“Violets is Sometimes the Answer” When I was younger, Baba always told me, “even when someone is unkind to you, show them kindness.” I would ask him why, and he’d say, “because that is how I want to raise you and Ayaan. I don’t want my kids to arbor ill feelings and hold grudges. I’ve seen it tear my own family apart and I refuse to see it ruin your generation. Be better.”            At the time, I knew he was talking about how his whole perception of marriage was messed up in his youth because he didn’t have healthy examples of the concept in his early life. He barely spent time seeing his own parents’ marriage due to his dad passing away when he was ten. The only marriages he saw were that of his siblings, and none of them were based on love. They were all arranged and somehow, they all got the short end of the stick. The women were whiny and bitter, and the men were controlling and manipulative. I had to wonder how Baba turned out the way he did, considering his family. He was a bubbly person with a heart of gold that my mother respected him dearly for. Baba was the embodiment of a human teddy bear; soft, kindhearted, and gave excellent hugs that could cure any bad day. He’s the reason I never give up on relationships. Friendships in particular. Anytime I have a problem with one of my friends, he repeats his spiel about showing kindness. It’s because of him that I’ve never said something I regret to another human being. Instead, I took to sending flowers. You’re probably wondering what flowers have to do with displaying bitterness. Bear with me. Flowers have meanings. I know this because jasmines are big in my culture and my grandmother back in Pakistan grows them in her backyard. She used weave them together to form crowns as she’d explain to me that they symbolize a sweet sort of love. Since that moment, I begged her to teach me how to make flower crowns and she obliged. I hold that knowledge close to my heart, and every year for my parents’ anniversary, I give them flower crowns made of jasmines because they symbolize what a healthy relationship should look like. When I learned that flowers held meanings, I studied about all the different kinds of flora and fauna, and what they mean. Most flowers have sweet symbolism, but the reason I became so invested in the concept is because I wanted to convey my negative emotions in a way that didn’t defy Baba’s only demand of me. So, I learned all about the flowers that represented annoyance and anger. From that point, any time someone invoked those emotions in me, I’d gift them with the corresponding flower. I was free to convey my emotions and the instigator was none the wiser. They would forgive me because they’d see the flower as a peace offering. It was a win-win situation. It also helped that Baba supported this outlet for me and bought me all the flowers I desired. However, despite how kind one tries to be, everyone has a limit. Zaara was my limit. The people you show the most love to, can hurt you the worst. Zaara may have hurt me, but she taught me a valuable life lesson that I would not trade for all the gladioluses in the world. The beginning of the end started on a random Thursday morning. Zaara and I had been having problems in our friendship for months. Our arguments were mainly over trivial teenage girl things; misplaced borrowed items, negligence, and boys. We never seemed to be on the same page and my closest and most trusted friend, Farha noticed. Farha was a girl I met before I even knew what friendship was. She was the one who knew how something made me feel before I even had to tell her. Our mothers were very close friends, which is how we met. She was the ideal mediator because she never took sides, even if they were warranted. Zaara absolutely hated Farha for reasons I couldn’t explain. Every time I’d ask why, she’d avoid the topic and talk about something else. Farha knew, but never held it against Zaara, claiming she probably has her reasons. And despite Zaara’s hatred for Farha, Farha always gave impartial advice to me when I’d come to her with my friendship woes. The latest issue we had was that Zaara was spending all her time with a new girl, Raania. I liked Raania. She seemed cool and like nothing bothered her. It was a quality I envied a little if I’m being honest. As someone with extreme social anxiety and hypersensitive tendencies, I always wanted to be someone like Raania. I wanted the three of us to hang out and be friends, but it seemed like Raania and Zaara wanted to only be friends with each other.  I’d confronted Zaara about it twice, kindly of course as Baba’s words echoed in my head. But Zaara claimed it was all in my head. I thought maybe she was right. And that was when I made the decision to make Zaara a flower crown. I told Farha as much and to say she was shocked was an understatement. “You want to make Zaara a flower crown?” She asked, pushing her glasses up in a fashion that was on the precipice of judging. Farha would never directly tell me an idea I had was terrible, but her actions said it anyway. “Why not?” I asked, twirling a soft pink geranium across my fingers. It was one of the flowers I was planning on weaving into the flower crown for Zaara. “I know how special flowers are to you. Flower crowns are something you’ve only ever given your parents. Are you sure that’s something you want to share with Zaara?” Farha asked instead of answering my question. She was smart like that and it was easy to see why she was accepted into law school. “I think it will show Zaara that I’m serious about our friendship. And how I want to fix it. Like you said, flowers are very important to me,” I explain, slowly convincing myself of the same thing. Farha made a thin line with her lips and crossed her arms.            “But does Zaara know that? I support whatever you decide Afrah. I just don’t like seeing you hurt,” Farha says wistfully, seeming to find her shoes more interesting than this conversation. Did my best friend have a point? Would I be wasting a flower crown on Zaara? I was torn between doing what would please Baba and what would give my own heart ease. I never gave up on a friendship and I didn’t want to start. “I have to go take Maahia to Missed Steak for her birthday dinner. Do you still want to come with me? It could take your mind off of this for a while,” Farha offers. I had completely forgotten that it was her little sister’s birthday and I had promised Maahia I would come. What difference would it make if I showed up a little late? “I’ll just meet you there later. I want to figure this whole thing out first,” I tell Farha and wave her off as she leaves. I see that Zaara posted on her story that she was going to the park near downtown because a famous singer was rumored to be there tonight. That was the perfect avenue for me to bump into her and give her the flower crown. That is, if I was still going to give it to her. I plopped onto my bed face first with a heaving sigh and groaned at the impact of my stomach making contact with the firm mattress. The rich purple and blue tones of the hydrangeas and violets on my desk were glaring at me to give them attention. I had made the crown with the flowers I told Farha I was going to, but I’d bought these two in case I wanted some darker color. I also wasn’t sure the meaning of those flowers applied here for certain. I still had a few minutes before I needed to head to the park. That gave me time to think about if Farha had a point. Did Zaara deserve the crown? I wanted it to symbolize that our friendship was real, and nothing could come between it. My door opened in the middle of my thoughts and in came Ayaan with his usual confused look. “Can I help you?” I ask, quirking a brow. Ayaan shrugs and walks in uninvited. He makes his way over to the flower crown and places it on his unruly curly hair.            “It’s not Mama and Baba’s anniversary. What’s this one for?” He asks. I try not to laugh at how funny a flower crown looks on my six-foot brother and instead smile at how he pretends to be interested in my flowers.            “It’s not for them. It’s for Zaara,” I explain, hopping out of bed and taking the crown off of his mess of a head. “Why?” He asks, watching as I place it back on my desk. He moves to grab it again, but I smack his hand away. “Because I want her to know I’m serious about our friendship,” I answer him, reaching for my wallet and keys. I decided I was going to give it to her and see how it goes. “You going somewhere?” Ayaan asks, watching me grab my things haphazardly. “Yeah, tell Baba I’ll be home late. Bye!” I call, rushing out of my room before he can ask any more questions. I spot Zaara within seconds of walking into the park. She was dressed nicely as usual, but she’d play it off in a way that I always admired. Her coral pink top had these bell-shaped sleeves that gave a cute look, but it confused me. Just last month Zaara had gotten onto me about how ridiculous bell sleeves looked. Perhaps the fashion world took on a new trend? I reminded myself to ask her about it later as I approached where she and Raania stood. That was when I saw it. Raania had on the same top as Zaara. I had asked Zaara if the two of us could wear matching outfits countless times, but she claimed it was tacky. My heart gave a painful tug, and I felt the familiar rush of anxiety flow through me. Thoughts like ‘no one likes you. Zaara isn’t really your friend. Who would want to be friends with you?’ My social anxiety began to flare up and I willed it to stop. This was meant to be an attempt to fix things, not start more problems. Baba’s words echoed in my head. “Show kindness.” Maybe Zaara just changed her mind about matching clothes or maybe they were a gift from Raania and it would have been rude to refuse it. Breathing in and out deeply, I felt my heart rate decelerate and decided to walk over to them. “Hi Zaara, Hi Raania!” I greet cheerfully with one of my most friendly smiles. The two of them turn to look at me, and Raania nods to me in acknowledgement. “Afrah? What are you doing here?” Zaara asks in bewilderment. I laugh at how shocked she sounded and held up the flower crown. “I wanted to give you this. It even kind of goes with your outfit,” I say blissfully, thinking I made the right choice not to go with violets and blues. Zaara eyes the crown in confusion, but takes it, nonetheless. “Is it a necklace?” She asks with a small smile as she admires the colors. I laugh once more and try to ignore the look Raania gives me. Maybe I should have waited to give it to Zaara in private. It might not have looked nice to give her a present in front of Raania. “No, it’s a flower crown. I made it myself,” I boast slightly. It was a skill I took pride in because my grandmother had taught me and not many people knew how to make one. “Oh. Cool. Thanks. Well, we’re going to go see if Shawn Mendes is actually going to show up. I’ll catch up with you later. And thanks again for the flower crown,” she beams, walking off with Raania toward the pavilion. I felt another odd tug at my heart. Why didn’t she ask me to join them if I was already here? Why didn’t she wear it just to make me happy? Was I overreacting? Probably. Still, something didn’t sit right with me about this. I walked over to a bench and sat down, feeling my anxiety flare up again. The last time it got this bad, I had rushed into the girl’s room and called Farha from my phone and she calmed me down. My heart rate was rapidly increasing, and I felt more negative irrational thoughts flood my mind about how pathetic of a person I was. I snatched my phone out of my pocket and dialed her number quicker than my fingers could process, praying she’d pick up. “Hello?”            “Farha. Help.” “Afrah? Are you in trouble?”            “Can’t. Breathe.” “Okay hey hey, listen to me. We’re going to count backwards from five. Do you think you can do that?” Farha’s soothing voice asked in my ear. It was already starting to calm me a bit, but I didn’t think I could speak more than two words at a time. “No.” “Hey, sure you can. Repeat after me. Five.” “Five.” “Four.” “Four.” “Three.”            “Three.” “Two.”            “Two.” “One.” “One.” “Okay, what’s going on?” She asked in a teacher voice.            “I just had an anxiety thing. No big deal. Thanks for picking up,” I tell her, about to switch the phone off. “Wait. Where are you?” Farha asked before I could. “I’m on my way home from the store,” I lie. “I’m sorry but I’m not feeling great. Tell Maahia I’m sorry I missed her birthday dinner,” I say and click off the phone before she can try to convince me to still come. I sigh and drop my head into my hands. This night went a completely different way in my head. I decided I didn’t want to wallow all night, so I stood up and got ready to head back home and maybe do something with Ayaan, when I saw it. My flower crown, on the grass, unattended. I look around and see Zaara and Raania a few yards away taking pictures together. My blood boils and my fists involuntarily clench. I feel my anger rising, taking place of my sadness. Zaara didn’t deserve my flower crown or my friendship. She did not value me the way I did her. And she most certainly did not understand how important flowers were to me. Farha was right. Farha. My closest friend. I’d blown off her sister’s birthday to try and fix a friendship that wasn’t even worth saving. I shot one last look at my former friend and scooped up the flower crown she mistreated. Brushing it off, I raced toward my car, not looking back. I ran into my room with a speed I didn’t know I had. I looked at the flowers on my desk and instantly, almost mindlessly, began weaving together a crown of violets and blue hydrangeas and held it up. Four minutes. A new personal record. As I was admiring my handiwork, Ayaan came barging into my room questioning why I was home early. “Can’t talk, I’ll explain later, bye!” I call to him as I rush out, hoping I’m not too late. I sighed in relief when I saw that Farha’s car was still at Missed Steak and rushed into the restaurant. Maahia was opening her last birthday present and Farha was making a video of it. I quietly walked over when she was done and tapped Maahia on her shoulder. The little girl looked up and positively beamed when seeing me. “Afrah! But, Farha said you weren’t coming?!” She questioned excitedly. “I couldn’t miss your thirteenth birthday. I even made you something. Here,” I offer, handing her the peach and pink flower crown that I thought Zaara deserved. Maahia gaped at the sight of it and her eyes lit up.            “I’ve always wanted one of these but never asked! Thanks Afrah, you’re the best!” she says, placing it on her head immediately. I smile as pink seemed to be the color of the day as Maahia’s outfit matched the crown perfectly too. “So, someone decided to make it after all?” Farha’s voice sang as she moved the camera to me and ended the video when I waved sheepishly. “What changed your mind?” She asked, placing a hand on her hip. “Change of heart?” I try and Farha shakes her head with a knowing grin. “I made you something,” I start, and Farha holds a hand up. “I bet you I can guess what it is,” she interrupts with a mirthful smile. I nudge her playfully and hand her the purple and blue toned crown. Her outfit is red, making it look silly in her hands. “It’s lovely,” she says, setting the crown on her head. I want to tell her it doesn’t go with her outfit, but something tells me she already knew. It’s funny how life plays out. This morning I woke up and thought of Zaara, associating her with coral roses, and now all I thought of when it came to her were lavenders and blue tansies. Not all friendships are meant to work out and that doesn’t have to be a bad thing. As long as the right friends are in your life, they’ll always outweigh the wrong ones.


