his girlfriend. Tell Bobby? Tell Bobby what? I tried my best to normalize what was clearly erratic behavior, but there was no getting around it. I had to come clean, but not fully clean just yet. Later that night I called Ashley and brought up the idea of telling Bobby about our “harmless” sleepover. Normalizing it herself, she minimized the act but ultimately decided that she would tell Bobby. She would tell Bobby, not me? I felt very uneasy at that point. After 10 years of friendship with Bobby, I wanted to be the one to explain the night to him. After a brief back and forth, I decided to let Ashley speak to him first. As I waited for Bobby’s furious phone call, the minutes passed like hours until...the phone rang. It was Ashley. She told me that Bobby didn’t seem too bothered by the night. Didn’t seem too bothered? I was speechless. It took everything for me not to call him myself, but I didn’t want to macro what was apparently a micro issue; so I let it go. Weeks passed and Bobby still hadn’t mentioned anything to me about the incident. We made small talk, but no longer covered anything significant. At that point, our talks seemed more like a chore and less like two old friends catching up. Bobby was still on House Arrest for our crime, so he was also absent from the picture. Either way and intentional or not, I found myself drifting further away from Bobby as I grew closer to Ashley. Ashley and I became inseparable. A day wouldn’t pass without us going to breakfast, dinner, seeing a movie, taking a day trip or just parked in a lot for hours; listening to music and finding ourselves in the lyrics of our youth. Life carried on that way until i was faced with a sobering question from Ashley. She asked if I wanted to go to the Winter Formal with her (since Bobby still couldn’t leave his house). The Winter Formal was a big dance at our high school where everyone got dressed up in fancy clothes and celebrated the coming holiday season. After giving my transparent but obligatory hesitation...I agreed. Fast forward to the night of the Winter Formal. I can still remember the anxious feeling that I felt as I knocked on her front door. Her mom let me in and we made small talk until I saw Ashley walking down the stairs. She was the definition of beauty, draped in a black shoulder-less gown. I walked her to my car and we made our way to the formal. Everything was going as you would imagine until the DJ played a slow song. I couldn’t NOT ask her to dance. So I asked and she eagerly agreed. As I held her against my chest and felt her breath on my neck; it was over. I was head over heels in love. The rest of the night carried on like a blur as time seemed to stand still. Then in a blink, I was walking her to her front door. As we stood under her porch light (her hands holding her heels and her arms warmed in the sleeves of my suit jacket); I found myself just starring at her. It was at that point that I no longer cared about the last 10 years of friendship with Bobby. I was enamored with the dream of a future with Ashley. So I told her...I told her that she was unlike anyone that I had ever met. I told her that her presence made me a better version of myself and that I couldn’t imagine a life without her laugh, her smile, her friendship. I asked her to give me a chance, to give “us” a chance. Then we just stood there, starring at each other, sharing the deafening silence. Then, she broke the silence as she began to cry. I felt lifeless and crippled. Through the tears, she told me that she didn’t want to lose me. I didn’t understand what she meant at the time, but I was sure that it meant that she didn’t love me back...