“Rollin’ down that dusty road, windows down Leavin’ troubles behind this small town” “Turn that down a notch Jayce, I gotta pee man, could you pull over the nearest gas station?” “Fuck you man, why do you gotta pee every fifteen minutes? stop drinking from that damn 6-pack you got back there. It’s not like we’re short on supplies and we’re fighting these Megatrons.” “It’s Mechatrons actually-” I give Michael a side glance through the front view mirror. I don’t like his company that much, but he’s the only person that knows how to get to the resistance. We come across an abandoned gas station and I pull over for Michael to go pee. “Make it quick” I say as he gets out of the vehicle towards the toilet doors. I grab my pack of Marlboro and light a cigarette while waiting. Robots weren’t a threat to humanity, I think to myself as I exhale a long stream of smoke and watch it dissipate. I couldn’t help but think how different things used to be. Robots were never meant to be weaponized, but here we are several updates later and every damn robot made us its bitch. I take my last puff and flick my cigarette to the sidewalk. Michael doesn’t usually take that long to take a piss so I grab my pistol and head over towards the toilets. I walk towards the doors and squint through the splintered wood of the restroom door, my heart hammering in my chest. Silence. Then, a metallic clunk echoed through the stale air. My breath hitched as I peer through the crack, my gaze snagging on a sight that sent a jolt through me. Michael stood with his hands raised, a chrome behemoth of a robot stood over him. A yellow light beamed from its chest, scanning Michael - A reconnaissance unit, what in the world was that robot doing in there? “Failure to comply will result in brute force” the robot droned, its voice a grabbing monotone. “You have been warned” Michael’s voice was shaky, “Hey man, I was just using the toilet, no need for all that” I slowly open the door trying not to trigger any sensor. “Stun gun, activated” the robot announced. It’s arm shot out, charged with a stun gun about to be fired. I raise my arm with the robot’s head locked in my sight and pull the trigger with the release of my breath. The shot echoed through the abandoned gas station. The robot jerked as it fell, its yellow light no longer a threat. I look at Michael with disgust on my face, “Did you just fart? What is that smell? ” Michael was still processing the events that happened, but he was relieved shortly after he heard my voice. “We need to leave ASAP because this thing just called for backup” he finally uttered catching a breath. We get into our vehicle and I hit the gas. I guess serving in the army did me good back there, I would never have made that shot otherwise. As we drove along I noticed something off about the area we’re in, that robot wasn’t supposed to be there at all. “Ey Michael, you sure we’re on the right track here?” “Um, they didn’t exactly give me clear directions but if we are, we’re supposed to be seeing some resistance graffiti and go through a couple of checkpoints.” “Fucking hell Michael! Are we lost?” The day was coming to an end, and we’d been driving for hours. I spot a cabin from afar and drive towards it. The sun was setting when we arrived at the cabin. I told Michael to stay close as we scout the parameter for any potential surprises when suddenly a voice screams from behind us “Don’t you boys move a god damn inch” a voice of a man whose prime had long gone. Armed with a shotgun. “Identify yourselves” Michael froze, it was the scenario at the abandoned gas station toilet all over again. He started stuttering his words” “We’ve lost our way and we’re looking for some help. My friend here got us the wrong directions to the resistance” I intervene. “The resistance you say? Well you’re definitely in the wrong neighborhood, but I can help” The man lowers his weapon and invites us into his home. He seemed like someone I’d see myself becoming once I’m old. A good old retirement house in the middle of nowhere filled with books, movies, and a pet dog. “Name’s Ethan by the way. I will allow you to stay here the night and I will guide you to the resistance by morning” The man was generous enough to make us vegetable soup and let us crash on his couch. Morning came and I woke up to the undeniable smell of pancakes. It seemed that our host woke up early to get fueled up for the day to come. I nudge Michael awake. “Wake up, let’s help Ethan make breakfast”, he blinked groggily and sniffed the air. “Oh man, that smells amazing” We shuffled out to the kitchen, our stomachs rumbling, to find our host flipping pancakes on the battered old stove. He glanced over his shoulder and gave us a warm smile. “Gentlemen! thought you two could use a good breakfast before we head out for the day.” he said as he was stacking pancakes onto our plates and joined us pouring a cup of strong black coffee from a cowboy coffee maker. “So.. What’s your story? How on earth did you end up here?” I glance at Michael and smile at the craziness of it all. “We are researchers at the university back in the capital.” I began. “We were involved in a groundbreaking research on how the government is abusing the GNA-F1 substance that powers the Mechatrons and using it on Humans in an attempt to create cyborgs, but then the government started cracking down on dissents, started rounding people up” Michael picked up the thread “We got involved in a few protests, demanding transparency and to end these unethical experiments. I had a contact at the resistance, we managed to escape with critical data on our hard drive but we threw away any traceable devices and went completely offline.” “You’ve got guts kids. Don’t worry, you’ll be safe with the resistance. We better start moving soon.” We help clean the dishes and set off leaving the cabin behind, riding behind Ethan hoping that amidst all this chaos that there will be hope. For us and for a generation to come.