The gentle waves lap against my chin as I tread water, defying the suctioning motion of the ocean. I try not to look down and shiver. I am wearing my pajamas, which are not much in the way of protection from the cold. I don’t know how I got here. A buoy floats in the near distance, rocking back and forth. I hear yelling from somewhere I turn to look for the voice, searching for something. The boat that should be there, waiting for me, but instead, I am met with the terrifying realization that I am alone. This is the part that always gets me. I could never swim to shore in enough time to save myself from any possible threat. Exhaustion would get me before I was even halfway there. Any sea creature looking to make a snack out of me is faster than I could imagine. One wave that’s a little too big, and I’m under for long enough to fill my lungs. So, I tread water, waiting for what I’ve always known was going to get me sooner or later. Not exhaustion, not any sea creature, and no large wave to drown me. No, instead, the ice-cold water deep beneath me reaches up and tangles in my legs. Something pulls me down, and I fight to keep my head above water. But I am fighting in vain. Nothing can outswim or overpower this force. My head is beneath the water. I see the sun shining through the disfigured surface sheen of water. I cannot reach the sky. I cannot escape the pull of the darkness engulfing me. I open my mouth to scream, but I am filled with water black as night. I claw at the water, but my hands cannot save me. This is the dream I have every night, and I never wake up before I drown. I wake with tears stinging my cheeks and my head in my mother's lap. I sit up to look at her and she leans into me, pressing her forehead against mine. It is all I need to reassure me. I spot my all-terrain wheelchair in the corner, ready to be pushed down the ramp and to the safe haven of the clear air outside. My mother helps me into my chair and pushes me down the ramp. When the salty ocean breeze hits my nose I feel free for a moment. It's as if I am bounding across the beach, my feet hitting the sand, and splashing in the water. I feel like my face might break in half I'm smiling so wide. But then I am back in my chair, with only my mother to get me around, and I can't run anywhere. I can't even touch the water without having a nervous breakdown. It's hard to believe that just two years ago, I was a surfer riding the waves, mist in my face, salt in my eyes. I would stay out for hours and I wouldn’t come in until my mom practically dragged me, kicking and screaming. But now, my mom has to drag me everywhere. I am completely reliant on her, to my chagrin. It’s the sad truth. I can’t surf anymore. I can barely even walk. I remember, after the incident, everyone assumed I was attacked by a shark. Because, well, surfers only ever lose limbs if they are attacked by a shark. In reality, a shark never even came near me. What actually happened was much less likely than a shark attack. It was in the middle of summer, the sun was beating down with an intensity we hadn’t experienced in a very long time. I had been out surfing all day, and I told my mom I’d come in after catching one more big wave. I saw a monster wave rolling in, and I paddled out towards it. The wave approached rapidly, and as I stood up, I lost my balance. Before I could reposition myself, the wave was upon me, and my surfboard and I rolled with it. I wore an anklet to make sure I didn’t lose my board or myself, and there was a rope attaching me to the surfboard. In the rolling wave, the rope wrapped around my leg—tight. I remember feeling pain so excruciating I passed out. When I woke up, I was on the beach. I didn’t feel any pain, in fact, where the pain once was, I couldn’t feel anything at all. Looking down, I realized why. My leg was a dark shade of purple and blue, almost black. The color stemmed from my upper thigh, where my safety rope was entwined tightly around me. I passed out again. My mother and I learned later that week that my leg would have to be amputated. We couldn’t afford a prosthetic. We could barely afford the medical bills that came with it. The day I lost my leg was the day I lost everything. I would never be able to surf again. I lost the best part of my life. Doctors like to say that my fear of the ocean is irrational and stems from PTSD. I can’t say, though, that I believe them. The pure bizarreness of my injury was so incredibly unexplainable. No doctor can explain away my mental trauma if they can barely explain my physical trauma. I don’t think what happened to me was an accident. My fear cannot be irrational, as what I fear is something that I have encountered. It’s something everyone that has swum in deep water has experienced. That feeling you get when your feet brush with what seems like colder water, too deep below the surface to be warmed by sunlight. When you feel like there could be something beneath you that you don’t know about. When it feels like the cold is reaching up from the depths to ensnare you. *That is real*, and they call it thalassophobia.


I bit down on my coat as the breeze threw dust onto me. The window was opened slightly course, this wouldn’t do. Not today. Not any day. A fox is only as good as his coat. Only as good as the fluff on his tail. Only as good as his muzzle of teeth. As my tongue was licking the dust from my coat, I could hear Master upstairs. Every memory I ever had of master sent glee through me, up to my tail, which swayed most of my life. From childhood to adulthood, Master was my only father - the only man who had loved me as if I were a human child. I couldn’t make him mad. I’ll just go see him. His feet hit the ground harder than they usually did. I can’t mess up again. He’s gonna be mad at me, again. At the sound of creaking upstairs, my feet scuttled along the hardwood floor. The stairs seemed unending, but I smiled as I saw the light from upstairs shining in the dark stairwell. Sliding into his room, my ears turned away to the window. The angry rain drenched him in tears. Ah. He’s so cute. The bird cried out in song, but I couldn’t do anything anyway. Besides, Master doesn’t like birds. He doesn’t fancy my kind, either, but he says he ‘can’t resist me’. He’s so sweet when he’s not angry. It’s very rare for him to be nice to me anymore, though. I know I make him upset, but I don’t do it on purpose. I can’t stand to see him like that. As I thought to myself, I heard the familiar tapping of shoes on the floor. I looked up happily, but the door was open for nothing but the light. Master? I was quick to get to the door, but he wasn’t there. Even when I checked at the end of the hallway, he still wasn’t there. A rumble sounded from down the hall. My feet were snowballs on the carpet. It was fluffy. I liked it. My eyes scanned around the corner. A door was open in Master’s office. A thin beam covered the dark office, a sun in the sky of dark December. My mind went to the cold night that Master let me sleep in his room. It was too frigid for me to sleep in the living room. Bright pulses beamed from the room, taloned hands brushing their claws across the wall. “Master?” I asked, gently striding over to the doorway. Though the lights dimmed, their effects were obvious. The door led into a smaller, darker room. Shattering the quiet, a voice spoke, muffled by the distance. Step-by-step, my curiosity overtook me - enthralled me with the necessity to know what was happening. My paws trounced the floor loudly as I skipped through the room, eager to find the noise. “Here,” I discerned through the wall. “There’s….” The voice quieted. The knob was small, but it was manageable, I assumed. The sound was being distorted, every word mangled from what it was. My head was pressed firmly against the secretive door. The words were like a river that couldn’t - wouldn’t - stop. Though Master never cared before, I’m sure he would care now. Being up late was a singular matter, but being in his office was different. I thought for a short while once more. Who’s voice is that? Why is it coming from the wall? My ears twitched. I looked to the door, my paw reaching up to turn the knob. I couldn’t quite describe how it felt. It was an unsure mix of chaos and excitement but had an undertone of doubt. Maybe I could call it scary? That seemed to fit nicely. For, above all, it was like reaching into a tub of spiders. I knew that something bad was going to happen. I just had no idea when it would happen. When I opened the door? When I saw what was inside? As I nudged the door forward, it was smooth, gliding inward without struggle. Walking through, my claw taps sounded as raindrops on the floor. Hardwood, maybe? My eyes traced the room, but nothing unusual appeared. Bookshelves. A television. It seemed like a door to another house. Maybe a smaller apartment of some sort. As I turned to hurry back to my room, the unmistakable thunder of footsteps sounded through a hallway. From where , I wasn’t sure. The only thing I was sure about is that I needed to leave. I was backed up against a strange wall in the home of somebody I didn’t know. Footsteps clambered by the door beside me. Under the door, I would see feet standing behind the door, but they didn’t move. Soon, there was nothing I could hear besides breathing from behind the door. I did the only thing my mind thought of: run. I practically slid when I got to the hardwood floor again, but I made it into a different room. Nestled beside a wooden desk, a grey couch sat beside a large window on the left wall. It stuck with me because I’d never seen a window that big before. It was immense. Before hearing the door open down the hall, I noticed something else particularly strange. Eyeing a litterbox in the corner of the room, I saw two doors - right beside each other - in the middle of the right wall. Thinking that it couldn’t have gotten more strange, I turned to leave. The crimson in my fur faded to white as an older man stood in the doorway. My paws were stuck to the floor. His hand trailed along the light switch, flicking it on. The entire room lightened, and I could see him more clearly. He smiled, laughing darkly. “Just a cute one, aren’t we?” he asked, looking down at me. Never in my life had I ever felt more alone. The world itself had been sectioned into two. My life, which was fraught with amusement and happiness, had been bathed in ice with his