A world where everything from nature had collapsed. No one remembers, realizes nature. Mother nature was forgotten entirely. ----- Year, 2964, the era of Science and Universe. Universal Era. Also known as, the age of calamity. There was a young man named, Sora. He had earned a scholarship in his early teens. Now, he is almost 16. However, our young dude is a perfect, charming, and stable person. He is not the person who dies from panic and loses hope because of loneliness. The world was divided into 3 parts; Zess, the only place that belonged to nobles. Durra, the only place ruled by nobles. Although it had its own nobles, they weren't as highly ranked as the others. The last one, Reginia. The most destructive, polluted, and tragic part of Earth. In Reginia, people suffered from climate-polluted diseases and loss of water and food supplies. Many elders died from food poisoning due to a lack of fresh food, so they kept surviving by feeding on expired foods. But they never had hoped for recovery or justice for the world. They knew that it would just stay like that and would never change. And so, the death rates increased with many horrible diseases. Soon, their crops died because of dry land, and rivers of freshwater also dried by the climate pollution. Neither could they eat good, nor could they even drink water now. Were they really fated to die this way? That was the horrible, yet pitiful, tragic apocalypse of Reginia. The climate apocalypse that had occurred in 2950 and still ongoing... Sora saw the endangered humans begging for food. Some of the guys even ate those migrating birds. Yet the emerging hunger from the dead bodies continued. "Ugh," seemed to be disgusted by the pollution and malevolent in the air, Sora sighed in disgust. What could he do, really? Nothing. Just stand aside and watch how those monsters and mad scientists come from Zess to take away bundles of samples from here. And for those Durra bastards, hunters from there would come to just test their rifles on Reginia's death troops. Things went on like that. And not from yesterday or that day, from a couple of years. Now Sora was a loner. His parents were killed in a war between Zess, Durra, and Reginia, where Reginia and its people were treated as the only rabbit in a den of mighty wolves. He thought, "Soon, I'll crush them with my own hands and the world might go back again." but to his dismay, after looking the everyday life, that was... a bit impossible. As for Sora, he wasn't the type of others; fall in love, marry and just wait for your death by a Zess or Durra noble. The highest-ranked wolves were, of course, Zess, so nobody even dared to step there. Sora originally had the goal of crushing them under his feet. The air was already too stiff, dirty and he felt like collapsing suddenly. The air wasn't like today, all white, fresh, and the blue dazzling sky, it was much more horrible than today's pollution. Yellow sky, filled with, carbon air, no oxygen signs in sight, tall towers with puffy smokes. It was as if living inside a yellow world. Sora frowned upon seeing the blended yellow sky. As he was pondering, a young guy came over to him. "What is so beautiful in that tainted sky?" His hairs flew along with the warm, fuzzy air, yet, filled with nitrogen oxide hints. Sora smiled with a slight smirk. "Yeah, right." and closed his eyes by rubbing them lightly, slowly with his wrists. The guy on the other side raised an eyebrow. Sora turned to him. "Who are you?" "Neighbours don't remember neighbors?" Sora frowned and sighed with a quick smile. "Oh, yeah. Murano." Murano nodded. "I was kind of thinking, when will this place change?" Murano slid his face to the dark sky, filled with nitrogen and carbon, emitting from the towers. "I guess.... never. Or at least never, until we try to do anything." Sora glanced at him in question. "What do you mean?" Murano smiled. "Want to go with me on a journey to fix this irrational world? Of course, it won't be instant." Sora returened a sad expression. Murano did not expect any answer from him. "Alright, figure it out till tomorrow. I'll be leaving tomorrow. See ya~" as he waved back the lone rabbit. The next day, Sora unexpectedly packed his belongings and walked to the hillside. The place where he met Murano. He had heard of him before; Murano was an experienced theatre boy. He had been on many journeys and most of them were extremely dangerous, but he had trained well and had extraordinary skills too. Murano noticed him standing. "Oh?" He smiled raising an eyebrow. "So you came?" "What else could I do? I just... couldn't keep up their savagery anymore. I want to help my people and want to be at least, be useful to them. That's why I decided to go with you on your journey." Murano was left surprised, but he didn't show on the face. "Alright, but first fix that your scumbag, ferret face. You have to let go of your soft side; stop that caring attitude of yours. It really disgusts me...!" He frowned with annoyance. Sora frowned too. "What does that concern to you? Am I not helping enough?" His face turned back to normal. Laid out a sigh and said, "You won't fix your caring side and end up in a black hole where even I won't be able to drag you back, alright. But don't expect kindness from me." 'How heartless can he be anymore?' thought sora. They both took their bags; Sora had a big one, while Murano just took his guns and a small bullet-proof sidebag and hung it on his waist. "What's that?" asked Sora in interest. "This is a bullet-proof bag with bullets and a bullet-proof jacket," he smirked with closed eyes. Sora twitched. "I see...." They set off afterwords. After the struggling and dangerous situations the two faced in their journey, their bonds deepened and they got too close to each other. Sora became more reliable on Murano, due to his non-stop flirting and pampering to Sora. The last night. After it, they would have been reached to Zess X Durra Human Resources And Nobility Court, aka. HRAN. They were currently sitting under the night sky filled with beautiful shining stars and the dark, black night. That was the only time of the world that never lost its beauty. "Hey, how come you got so attracted to me?" asked Murano, out of curiosity. "Don't know. Might be your flirting and bad habits." "Oh? Damn you..." he giggled and they both snuggled each other under one blanket and one night sky. That was pretty and comfortable. The awaited day. The next following day, both of them got ready and were walking on the empty streets of ZXDHRN. "Is it always this empty or are they really scheming something?" asked Sora. "No, I don't think so." Sora saddened and continued to walk alongside Murano. They reached the door to the court. Inside it would be all the ministers of Zess and Durra. Since Reginia was kicked out from the nobility, they also removed it from the court. As well as killed the minister. Instead of being kind and noble-like, Murano kicked opened the giant door to the court. Suddenly, the camouflaged robots instantly took out their guns and started aiming at Murano and Sora. One of the robots straight shot at Murano which gave him a slight cut on his right arm. He fished out his gun simultaneously and shot at them, however, they were made from heavy metals and were bullet-proof. "Tsk, dammit!!" He threw a heavy machinegun at Sora and shouted at him to aim at the chasers. Sora nodded and with a big bang! both robots got laid down. Murano smiled and was sweating heavily. It seemed he got a fever, however, he still had the urge to complete this task or else his beloved would be disdained and besides, the world will never be able to change. Murano slowly got on his feet with Sora's help and they started walking again. He mumbled in Sora's ear, "Dude... hey!" "What?! can't you shut up! You're hurt so badly! It wasn't just a slight cut, you liar. Look at it, your whole upper arm is slaughtered!" "Oh well, thanks for caring for me, but we got to finish this or...!" his leg tripped and he was going to trip fall, however, Sora caught him. He put his whole strength and picked up his seme-princess and continued walking. "Oii!... Hey, Wh-?!" Murano turned lightly red with fluster. What was he doing? Wasn't that supposed to be the opposite? "Quiet. We're here," said Sora. Murano tilted up and saw they were inside the court already. "Hah, didn't know my own inferior companion would turn out to be my own superior. Great." Pretty ironic. Sora kept walking until he saw a huge room. The door was closed with a few bodyguards outside, guarding with their laser rifles. "May I ask who is in?" "Before that, may we ask who are you ?" They seemed to be straightforward. Sora lost half of his confidence. "Er, I'm Sora and this guy in my arms is, Murano. We are from-" Murano cut him off there. He knew Sora would spit something private. "We are the poor residents of Reginia," as he said that, botth bodyguards lifted their guns and aimed at them. "Haha. I know, but we are helpless. We couldn't think of anything else." Finishing his weird, vague sentence, he got parted from Sora's carry and stood on his feet, putting his arm around Sora. He smirked and whispered into Sora's ear making him blush. "Wha-?" After that, he mysteriously stepped back and left something in Sora's grip by behind. ' be careful,' as he stood far away that he could be seen tiny. What was the plan? Sora was hesitant. He shrugged his shoulders and strengthened up. "if he can do it, then me as well!" he mumbled it and at once, threw a small grenade as he instantly ran off to Murano, fortuitously falling in Murano's arms. "Eh?... Did I do it?!" Murano smiled and said, "Yeah, you really kept up to me." he smirked as he rubbed his hairs. He glanced and thought, ' after this, they should be done for, right?' Sora looked back after snuggling him tightly. Expectedly, both bodyguards were gone. They walked up there. They saw no one. Sora nudged Murano. "Did they run away? after all, they were robots." "No, they can't. There's zero probability, I calculated." as Murano looked down, he saw tiny pieces of rags and metal. Considering it, that trash is definitely the dead robot's sign. "Okay, let's head in." he grabbed Sora's hand and went inside the huge room. It was a conference room for courteous meetings. Once they headed in, only then did they saw everyone panicking. "Why are you panicking?!" Yelled Murano. "Uh,uh,uh,uh!!!!" They all shivered. Of course, no matter how much bravery or power they showed, they were still cowards and had no self-respect. Murano fished out his machinegun and this time, he had punched a guard and stole his laser machinegun. He shot the laser machinegun and sliced off the furniture that was kept. "Surrender yourselves, lowly beings!" Murano aimed at them. "Wait, wait! We-we will!! just listen to us first!" Murano nodded. All 4 ministers sat down at the conference table and started speaking one by one. "We... tried our best to save Reginia, but some of the nobles in Zess and Durra got together and rejected! We couldn't go against their decision! They are our people." Murano frowned. "You are such cowards! You don't even get the slightest respect from your people and still be their slaves? Your people, those Zess and Durra nobles are so ruthless, you can't even control them! What type of creature are you? Treating us like we're garbage!" One of the ministers shivered and spoke, "Wait! This! This minister decided to wipe out Reginia!" Another one spoke, "No, this! This minister decided to computer-control Reginia!" They all had a cat and dog-like relationships. Murano frowned and said, "You... all can't even understand each other, how could you even think about forming an alliance?" He softly grabbed his Lazer machinegun and aimed at them. "Listen up! Whatever your plan is, I won't leave you alive. If I do so, surely another disaster will occur!" He shot mercilessly, and their bodies got sliced up in no seconds. Sora was terrified. He covered his eyes in terror and nervousness. He couldn't handle all that bloodshed and sliced bodies. "Murano, that's enough!" she shouted without seeing. Murano flipped back his gun at the back and turned. When he counted all the bodies, one was missing. He knew this would happen, as the probability was 70% He figured it out; one of the ministers ran away when he was ripping all of them, and already had made a secret alliance with Durra's minister and left the other ministers. Now that was quite cunning. "Tch. Let's head to Durra, we will have to shed more blood there, are you okay?" Sora nervously nodded. They left the court with fusing a grenade outside. Murano had attached a timer with the grenade and turned it on. The whole time they were discussing and killing, the timer was ongoing. When Sora heard this, he was obviously freaked out. "eh," They successfully reached Durra's Court. That wasn't as big as Zess. Before going in, Murano handed a mini laser gun to Sora. "For your protection. I cannot protect you everywhere." Sora smiled sadly and nodded. When they got inside the Durra court, Murano did try to place a time grenade outside in a bush, however, one of the guards saw him do that and so, he couldn't. "What were you doing? If I hadn't shot him, he would have killed you!" "Eheh, sorry. That's why I gave it to you." Sora and Murano then went inside the court. They saw only a few people were working and then headed straight to the conference room. Murano kicked the door and shouted with his laser machinegun. "Listen jerks! Surrender and give peace to Reginia! Stop your ruthless things!" Only two ministers. One of them was shocked. But he was at ease already. He thought, if Murano and his companion would find him, he should have finished the plan beforehand. He smirked. "Haha...! you, you won't get extra merits! If you kill me!" Murano tched and shot with his laser machinegun. He turned to the other one. "Ah!!" Murano, "So you're also a coward, huh?!" The minister panicking, called out to his guard, but by the time he had arrived, Murano had sliced his body apart. He killed everyone in the court and in the end what they got were, a  card key and a few documents. He tossed them to Sora. "Read and figure out what they are." Sora nodded. After that, they headed towards the grand tower. The grand tower was where the father was located. The father was a computer board that ruled over the future humans; a man-made god. But the same man-made god had created a hell for them. Now if the two destroy it, everything will go back to its normal manner. All humans can live without someone's ruling and with freedom. However, it wasn't so easy. They killed everyone with their guns, thankfully they had more than enough bullets and batteries. After coming inside the grand tower's Father's room by the card key, it was filled with billions of computers working auto-piloted. They just had to blast the father, the end. Murano charged his all guns to ready them. He even told Sora to aim at the father's brain. They both will shoot father at the same time and finish it. One, two, three...! Bang! Clash! The father's computer board clashed and the count down to atomic explosion started. Murano hurriedly took Sora and both ran out of the tower. When they came out of the borderline of Zess, Durra, and Reginia, the wall that divided them, fell down and everything was destroyed. All the computers were blasted and every human, at that time, saw that scene. "Did we do it... right?" asked Sora. Murano nodded. The fall of the future. The fall of the world that lived on its advancement and died from it. After some years, Sora was now living with Murano and he had written a full report on what happened in the year, 2964. He was surprised from reading it even though he witnessed it all. Over 60,000 people died from calamity at that age. "We are the heroes of that dystopia fall, alright." he left out a sigh of relief. Murano patted on his shoulder. "En, and earned a new age." Not only did they become heroes, but their bond also deepened so strongly that almost their souls were seemed to be connected. The age of calamity, the era of Science & Universe ended, therefore, begin with a new age.


The computer keys went wild tonight, as Carol Seiken typed away at the story she has been writing since she was a child. She reflected on all the memories she is fond of, and all of the memories she wished she would forget. Never in her life has she written a story this grand, this important. It was hard to put so many of her thoughts into words, but she typed away at any thought that she believed needed to be heard. Her excitement raged as she was nearing the final sentences of her biggest accomplishment; the greatest story she could ever dream of. Tonight, Carol was about to finish her autobiography - detailing all the important and memorable events from her life since she was a child - all the way until this very moment. Every word she typed gave her more excitement, as this was in fact her lifelong dream. It amazed her that she was finally about to fulfill this dream. Carol looked back at her very first memories - all that she could remember, of course. It was hard for her to remember very specific memories of her childhood, but she reflected the best she could. She remembered when her grandparents came over, always bringing a special treat for her to eat, like candy or chocolate. Her uncle would come and they would watch tv. She remembered how she used to climb on his shoulders like a monkey. She looked back at the first birthday she could remember; she had her whole kindergarten class come to her house and watch a magician perform many tricks. She looked back on all of the holidays: Halloween, when she dressed up as Wonder Woman. Christmas, when she got her first bike and her father taught her how to ride it. Her favorite was Thanksgiving, when she would douse every spot of the turkey piece she received with warm gravy and would fall asleep in her grandpa’s arms as they watched the Jets play against the Bills. Moving on from Carol’s childhood, she looked back on all her accomplishments growing up. She graduated top of her class and studied at Yale, where she pursued her passion of receiving her Bachelors of the Arts in English. After college, she traveled around the world to study the many cultures present in different countries. She stayed in Sweden for a couple years and studied German during her time in Munich. She stood below the Eiffel Tower and watched it glow at night, tearing up at the beauty of it in person. She spent days reading up on the history of the Great Wall of China, before actually walking on it. She even walked through Rome and had gotten a tour of the Colosseum. The best part about these experiences is that she came home, and with great enthusiasm, told her family about her entire experience traveling. As she reached her adulthood, she still hadn’t married or found any sort of love interest. One man, however, changed her life and helped her become the woman she is today. Lee Cantonelli, a veteran of the United States Army and a successful accountant, caught her eyes almost immediately. A friend had introduced them when they all went out to dinner, almost as if they had gone on a blind date. The next weekend, Lee and Carol went out to dinner - a fancy steakhouse by the name of Abe & Louis’ - for their first date. Carol wrote about how they talked all night, and they were talking even until the restaurant was about to close. As Lee paid the bill and walked Carol to her car, Lee asked her a very general question: “What are you going to do for the rest of your life?” Carol, without hesitation, responded with a simple yet touching answer: “I’m going to spend it with you.” From then on, Carol had found the man she had awaited for many years - one that she indeed would spend the rest of her life with. Her time with Lee was most certainly memorable - they had kids, and then their kids had kids. They loved to spend time with their grandchildren. When her family came to visit, they would often listen to Frank Sinatra and would catch up on any ‘family news’ of sorts. Her youngest grandchild, Gabriel, would dance to the music - his diaper would be falling down as he danced, which she thought was hysterical. Lee loved Gabriel’s dances as well, and would turn up the music and try to dance with him. He was a fun man, and everyone loved his presence. One other thing Carol and Lee had in common was their love to travel. Carol would tell Lee all about her time overseas and all the great monuments she came across. Lee always wanted to travel - so they decided to travel together. Carol took him to Europe, and tried to take him to many areas she had not seen before, such as Southern Italy and even taking a trip to the Taj Mahal in India. They often took vacations to the Caribbean Islands and relaxed on the beaches for days on end. She knew she could never travel alone ever again. As she went over her final accomplishments of her book, Carol was stuck reading the parts of her life where Lee was involved. She reflected on how great of a man he was. He played golf with friends and could talk to anyone about football. She laughed at all the inside jokes they had made throughout all their years of marriage, not forgetting anything funny or important that he used to tell her. There was one thing they both regretted, however, and that was not meeting sooner. They wished they had met each other when they were younger, so they could’ve spent their whole lives together. Unfortunately, Lee passed away a few years ago, but Carol stayed strong in his passing. Lee died a happy man, and still loved her unconditionally - in fact, he loved her the same way he did since the day he met her.  Carol looked back towards the beginning of the book, seeing that most of her childhood and teenage memories were of many accomplishments, but reflecting upon her time with Lee made her realize that he was the greatest thing; and that the best accomplishment was ever meeting him. As she read through many parts of the autobiography, she started to feel guilty. She had spent her whole life taking memories down in hopes of one day writing an autobiography about herself. She thought - how was this fair ? How was it fair to write about her life when she owed someone else for all the great times and experiences she had as an adult? Carol had finished the book. She didn’t feel accomplished, however, even though this had been her lifelong dream. She felt that she needed to do something else. Carol sent the finished book in to be published, entitling it: Carol Seiken: An Autobiography. After doing so, she got started on a new story; one that was filled with adventure, excitement, and love. She had decided to write a new story - a story that meant the world to her. Carol opened up her notebook and began to brainstorm. Instead of reflecting on her own life, she reflected on the times of her life that she had spent with Lee Cantonelli. She was going to write a love story, a story on how they met and everything they had been through. Only then did she know that she was on the verge of achieving her lifelong dream; a story that put not herself in the spotlight, but a story about her and Lee’s lives together as one.