words. It was as if his breath exuded icy vapor. “So small are those with the biggest hearts, are they not?” He stepped forward, but I was statuesque before him. “So cute. So small.” My eyes watered as his footsteps carried him closer. Soon, he was inches from me. “You do have the choice of which entrance to go through.” He sighed. His hand curved, pointing upward towards the right wall, two doors standing tall beside each other. Tears threatened to fall. What door? His eyes came back to me. “Are we not going to speak?” he asked. Stuck between answering him and fearing him, I was silent. “Well. Remember, Red. The world can only go so far. It extends beyond what you can see, but where is the end of existence?” My head cocked instinctively, tilting sideways. Curiosity coming through me in waves, I opened my mouth to speak, but words never came out. He had a smile as I was going to speak, but it left his face instantaneously. “Red. You never speak to me anymore. A man without his cat is a man without a purpose. What truly is a man beyond his years but lost to the world?” I raised my head to look at him. “If a man is beyond what is known, is he still gone? Does he still know himself, then?” His voice echoed softly off of the walls. “But I’m not a cat, and you’re definitely not Master,” I spoke abruptly, surprising us both. He glanced down slowly. “So you do want to talk to your old man after all these years. I’ve missed you, Red.” I wanted to take it all back. Wishing the word never left my mouth, my heart beat like a moth’s wings. He knelt down, but his charismatic personality seemed to wear down my fear. I was more entranced with the way he spoke - the way he acted. He seemed like a character from a movie, perhaps Science Fiction. “ ‘If you’re going to change, then move the moon. If not, then don’t extinguish the sun and bring darkness into the lives of those around you.’ My father always told me that. I find it a very important lesson in life. Always do what you can in the world. If you can’t, don’t let yourself ruin the lives of others. That’s what I always took from that, anyway.” What a random thing to say. I liked it, though. Master would always say things like that to me. Albeit, in a less humourous way, but he still instilled knowledge into me -things I would never forget. So suddenly, the world had changed. Change was constant, though, wasn’t it? Still, Master would be furious if he knew I disobeyed him. I didn’t know that I would end up there. It all happened so quickly. “So yes, young Red. You have the choice, though this you know already.” His footsteps rattled the floorboards. With every creak, my heart was quick to beat. A low rumble in my chest as he turned himself around. His arm fell down like the petals of a rose, bringing my attention to the doors on both sides of him. “Here, you’ll find what you’ve been missing. Though, there never was a time when I could live without you, my dearest Red. We shall all get through this life apart, but knowing that our heart are joined.” My whiskers twitched. “Who are you?” I asked. His head dipped down to me. He smiled, huffing out a breath. “The sweet tune of my cute, little Red. I always did love your voice.” My paws crept my body over to the doors, though my mind was still processing everything thus far. “But I’m not Red,” my lips quivered. His gaze never broke from me. Eyes dreaming softly as he stood awake. “A man that destroys the moon takes the light from his own times of darkness. Does that desire lie within my Red?” My heart throbbed painfully in my body. “Have you the will to take joy from me? From us ?” As he leaned down to me, the door on the left began to shake. His head quickly darted to it. “For choices are of things we make . Chances are of things we take. ” His expression left his face. “I do hope you make the best one.” The doors growled. Soft thunder purred behind them as they drifted forward. I couldn’t see the door on the left, but standing where I was, the door on the right was visible. My maw closed. Every doubt that waned in and out in my mind was withdrawn. The door opened up to a large field of savanna grass. I had been taught by Master about ferrets and servals, but the true sight of it was new. A picturesque, yet foreign, place. His eyes saw where the right door led, but his expression was plain. He looked into the moon-lit field as if it were ordinary. Looking back to me, he feigned a smile. “Before you go,” he said, “You need to know a few things.” My head retracted. “Where am I going? Where am I? These questions have reason to be answered.” He forced a smile. “I’m not to say more than I’ve said already.” He turned to look into the right door, eyes opening slightly. “I will say no more than….you being here is not a mistake.” The wind spat leaves against the foggy glass. My breath wasn’t much more than frost. “Though. .there …is where you belong. The world. A better world,” he paused, “ this world…is not for your kind.” My muzzle lifted up to him. “But what about Master?” Within the second that it took my eyes to shutter, the eyes that looked back into mine where gone. Left behind were two doors. It was more frightening in the fact that I was alone. Yet behind the unknown was surely either death or pain. A chasmic dark surrounded all but the doorways, a lulling trill echoing