Ross and Luke sat across from each other in the stuffy, leather and lacquer reeking room of the former mistress Runlada. Luke ran his finger down the back of a brass figurine in the shape of a wolf hound that was placed gingerly on a narrow side table. Ross sat with his cheek resting on a fist, hunched over and losing thoughts into the meticulously crafted ebony floor. An under-wound grandfather clock ticked slowly and unevenly in the corner, its second hand was stuck in between the thirty-four and thirty-five second mark. “So-” Luke opened the silence “We’ve been all over this country side and almost through this whole state looking for an answer to these nightmare storms. We’ve been together for almost a month, but the thing is, you seem to know us and our struggles pretty well, but what about you? I've heard the rumor. Do you mind talking a little about yourself?” “As in?” Ross answered, moving his gaze to Luke. He knew what Luke was asking. “Your past? Why all this trouble to look into something that is almost impossible to trace?” “My past? Like, as in when I was a kid and stuff?” Ross returned his eyes to the floor. “Like back in the circus? And who wouldn’t want to know about the storms?” “Yeah that’s true I guess. We could start at the circus, if you’re ready to talk about it.” “I wasn’t ready for that kind of conversation, but I think it’s only fair all the same” Ross leaned back into the dimpled arm chair that was supporting his lunking, tired body. “Well, I was about thirteen. My mom was a performer.” “Was she a witch like you?” Luke inquired. “She was, but she didn’t have a deficit like mine.” Ross looked at his forearm. Under that skin and muscle were delicate carvings in his radius and ulna. A horrible contract made in a horrible time. “I got a really bad deal with this one, but I was so young. I didn’t know any better” Ross looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “Well, I did. But it was bad. Real bad, I couldn’t think of anything else to do.” Luke nodded. “I’ve heard a few rumors about that day, but I wanted to hear the story from you. You know what assumptions do. Was she a body user?” Ross looked over his nose at Luke while still facing up at the ceiling. “Yeah. She made herself into knots and things like that. Really flexible. God, she loved making those people smile. She was so kind. So beautiful. Her favorite trick was to fit inside this little box and pop back out like nothing happened.” “Did everyone know? You know, that she was-” “A witch? Yeah, they did. But they also knew her. They knew she wasn’t like that. Everyone loved seeing her” Ross leaned forward and clasped his hands around the nape of his neck. “I wish I could talk with her again.” Luke remained silent, letting the empty air buffer him and Ross against what was about to be shared. “That day-” Ross huffed “That day, there were hunters in the crowd. They had gotten word of her, someone took money in exchange for outing her. She was in the middle of an act. I was behind the curtains like I always was, watching her have the time of her life. She was magnificent and graceful and perfect and-” He choked on the words. “They killed her. THEY killed her with those glittering blades and tools.” Luke leaned forward attempting to place a hand on Ross’s shoulder. Ross stood up quickly, deflecting the affectionate gesture. “When I saw them jump over the barricades and rush the stage. I knew exactly what was happening. Their fucking-” Ross stammered “Their stupid instruments of death. Designed specifically to hunt those who are different. They talked into those shoulder radios like she was a rabid animal they found. An animal with only one fate, to be put down. I will never forget the voice that told them to take her out.” Luke shifted in his chair. “When I saw the first blade enter her chest, I couldn’t think. I just rushed them. Anything to give my mom space to run, even if I got hurt. I know now that even if I had, she wouldn’t have left me. She told me to run. One of the hunters threw me across the floor. I was panicking, my heart was screaming and my legs couldn’t hear my brain telling them to go faster. I scrambled and clawed the floor.” Luke cleared his throat. “Shit man-” “That’s when “HE” came to me. In my most vulnerable moment. HE appeared to me. My mom had always warned me to do research before I chose a contract. Well, at that moment, I really didn’t have a choice. I shook HIS hand without even hearing what HE was saying and I felt the words scroll into my bones.” “It was that quick?” Luke asked. “Like a camera flash, it was a done deal. I later found out he was the THORN being. I saw my mom laying there, not moving. The hunters were crowded around her. I could only see black. I let HIM take over.” “What happened?” “I consumed everything. The thorns reached out long. I caved in everything and everyone in there. It’s all a blur after that but-” Ross pushed over a chair and stared as it clamored on the floor. “I held my mom in my weak little arms as the thorns surrounded us. I couldn’t hear the screams or crunching of bodies. All I heard was her telling me-” A door from the hallway opened. Janet walked in to tell them that the info broker was there. Ross and Luke turned to look at her. Ross had tears staining his cheeks. “He’s here.” Janet said. She looked back and forth between them. “Jesus, what’s wrong with you? We’ve got stuff to do, let’s go.


"A lesson to be learned, from gods once spurned, who could naught but watch, as Carthage burned." Phameas found himself saying the words out loud as he stood upon the balcony overlooking the city from the temple of Eshmun; located within the Byrsa. A huge walled citadel that sat upon a hill and afforded a view of the southern part of the city and its expansive dual harbours. He mouthed the words again in silence, as their significance dawned upon him. He had heard them before. The deranged rantings of a vagabond who had managed to infiltrate the palace and cause quite a scene before being hurled out onto the streets once more. For weeks following the lunatic had ranted and raved about the impending doom of Carthage in the marketplace, oft repeating the phrase seemingly without end. Until the citizens tired of his nonsense, and he was summarily expelled from the city. A shiver slithered up the priest’s spine as he realised how prophetic the vagrant’s words had been. It was a sentiment that had disturbed him for some time, only to be reinforced by the arrival of the mysterious stranger who prophesied their doom. And now his fears, and that haunting prediction, had become a reality. He could clearly see the city spread out before him, the terranes of homes and apartments before the citadel, out to the dual harbours along the coast, and out to sea at the vast expanse of ships that lurked upon the water. The flames lit the night like a nocturnal daylight as the fires grew and spread throughout the city, the amber glow of the inferno casting a grisly shadow over the settlement as red, yellow, and orange waves of flame burned with fury and devoured all in their wake. Phameas could not help but weep at the sight before him as he felt the warm caress of the heat, as he watched as fire engulfed the once mighty city of Carthage, and the sound of battle raged throughout the city. The fleet of Roman galleys and warships assaulting the city had deployed hordes of legionaries as they rampaged throughout the city, clashing with the defenders in savage close quarters fighting that thundered through the streets. The clang of metal striking metal reverberated through the night, the chilling song of battle being supported by a cacophony of shouting, screaming, and cries of terror as the citizens of the city fled for their lives in a desperate attempt at survival. Plumes of smoke wafted into the night sky, the smell of burning timber, brick, ash, and bloodshed invading the priest’s nostrils as he stood frozen upon the balcony, watching the slow death of one of the greatest civilisations man had ever known. The decline and fall of Carthage began with the outbreak of a series of wars with Rome. An event that was prophesised by the high priest to spell the ruin of Carthage, as he had seen a vision, a dream of a battle between an eagle and a lion in which the eagle was victorious. Warning that the lack of devotion Carthage had shown to her gods would eventually doom them all. The wars with Rome had raged over the course of a century, first with the war for control of Sicily that saw both nations navies clash in epic battles upon the sea. The result had been a humiliating defeat for Carthage, with Rome taking possession of the island and establishing themselves as a major naval power in the Mediterranean. The second war came when the great Carthaginian general Hannibal crossed the alps and invaded Italy, wreaking havoc upon the Romans on their own soil and slaughtering tens of thousands of Roman soldiers and terrorising the Roman people for a decade. The war spread across the western Mediterranean, spilling over into Sicily, Spain, and Africa itself as the Romans, desperate for revenge invaded and butchered Hannibal’s army at the battle of Zama. The devastating defeat marked the end of Carthage’s vast empire as she surrendered and all her external territories became the property of triumphant Rome. But the Romans, not content in their revenge, came to take their vengeance once more, with the total obliteration of Carthage. Once mighty Carthage, who had her humble beginnings as a Phoenician colony, and could trace her ancestry back to Phoenicia and the ancient Canaanites in the Levant, A history that had begun two thousand years before Phameas had taken his first breath. All of that had been laid waste during the wars with Rome, as Carthage had lost her vast lands and had been reduced to just the capital itself, which was now burning under the assault of the rampaging Roman legions that now ransacked the city. The priest felt a lump rise in his throat as the thought occurred to him that they had brought it upon themselves. The gods of Carthage had been born out of the mystical abyss of the cosmos by the worship of the devout; and had in return blessed the children of Carthage with wealth, power, and abundance as their own power grew. All the wealth, power, land, joy, harvest, abundance, conquests, and trade that the Carthaginians enjoyed came at the grace of their gods. But the people of Carthage fell victim to their own hubris, and in their arrogance gradually turned their backs on the gods that had blessed them with all the fruits their great civilisation enjoyed. As Carthage's wealth and power grew, so too had their arrogance and vanity, until they came to believe, in their folly, that they no longer needed the gods that had given them all that they possessed. Only now as their great city burned and Roman legionaries stormed through the streets slaughtering all who opposed them, did they realise their grievous error. The Carthaginian gods, forsaken by their spoilt and ungrateful children, were either unable, or unwilling to come to their aid when they needed them most. In ages past their worship had enabled the gods to grow mighty in strength and power among the pantheons of gods that inhabited the cosmos. But they had turned away from the gods, believing the deities their worship had birthed asked too much and required excessive devotion, born of a lust for power and an insatiable greed, driven by their own self-interest and indifference to those who had given them life itself. “Oh, what fools we are!” he said to himself, with a sigh of resignation. “It was we who were selfish and greedy! We! Who cast aside our gods, and in our pride and arrogance deified ourselves upon an altar of our own vanity! We! Who thought we could live without the grace of the gods that all other civilisations of man depend upon; and live as demigods in charge of our own destiny and make ourselves masters of heaven and earth!” He sobbed and turned his face to the stars as clouds of black smoke wafted into the sky. “Lo! Lo! Carthage who thought she could rebel against her gods and build a church to her own pride and prestige! Oh, but I must lament that our rebellion was a spectacular failure!” With a cry of anguish did Phameas grasp at his hair as he howled at the stars in anguish, tears flowing freely down his cheeks as he was overcome with grief at the destruction of one of the world's great cities, the death of the mighty Carthaginian empire, and the extinction of the citizens of this once noble, proud, and powerful race. “Baal-Hammon!” he roared; with all the strength his voice could muster. “Please! Oh great and mighty lord! If you care for your insolent and foolish children but at all, please save us from this calamity that has befallen upon once mighty Carthage! Save us from the barbaric legions of Rome who would defile and plunder what was once a shining beacon of the power of the gods of Carthage! A temple to the worship of you and your kin that crossed seas and continents! A garden for the virtuous and beneficent deities of the greatest of all peoples! Made so by the divine blessings of the greatest of all the gods, those of Carthage!” The priest shouted to the sky, imploring the gods to save them in their most desperate hour. Phameas doubted his efforts would convince the gods to assist them, he had been present at, and taken part in, the debates over the will of the gods during this crisis. Some despaired that their failure to properly honour the gods as in times of old had sapped them of their once mighty strength, leaving them too frail and helpless to come to their children’s aid. Only being able to watch and lament as the once mighty civilisation was brought to its knees and delivered the death blow that now engulfed the city. While others, enraged by the notion that the gods were too weak to help them, insisted that the gods had resolved to punish them for their arrogance by letting the legions sack the city and burn it to the ground. It spelled the doom of Carthage and in doing so the gods sealed their own fate. But were they so petty and vengeful that they would embrace their own doom just to punish the children that spurned them? Phameas moaned with despair as his stomach churned with sorrow, and his bones ached as the weight of the world pressed itself down upon his shoulders. "A lesson to be learned, from gods once spurned, who WOULD naught but watch, as Carthage burned,” he declared, watching as the fires that spread throughout the city grew to engulf entire neighbourhoods. The fighting had reached the citadel now. He could hear the defenders of the Byrsa meeting the onslaught of the roman advance as they stood their ground in a noble last stand against the invaders. It wouldn’t be long before they overpowered the defenders and came rampaging through the citadel. Then they would find him. With a deep intake of breath Phameas straightened and steeled himself for what was to come. He would share the fate of his people, the city, and their once great civilisation as Carthage and its people were forever wiped from the face of the earth. He was prepared for that, and he would meet his end as one befitting a Carthaginian, with grace and dignity. With a sigh as he stared up at the moon shining in night sky and said a final prayer to the gods.


Silence is an epidemic. Even with my best efforts I am feeling it seep through the crevices of my mind - the pauses in conversation I know I must now have lest I be left alone to fend against it. Yet here I am, somehow still maintaining a dialect and ready to tell my story before the end - no one can keep talking forever. I wish I knew where it came from, what it is... I guess that’s expected though, human nature makes it so, and to be honest some things are better left unsaid. All I - or anyone - knows is when it started. Only a month ago we started to notice a change; although those few of us who remain have decided it must’ve been going on a lot longer. The ones we didn’t really notice went first - you know, the ‘recluses’ of society, the people you’d be lucky to get even a hint of recognition from, the people no one really knew because they’d never speak. It’s almost a shame and curse on us we didn’t notice, with only the occasional WANTED poster or frustrated boss wondering where the hell they were on their shift. God I wish we had seen it then, maybe it would be different and... I don’t know. No use thinking about that now. What we didn’t know is with every missing person it was getting stronger; evolving if you will. Soon enough we noticed we were hearing from close friends, family, colleagues less and less until it was eventually not at all. It was always the sweet if slightly shy and awkward ones in that phase, and just one or two days of no contact was enough for the Silence to take a hold. Marie was one of them. I had loved her since primary school though I’d never admit it. She had vibrant red hair and freckles like sunspots that tickled her button nose. She was always shy and a little nerdy but that’s what I loved. And it was what killed her. We had reconnected just last summer, meeting at a bar on the cathedral green under the watercolour sunset of British July. She was exactly as I remembered her; autumn locks rushed into a messy bun, contrasting her choux pastry skin. It only took two whiskey-cokes for me to work up the courage to work my way over to her, perched elegantly on a bar stool and tracing the martini glass with her finger. I will never understand how someone so radiant with light could be so quiet. We got talking; she was a PhD student at the local university (theoretical physics I think it was) while I was working on a thesis around the needs of human interaction to our baseline happiness and survival abroad. I’d never seen her talk so much than on that night; perhaps normal levels for you or me but to see her light up when talking about her studies, I felt I was witnessing the northern lights light up the skies of her eyes. We messaged, called and met up several times in the weeks following and I knew she was everything I would ever need. I stand by that too, even if she won’t be here to see it. Around the first disappearances I noticed her change a bit. She had told me she had anxiety and sometimes needed time to herself but this felt... different. Weeks went by and she called less and less, and when she did every word felt strained and effortful, as if the very act of communicating was eating away at her soul. And one day she just stopped. At this time the disappearances were getting more common and “mainstream” if you will so I naturally went to check on her; hearing the dull tone on the other end whenever I called had become too much for me to handle and although I wanted to give her space I couldn’t take it any more. Friends and family hadn’t heard anything and as I skimmed up to the fourth floor of her apartment block I noticed how quiet it was. It was all so eerie and surreal, like some dystopian novel. The silence lingered in the air like a heavy fog. “Hey Marie? It’s me. I know you’re probably fine and just need space but it’s been days and I-“ The sight that met me on the other side of that doorframe still makes my heart fall to a sickening knot in my stomach. She - although ‘she’ was honestly more and ‘it’ at this point - was alien to my eyes. Her sweet summer skin was now a pasty grey, her eyes faded to a husk of what they once were and her beautiful auburn locks now the colour of a south-coast sea on a dismal winter day. She didn’t speak, didn’t move, just stood there, allowing me to take in her gaunt and lifeless appearance - she was more corpse than human. I couldn’t speak and lost for words I stood in the thick smog of nothing, desperately trying to comprehend what on earth could have happened. But, as I lingered in that state I noticed myself being drawn into a different world almost. It was a trance of grey clouds and Monday mornings, the stagnant stench of silence and decay piercing yet somehow unnoticed. Staring into her eyes I felt the void of purest nothing beacon to me, I felt nothing, it was consuming my body, my mind, my soul... I ran. I ran so fast I didn’t think I’d ever run again. I knew, I knew it was bad, it was terrible, there was no saving her and I just needed to save myself. She was gone. That was 2 weeks ago. Ever since the rest of us have been trying to survive while being picked off one by one; called to that void. Keeping your mind occupied and social interaction up is the only way to stop it - it lingers in the silence between words and thoughts so keeping a noise and conversation up is the only way to prevent it consuming you. Those of us left have been talking for days now about everything and anything we can, desperately grasping at straws for new ideas to keep us occupied. But no one can talk forever.