through them. My ears arose as I entered the right door, the savanna grass that my eyes were fixed on becoming more crisp in my view. Prickling between my toes, the blades were soft. Along the edge of what I could see, a dropoff fell down to a body of water. Teeth protruded from the surface. Beasts of bone lining the edge of the rocky cliff. A marula sang alone in under the moon, whispering in the wind. My fur, which was cipped with the air, trailed along my tail. Arching my back, I stretched, watching the firebugs ease through the wind. But it was the voice that caught me. The lulling tone which came not from an direction, but from the wind itself. “A fox which lies beside himself has no lover Lonliness.” The voice of feathers trailed across my ear. My head turned to all directions, but the only thing visible past the moon-lit marshgrass was the heavenly lavender in the horizon, subverted by tangerine under the violet sun. The wildflowers were shimmering , but they weren’t attracting . The petals swayed, hissing out dream dust into the wind. “They never wake,” the voice said. It was a very distinct tone. The voice of youth, but of a brumal heart. The voice ached its thought, wounded by every word. “They rely on the sun to live. Though it shines upon the joyous moments, it turns away, leaving them to starve.” My snout lowered to the lavender petals sinking in the dirt. “They breathe their last words to God, then die in the frigid shadows.” My back tensed. Somebody was near me. My eyes drifted slowly to the sky, but were caught by orbs that returned by glare. A slender form blocked the violet moon. It poured over her face like water, splashing its light upon my fur. Her face was lifeless, though I wasn’t focused on her. “Where’s Master?” I questioned, my words breaking off as shards of ice. I had only a few words left before my emotions crawled from the warm depths of my heart. “Master is gone. Whether Michael explained it to you, or you are unbeknownst to the truth, you have no master, now.” The heart pulsating in my body, slowing to a faint murmer. “ Here , there is no Time. There is no Life or Death.” The talons of Darkness drew themselves across the grass, fingers thrashing under the moon. “Beyond what you see, there is no Color or Darkness. This is everything. You are nothing but a voice in the wind. Beyond. Beyond.” Her lips curved upward. “I dreamed that one day I would find you. Not you , specifically , but somebody that would think to step out into the same moonlight, and drink the moon itself. Let the flavor drift across their aching tongue, and savor the nectar of Selene.” The subtle tapping from inside me weakened to dormancy. My throat inhaled a searing breath, but the world was still before me. “Why am I here?” I asked with a silent heart. The young woman held a whisker in her hand, extending it for me to see. “Red. You aren’t to stay here forever. This is a place with no Tomorrow. You can’t live here. Nothing exists here. You just are here.” The world itself was repetitious in its brisk dance around my head. My teeth were bared. “Why isn’t anybody answering my questions?” My head fell down to the earth, but my paws struggled against the course wheat. Rising up to the best of my ability, I looked to her eyes, but she was beyond sight. Beyond the ability of my eyes to see her. Beyond the distance where my nose could smell her. Just beyond. Etheral voices sounded from the distance. As the stars moved in the sky, the flash blinded me, and my head sank to the ground. A world that was so strange had become distant again in the dark. Weeping trills slipped softly like waves through the void. My nose twitching at the scent of cinammon, I rose myself again. Weakly turning to look into the depths, the door shimmered - a lavender haze danced around the doorway, gleaming like a cloud of comsic dust. Through narrowed eyes, I looked to the ground. The floor of Reality itself began to shatter. A monstrous cry crackled through the black depths on which I stood. My heart beating faster than hummingbird’s, my life was at the mercy of the doorway. As if an angel was looking upon my every move, the doorway became closer. Inch-by-inch, the sights beyond the entrance blurred, the world twisting to kaleidoscope vision. Light blue glowing birds soared around the abyss. Their beaks were twisted slightly, their bodies the size of dolphins. As their tails dragged across the gasious floor, contrails of ghostly dust casted thin clouds behind them. My paws, pressing down on the dust that comprised the floor, propelled me into the doorway. One paw pushing against hardwood floor, my other pulled myself up. My tail just narrowly missed a “bird” flying by the outer side of the doorway.I rolled myself over, crawling to the center of the room. As I looked around with dread, the world felt different. Bookshelves stood by the lights. Beside the lamp, in the corner of the room, Master sat looking to me. I flipped my entire body, paws thudding against the floor. Leaning upward, I thundered across the room, rubbing on his legs. Relief bathed me in itself. Intially, his expression was vague, uninterested. But as he reached out to pet me, he spoke. “How do you like it here, Red?” My blood cold at his words, I stiffened. “You’re such a good kitty. You’ve always been such a good kitty.”