"And what, pray tell, is the meaning of this emergency meeting." Spoke one woman. "Especially on a night as auspicious as this." Spoke another. "We are busy women, Maggie. Potions to brew, curses to cast and spells to place..." "And tonight is the night when all our powers are at their best." "Yes, yes. But you must have heard of about our curious mister Buquet." Maggie insisted. It was midday and the sun shone above them in the clearing where they stood. Five witches forming a pentagon drawn with chalk as it was customary. Wyrding stones were on the far ends of the cicle, forming a triangle. "Yes, yes. The historian to move into the hamlet. He's innocent soul that one Maggie." Deidre commented. Her fury red hair seem out place with her calm countenance that she kept. "Maggie may be on to something here." Spoke Linet. "He has been poking around asking about witches and warlocks. Though he says it is for his research." She had skinny frame with petite spectacles. She was the smartest of the group. "What of it, if he were suspicious or not. What would you have us do about him?" This was Pale, the youngest and most naive. Her skin was ghost white and she had silver hair and silver eyes. A unique witch to say the least. "You believe he is a hunter." Gasps came from a few, others would not believe such an accusation. Who had spoken was wisest and oldest of the group. Minerva. Maggie, with a straight face, replied solemnly. "Yes, I do." Chatter broke out among the women as many argued what this may mean. A few calling it a false assumption. But suspicions were arisen. "That's quite enough ladies, we can figure this one out quite easily. Any of you have a piece belonging to him." Linet asked. All of them shook their head regretfully. The knew this would have solved it simply. So it was they would have to turn to deduction. "Who has spoken with Buquet or watched him from afar. Anything peculiar of note or out of place." Maggie inquired. "I spotted him in the woods last week," Spoke Deidre who brushed her hair back. "He did not see me. He was inspecting common herbs we would harvest with quite the intent. Though once again I do believe he was just curious." "Anyone else." Minerva asked leaning crookedly on her cane. Her cowl covering her face. "I spoke with him at the library in the monastery three days ago." Linet said as she pushed up her glasses. "He was handsome and kind. Very inquisitive about those who lived in the hamlet. I had thought nothing of it at the time. Though now it may seem as if he was reaching for something possibly." "And you Maggie, who called this meeting. What was it that brought you to gather us here." "I have always had the sight. A foretelling sense and I could not deny the horror I felt when I saw him or was around him. When I attended Church one morning he brushed by me and I swore I smelt blood and charred flesh. I promise you I do not lie." More chatter came upon this revelation. But the women were still skeptical. To charge a man or woman of being a witch hunter was serious offense. An innocent life could be lost. Yet no witch would suffer such a creature in their midst. "Who will cast the bones." "Who will spill their blood." "Who will spit in the fire." "Who will search the soul." "Who will drink the tonic." "I will cast the bones." Maggie brought a velvet pouch. "I will spill my blood." Deidre unsheathed a dagger. "I will spit in the fire." Linet brought their pan to heat. "I will search my soul." Pale removed her cowl showing milky eyes. "And I will drink of the tonic." Minerva brought a vial. A ritual as old as time itself. It would draw the spirit of the hunter to them and they would slay it. The bones of earth will find him. The blood will bind him. The fire will burn him. And the soul searcher will slay him. The tonic will cleanse them. And then end the ritual so he may not haunt them from the Underworld. The pan was heated over a spit till it was very hot. Maggie tossed her bones into the air and watched carefully as they landed. Her face construed in confusion. "What is wrong sister?" Asked Deidre. "I cannot sense where he is. Try to bind him." Deidre slit her palm and squeezed it over the bones. Her expression too was confused. "I do not sense a tether. See if he screams with fire, Linet." She took her turn and spat into the fire setting a purple blaze upon it. And she listened closely. "No, screams...?" The three woman turned to Pale who was searching her soul. Only to find her collapsed in Minerva's arms. "Quickly Minerva, the tonic release the spell!" Horrified Maggie look to her sisters. Deidre was drawing knives and Linet had brought her potions out from a belt beneath her cloak. Maggie looked back to Minerva. Their hood was down and their standing before her was the Witch Hunter Buquet. "Afternoon ladies, hope I didn't catch you conjuring by any chance. Wouldn't want you hurting any poor souls now would we." Deidre who was ever calm gave a screeching yell as she charged at him. Neither of them had a doubt that he had slayed poor Minerva. Maggie had never seen her like this. The hunter was armed with a simple sabre and stood still. Deidre slit her wrist as she ran and from her left a doppleganger formed of her blood came upon him. The three locked in a dance as Deidre's hatred fueled her stride. Meanwhile, the Hunter was cool. He sliced open her dopplegangers cheek and smiled. "Do you feel that or isn't only she who will suffer?" He inquired curiously with a mocking grin. Angered twice fold, he was stabbed by Deidre. Then, all of a sudden, she stepped back. A potion was lobbed right into the man's chest. An explosion of greenish gas engulfed him and ate away at his leather armor, burning his skin and clothes away. "How do you like that you cocksure vagrant!" Cursed Linet as she made to lob another. But someone grab onto her arm and suddenly a sharp silver pain struck up her spine. She looked back in disbelief. "Pale?...." Maggie turned so fixated by Deidre and Buquet she didn't notice the silent Pale sneaking around behind them. "Pale why?" Linet fell to the ground her eyes open but paralyzed. Maggie fumbled for her ritual dagger. A Kris with a wavy blade. Pale looked at her with cold eyes. The moon was waning and Pale was strong in it's glow. Born on a full moon with silver hair, silver eyes and pale silver skin. She shimmered for a moment then disappeared. Maggie closed her eyes, whispering an incantation. "Acatoo veras amanu rek." She spoke with a deep undertone. She felt the blade dig into her neck. Instinctively, she tossed Pale over her shoulder with her hips. Her vision giving her fair warning of her attack. She placed a knee on Pale's stomach and brought the Kris back ready to strike. "Maggie please don't kill me." Pale begged, looking up at her. "I love him and he loves me." "Your a fool Pale, he has taken advantage of you. He has slipped a potion or some such to warp your mind." "No, we truly love each other Maggie. Can you not see." Her eyes, Maggie now noticed were bright pink, which were sure signs of a love potion affecting her thoughts. Regretfully, she elbowed her across the face knocking her out. She turned her attention back to Deidre and noticed her doppleganger had died and it was just her and the Hunter. Maggie grabbed Linet's potion belt and ran across the clearing. The Hunter realizing he was about to get double the trouble, fell back into the woods. Deidre was lagging behind, many cuts were torn in her woodland dress. "Rest here, Deidre. I will finish him." Out of breath and bleeding from the mouth she just nodded and held to herself to catch her breath. **** The forest was ominously dark. "Well, well. If it isn't Sister Maggie. How can one of the Coven be of the Covenant, I wonder." His voice seeming to echo in the woods. "Show yourself! Have you no shame." "Very little I'm afraid. Especially when it comes to ending the lives of such scum as yourself and your sisterhood of witches. God has given me, no he has blessed me with this holy task." "Well then come finish me..." "As wish, darling." A sabre flashed from behind her, but Maggies sixth sense allowed her to just barely duck beneath it. He followed it up with a triangular slash sequence from shoulder to shoulder then across the neck. Maggie backed away from the first two and guided the last over her head. Cutting some of her hair. "Close, aye." He said as continued to press the attack. "The little one was so agreeable why can't you see the beauty in my task. In me, Maggie." "Your a monster." She replied as she hid behind a tree as the sabre dug deep. He tried to pull it out but it wouldn't give. She stabbed him under the arm along his side. And pulled the sabre with her other hand spinning on her heel trying to decapitate him. But he too ducked. "Impressive, my dear. Now why don't be so kind and return me my blade." Suddenly pain erupted in her palm. She flipped the sabre caught the blade as he came in to tackle her. The hilt exploded into spikes, a clockwork mechanism of some sort, and she clubbed him in the face, impaling the spikes into his head.. He fell in a heap at her side. Breathing heavily she made her way to his body and spat on his corpse. Then tore a slip off her cloak to make a bandage where she held the blade. "Rest in peace, Buquet. May the flames of hell welcome you as a friend." She then tossed the potions onto his body exploding it in a mixture of flames and acid. For a moment she watched his corpse burn before returning to see how her sister's faired. Linet was sitting up supported by Pale. The young witch apologizing heavily to everyone. Deidre leaning on staff smiled at Maggie. "That wasn't what I was expecting to happen this Halloween..." "Ya, I wish I saw this coming..." "You can't predict everything dearies." Minerva said from behind them. All the witches were shocked to see her alive. "How?" Linet asked as gave the old lady a warm hug. "Witch hunters often underestimate the will of witch I'm afraid. Now come dearies let us go home, we have much to do besides facing foes of old. There are children to spook as well as treats and tricks to share."