"This is the last Freak I'm giving you this week, and if you don't pay me two gold pieces, then you'll be losing your most trusted supplier."  "You know the Knights are picky about the Freaks people bring in nowadays. It's not easy for me to just hand over one like I used to before. Aliza, I'm telling you, you should think yourself lucky for getting seven silver pieces. The Hunter that you just walked away received one bronze piece."  "Listen, Xander, this Freak is different. This Freak can form objects out of light, and I've seen it do it. It's different from the lousy ones that could only breathe fire or control water."  "...Two gold pieces. Give it to me."  "Tut tut tut, only two? The price has gone up. Five gold pieces."  "...Fine. Five gold pieces. No more."  "Deal."  "...Don't... let me die... please... Don't hand me over to him... Not the Knights..."  "Shut your trap, Freak. You should be lucky that you'll be sacrificed for the greater good. Freaks like you only do harm to society and should die."  "Thanks for the gold, Xander. You should be lucky that you have such a good Hunter like me."  "Where are you going now, Aliza?"  "To The Forest, you idiot. You're not the only supplier that depends on me. Don't worry, I'll only hand over the low-quality ones to the others." ...  "There we go. Now, if you finally stop using your Curse, then we'll just neatly tie you up and hand you over to the Merchants."  "No! They'll kill me! They'll murder me! I don't want to die! I don't want to die! I don't want to die!"  "Neither do I, you Freak! So if you don't want me to starve to death, you should stop squirming around!"  "No! No! No!"  "...Fuck. It's gone again. No worries. It's hurt anyway. It won't be able to go so far... I can hear you, you know! I'm going to follow you! I'm going to kill you if you don't cooperate!"  "No! No! N-"  "Ugh. I told you I didn't want to go this far. Now you've got blood on my boots. Do you know how rotten blood smells, you idiot? I don't want to waste my silver pieces on washing my shoes, Freak! You better be worth the silver that goes into cleaning my boots!" ...  "Hello, Aliza. What have you got here?"  "A Freak. What did you expect? I won't be asking much, only a few bronze pieces to get my boots clean. This fucking Freak's blood is disgusting."  "Any Freak's blood is disgusting, Aliza. I'll give you two bronze pieces."  "I'll take that. Thank you for your business." ...  "Gah, it's evening already. All the Merchants would've closed their shops, and the ones that are still open are shady... I should just take this Freak to my house this time. Treat it to its last nice dinner."  "..."  "Have a nice meal. Bon appetit. And, now when you'll be hungrily devouring your food, I'll be sleeping. Keep quiet, Freak."  "...Monster." ...  "Die, you fucking monster!"  "Wha- How did you free yourself!"  "My ability is to melt my body to get through objects, and it's not a curse! I'm proud to have been born with my power!"  "Shut up, you Freak- whether or not you think of it as a gift isn't important! It's what society thinks! And if society thinks it's a curse, then it's a curse! You should die!"  "You killed my friends! You killed my family! You killed my people! You're a murderer! Your name is known all over The Forest, Aliza Truman! Maybe the Ordinaries don't know it yet, but we do! Your father was a 'Freak,' if that's what you like to call us!"  "And I killed him! For society! For the greater good!"  "Would the Ordinaries accept people with the same blood as a Freak? You yourself have a Curse! Stop denying it! Eugh!"  "You talk a lot for a Freak, you know? Nobody likes tiresome, noisy, disgusting Freaks. I made the mistake of letting you eat food I paid for out of my own money."  "Money you made by slaughtering us. Money you made by violence. Money you made by taking lives. You didn't earn that money, Aliza Truman, daughter of a Fre-"  "...Cursed Freaks. All of you should burn in hell and die. Disgusting creatures." ...  "Come back, Freak! I'm not done with you!"  "I'm done with you, Truman! You're a Freak, too! You're Cursed! You're no different from the rest of us! For the greater good? What nonsense! Aliza Truman, you're a monster! You're nothing more than a murderer!"  "A murderer who lives for the light that brings the world hope every day. You made me use my bow. Think of it as an honor. No ordinary Freak dies by my arrow."  "...Ha. You used your Curse. You were one of us all along..."  "Bullshit. My fast arrows aren't quick because of my Curse. It's because of the skills I've built up over the years."  "...No. The wind. The wind helped you. The wind pushed the arrows faster, deeper... Aliza Truman. You can never run away from your fate. Accept your life as a Freak and make The Forest your home with your Curse..."  "If I had a Curse, then I'd be able to push you off the ground, simply with winds. I cannot. I am not Cursed. I am not a Freak. I am not a daughter of the filthy Freak that lived in The Forest. I am Aliza Truman, most trusted Hunter within the Ordinaries."  "...Try it. Try using your Curse. Try it..."  "No. This cannot be happening. Answer me, you Freak. You did that, didn't you? You loathsome being. Don't try to trick me."  "..."  "Answer me. Don't- I can't be-"  "..."  "You fucking Freak, respond to me! Don't ignore me! I can't be Cursed! I can't be a Freak! I can't have my father's blood! It's your evil doings! I can't- I can't..." ...  "...So I'm a Freak now, am I? I might've been a Freak from the start... A Freak ignoring my Curse... A Freak who denied itself."  'Would the Ordinaries accept people with the same blood as a Freak? You yourself have a Curse! Stop denying it!'  'You can never run away from your fate. Accept your life as a Freak and make The Forest your home with your Curse...'  "You win, Fate. It seems that I cannot live as Aliza Truman anymore. It seems that I must live my days as a Cursed Freak. But I'm not going to let you win so easily. I won't accept my fate. And if I can't live as Aliza Truman, nor a Freak... then my options seem limited.  ...Such a beautiful sunset. What a nice last moment on this earth. For the greater good. For society. For the Ordinaries."


The sky had deepened to a dusky blue, the last remnants of sunlight slipping behind the horizon. It was that fleeting hour between evening and night when headlights flickered on and painted long, ghostly streaks of light on the asphalt. The highway hummed with the steady rhythm of cars rushing past, each driver eager to reach their destination before darkness fully set in. Inside the SUV, the family settled into the familiar rhythms of a long drive, the interior lit by the soft glow of the dashboard and the occasional passing streetlight. The father kept his eyes on the road, focusing on the steady flow of taillights ahead. His wife, cradling her growing belly, leaned back in her seat, one hand resting protectively over her bump. She was tired but content, lost in thoughts of the baby on the way, already imagining the new life that would soon join their family. In the backseat, Lucy, their nine-year-old, was half-asleep, lulled by the gentle motion of the car, while her little sister, Ava, clutched her stuffed bunny and stared sleepily out the window, where the landscape blurred into dark, indistinct shapes. “Are we almost there?” Lucy mumbled, rubbing her eyes. “Almost, sweetheart,” her father said, glancing back in the mirror. “Just a little bit longer.” The mother smiled at their girls, feeling the baby’s faint kicks as if reminding her that they were all together. But the serene moment shattered when a sedan, dark blue and moving erratically, suddenly appeared in the rearview mirror. The vehicle was speeding, darting in and out of lanes as if the driver was trying to escape the weight of her own impatience. The driver, a middle-aged woman with frazzled nerves, was desperate to make up lost time. She had been stuck behind slower traffic, her anxiety bubbling over, and now she saw an opening—too small, too tight, but just enough to tempt her into one last reckless maneuver. She jerked the wheel and surged forward, attempting to overtake the SUV in a flash of poor judgment and impatience. She squeezed into the narrow gap, cutting sharply in front of the SUV, her tires barely skimming the shoulder. The father saw the sedan swerve but had no time to react. He slammed on the brakes, but the SUV skidded, fishtailing as the sedan’s rear clipped its front end. The impact was sudden and vicious, throwing the SUV sideways across the road. The father fought to regain control, but it was no use; the vehicle slid toward the edge of the highway, tires screaming against the pavement before the SUV tipped and rolled violently into a ditch. Inside, the world turned sideways. The cabin was thrown into chaos as the SUV slammed onto its side, the impact jarring everyone violently against their restraints. Airbags deployed with a deafening pop, filling the air with a smoky, chemical haze. The father grunted as his shoulder collided with the window, pain shooting through his arm. He was left dangling from his seatbelt, struggling to catch his breath, disoriented by the sudden shift from normalcy to nightmare. Beside him, his wife clung to her belly, instinctively shielding her unborn child as she was tossed against the door. She gasped, feeling a sharp, searing pain ripple through her abdomen, fear flooding her senses. She tried to steady herself, but the weight of the vehicle pressed against her, making every movement feel heavy and painful. Her first thought was of her daughters, and she twisted in her seat, her voice tight and panicked. “The girls!” she cried, eyes straining to see into the backseat through the haze of the wreckage. In the back, Lucy was hanging upside down, suspended by her seatbelt. Her head throbbed where it had slammed into the ceiling, and she could taste blood where she had bitten her lip. She looked over at Ava, who was trapped in her car seat, crying loudly, her little face pale and streaked with tears. Ava clutched her stuffed bunny tightly, as if it could somehow make everything right again. “Mommy!” Ava screamed, her voice quivering and small. “I’m scared!” Lucy reached out, her arm trembling, trying to comfort her sister. “It’s okay, Ava. We’re okay.” But Lucy’s own voice was fraught with terror. She looked around at the shattered glass, the crumpled metal, and felt the terrifying helplessness of the moment. Above them, the SUV groaned under its own weight, the metal frame creaking ominously, as if it might tip further at any second. The sedan, after clipping the SUV, spun out of control, tires screeching against the pavement as it careened headfirst into a brick wall on the roadside. The front end crumpled instantly, glass and metal exploding in every direction. The driver, thrown violently forward, felt the crushing force of the impact as the airbag deployed too late to protect her from the brunt of the collision. She slumped against the steering wheel, dazed and bleeding, her vision swimming with pain and the harsh, flickering light of her car’s damaged headlights. She blinked, trying to clear her head, but all she could see was the SUV lying on its side, a mangled silhouette against the dimming evening sky. The faint sound of crying children drifted through the shattered windshield, and the weight of what she had done settled on her like a crushing burden. She had been in a hurry—so much of a hurry that she hadn’t stopped to think. Now she was trapped in her own wreckage, helplessly watching the consequences of her recklessness unfold in front of her. Sirens wailed in the distance, drawing closer with each passing second. Red and blue lights flashed against the darkening sky, painting the scene in a surreal, strobe-like glow. Firefighters and paramedics rushed onto the scene, their shouts and the crunch of boots on gravel filling the tense silence. They scrambled down the embankment toward the overturned SUV, flashlights cutting through the dimness as they assessed the damage. A firefighter pried open the rear door, the twisted metal screeching in protest. He reached in carefully, unbuckling Ava from her car seat and lifting her out. Ava clung to him, still clutching her bunny, her sobs softening as he whispered reassurances. Lucy was next, helped out gently, her small frame shaking as she was wrapped in a warm, reflective blanket. “You’re so brave,” the paramedic told her, his voice kind but firm. “We’re going to take care of you and your family.” The mother winced as she was pulled from the wreckage, every movement sending fresh jolts of pain through her body. She held her belly protectively, whispering silent prayers for her unborn child as they lifted her onto a stretcher. She reached for her husband’s hand, gripping it tightly as they were separated, both of them exchanging a look of shared fear and relief. The father, the last to be rescued, stumbled slightly as he was helped up. He scanned the chaotic scene, his eyes darting between his daughters, his wife, and the wrecked sedan across the road. Relief washed over him as he saw his family being tended to, but the fear lingered—an unshakable, gnawing worry about what might still be wrong, unseen beneath the surface. Across the road, the driver of the sedan was pulled from her vehicle, her legs unsteady as she was helped to sit on the curb. She watched the family she had nearly destroyed, her guilt as palpable as the blood trickling from her forehead. She had only been trying to get ahead, to beat the darkness that was falling over the highway, but now the darkness felt absolute, settling into her bones. The damage was done, and no amount of regret could rewind the seconds that had changed everything. The scene buzzed with the chaos of flashing lights, voices, and the low, rhythmic hum of engines idling in the background. Above, the sky was fully dark now, a deep, inky black broken only by the harsh glare of emergency lights and the faint, distant glow of city lights on the horizon. The road, once a mundane path home, was now a battlefield strewn with wreckage, the lives of everyone involved forever altered by a moment’s impatience, a split-second decision that spiraled into tragedy. As the paramedics worked, the family held onto one another, shaken but alive, the weight of the crash settling in but their grip on each other firm. The mother rested a hand on her belly, feeling the faintest flutter of movement, a fragile reassurance amid the chaos. They would heal—eventually. But the scars of this night, painted against the dim glow of fading headlights, would linger long after the wreckage was cleared and the road returned to its usual, unremarkable flow.