It happens fast, faster than they show in the movies or TV. Just a moment passes and then everything is over. Death, it’s not something I ever feared, my parents were pastors, so I have always been confident of an afterlife, but the thought of your own death isn’t something most of us linger on. But today is different. Today it happened, no pain, no long goodbyes and certainly no poetic last words. The most I got out before slamming into the tree was “Oh shit” and then I was standing here. I have to say that this is not how I saw it ending, I have survived two snake bites, a stabbing and a less than friendly deer encounter. I thought I was indestructible; I suppose most teens do but there I am lifeless and so very pale. I feel like I should panic, freak out and beg for just one more chance to live but I just can’t find it in me. This feels like the end, it’s not like I haven’t been given my fair share of do-overs and close calls. Besides this one was my fault plain and simple, I was driving too fast on a soaked back road, a mistake made by countless reckless kids driving daddy's favorite car, most of us get away with it, not all though. Today was no different than yesterday. The same routine and the same boring conversations, just another day. I had lunch made and was just begging to sit when my brother called. He was out of school early and needed me to pick him up. I begrudgingly put my plate away and grabbed the keys as I walked out the door and into the rain. Skipping over the puddles I made my way to the car and climbed into the driver's seat. It was a beautiful car, dad’s pride and joy. “You don’t get them like this, not used cars anyway.” That's what he always told me. He loved that car and did all he could to keep her pristine. I can’t say I was the best driver, but I wasn’t reckless, not because I didn’t want to be but because I knew that whatever I did to that car my father would do even worse to me. The drive from the house to the school usually takes twenty minutes, that's going at around 60mph. The rain was coming down hard then though, so I should have probably taken it a little slower today. I made this drive every day, I knew these back roads better than most of my relatives, I thought 55 mph sounds like a good compromise. We all have those ignorant thoughts sometimes. “It could never be me.” That's always what we tell ourselves. It’s not true though, what can happen will happen and I guarantee that you are never fully prepared for it. Like I said before it happens fast. I would be lying if I told you I knew exactly the moment my life was over. Maybe it was when I started the engine, maybe it was when I first felt the tires pull away from me, all I do know is that at no point in time was I in control. That's the scariest part, I could tell you all about the moment the car tilted on to its side, the anguished scream the brakes let out as they tried to stop three tons of metal from spiraling out of control. I could tell you about the moment I left the road and stared down that tree and finally found the to answer the question of what happens to an unstoppable force when it meets an immovable object. But none of that was what truly left an impact, it was how small I was, how insignificant I was in those few moments and just how little anything I did mattered after fate had taken control. I was given maybe four seconds to evaluate the situation and understand that this was it, nothing I can say will ever be able to convey that feeling knowing that these next few moments are your last. The feeling however is short lived, you feel a slight pinch and then immense darkness. Now what? Years of church and I just don’t feel adequately prepared for this moment. I wait for the stereotypical spirit drivel I was taught in Sunday School, but nothing happens. No bright light, no chorus of angels beckoning me home, hell I’d settle for the Dalai Lama offering me some tea before reincarnating me as a cricket but what I can’t bear is this silence. Just my thoughts and the blank stare of my own lifeless face as it goes straight through me. “I have to admit bud we have looked better” I can’t actually hear my voice, a bit disconcerting but far from my most pressing issue. The once pristine interior of fathers Cadillac now lies in total ruin. The leather of the seats torn by the massive shards of glass thrown by the shattering of the windshield and no evidence that the bonnet had ever even existed. I once again feel that I should be distraught, broken down in tears trying to make this right. I however, only feel an overwhelming sense of relief, mixed with guilt over the car of course but thoroughly relieved that I no longer have the responsibility of explaining to dad that his most prized possession was reduced to little more than a rubix cube on the side of some God forsaken country road. I don’t know that it’s his anger I fear so much as the disappointment in his eyes, in the words of Lt. Aldo Rain “I’ve been chewed out before.” I can handle the harshest of insults and jeers hell I’m okay with taking an ass whipping, but I can’t take being his disappointment. “Hey!” The voice is soft and laced with panic. A short stout man comes waddling down the embankment. He has a towel in one hand and his phone in the other. I don’t think either one is going to help in the current situation, but I appreciate the gesture I suppose. I didn’t see his face when he looked into the car, but I did hear him gag, part of me felt insulted. I didn't think I looked that bad, but I let it slide, I’m sure he didn’t see his day going like this either. He called the police and climbed into the cab of his car shaking, partially from the rain and partially from the shock I would suppose. The sirens didn't take too long to start slowly picking away at the silence, growing closer and closer as the rain began to fall even harder than before. They sent three patrol cars, an EMS and one Game Warden. The small man jumped out of his car and met the officers. “Are you okay?” They asked him as they sprung into action. I think there are probably more pressing matters than his wellbeing but I’m not the professional here. They eventually make their way to me, cut me from the seat and drag me out of the car. I don't know that I will ever find the words to describe just how strange a feeling it is to see yourself and not have any form of control. The closest I can relate it to is hearing your own voice on a recording. You know that's you; you know that those are your words and you said them, but no voice will ever sound more foreign than your own. “Christ, that's Nicole's boy” That was the first physical feeling I have had of the crash. My stomach dropped as if every horrible thing I had ever done was revealed all at once and now it was time to pay for them. Here I am staring down at my own lifeless corpse unfazed, yet the mere mention of my mother's name sends my world into a spiral. I hadn’t thought about them, not any of my sisters, not dad, not even my little brother. I don't have a physical body but that doesn't stop me from feeling pain in every aspect of my being, I have never feared much but not being there for the ones I love that’s one that haunts me. “He’s gone” The paramedic shook his head and loaded my body into the back of the ambulance. “I’ll notify the family, they’ll come I.'. D him” The officer leaned down into his car and grasped the radio. “Alright, we're good” The paramedic said to the driver and closed the doors to the ambulance. I’ve had my fair share of ambulance rides; most are filled with forced small talk and the basic medical questions but this one is hard. The medics casually talk about their day and holiday plans, joking about how much they hate their in-laws coming to stay for Christmas. You forget that this is their job, they see this every day and it doesn't faze them. In different circumstances I am sure that I would enjoy their company. I didn't notice much after that, we arrived at the hospital and took me into the morgue, leaving me there with the other bodies. “We just need you to identify the body” The double doors swung open and in walked my parents. Mother was beside herself, understandably so. Dad, he’s a stoic man. I have never seen him cry and I don’t know that I ever will. He held himself together for mom, but I can see it, the tears begging to be set free. Never felt so empty, so fundamentally broken as I do right now. I have taken away my parents' son, their child, their friend. I have never cared what happened to me but seeing them standing over me, watching my father kiss my forehead like he had done when I was a boy, I avoided the physical aspects of death but made up for it now. “I’m sorry” The only words I could manage as they turned away. I haven’t been prepared for anything that has happened today but watching them walk away, nothing will ever compare to that. I don’t know how long I’ve sat here now, minutes, hours, days but I’m still waiting for something. Waiting for that moment of redemption I was promised as a boy. I am a realist though, if it hasn't come by now then I doubt it will. I’ll just close my eyes, try and drift off. “Hey there boy!” The voice shook the walls, the thick southern drawl mixed with the gravelly tone that only comes from decades of cigarette smoke is instantly recognizable to me. “Pawpaw Steve?” my eyes open and there he is, albeit much younger and as healthy as I had ever seen him. He looked like the pictures hung on the walls of his house, the ones I always looked at when I was young. “Well yeah boy, I ain’t that different.” he smiled, I always loved his smile. It always made things seem okay. He placed his massive hand onto my shoulder and walked me towards the door. “Waited a long time for you son, I’ve got somewhere I want you to see.” He opened the door, and we stepped through. I left my fears behind; I knew I was going home and someday they would join me. Until then me and Pawpaw Steve had some catching up to do.


Cheers rose up from the small crowd. All in black t-shirts and jeans, six men were sitting in a café right next to the barbershop. They watched the groom walk.

“Ooo, Mr Groom!”

“Hey! Handsome guy!” Soon, one of the cheers evolved into a full sentence: “ Look how handsome you are!” “Sure I am!” The groom approved. His entire being smelled orange cologne. And his harsh blue suit was in perfect tune with his freshly trimmed goatee. “You know, you still have time!” Finally, a complex sentence! There were “ only three hours ” before the wedding, though. “You can still bail out!” The groom raised his head up and opened his mouth wide. All thirty-two of his teeth were bright white, making the perfect contrast with his skin. He swung his left arm behind his ear, and bid this hilarious crowd his farewell.

His pace sped up exponentially. He couldn’t wait to hop into his car anymore: His waxed leather shoes weren’t made for these crooked cobblestone pavements, and the August sun was obviously envious of his shining, august suit.

His magenta Renault banger was, on the other hand, in perfect tune with his goatee. He fondled it gently while looking at the sticker on the rear window: “We’re Getting Married!” “Sure I am!” He mumbled. In the rear end below the window, another sticker lay above the plate: “Atakan (heart symbol) Derya” . Atakan smiled. The route was as simple as it could get. All he had to do was to keep pulling and pushing the shift knob while continuously switching his right foot between the gas and brake. Thanks to these movements, he would go a bit more straight ahead, then take the first exit at the turnaround. That exit was the way home, second was the city centre, and the third was, supposedly, the road to Istanbul. Go home. Your friends from the neighbourhood will be waiting for you in their cars. Hook their cars behind yours, and go back. Now, take the second exit, and go to Derya’s house. Her family won’t let you get in and get her out just yet. They will tell you that the door is -somehow- broken. You’ll have to pass a hundred bucks under the door, so it can go un-broken again. Pass the bill, get the girl, hook even more cars behind, and go back. Take the first exit again. Your final destination will be where you started; the neighbourhood. The weddings here start on the road, go on in the neighbourhood, outflow to the road before ending up in the neighbourhood again. So it’s road, hood, road, hood. Extensively simple; no room for complexity: Shift knob, gas, brake, first, second, first. Three things were extremely important, yet somehow weren’t in this equation:

First was the clutch. Atakan put his left foot on the clutch as he started the engine.

Second was the air-conditioning. Or rather, the lack of it. Atakan twirled the window winder in his left: No wind coming yet. All he had to do was to start moving.

He checked the availability of the road through the rear-view. This handsome groom’s sweaty forehead was caught in his glimpse in the mirror. He knew his hair looked much better when they were up in the air like this, but he’d rather keep them down on his forehead in the days when he wasn’t a groom. Actually, he’d rather be a groom every day.

All in all, being a groom made him pretty.

However, it was also pretty troublesome.

Somehow, everything was breaking apart: “My beautiful brother, this key doesn’t turn!” Said the mechanic in the morning. He twirled the key halfway to his right in the air. Atakan watched the tip of the key turn. It was a perfect demonstration; the key really couldn’t start the imaginary engine. - Aren’t you the mechanic? Fix it, then. - Ha ha! My funny brother… Fixing the engine is my job, fixing the key is yours! Apparently, a hundred bucks would fix the key. Atakan reached for his right pocket. - Allah, allaah… - What happened? - The scissor… It doesn’t cut. Atakan smiled above the blue cloth covering his upper body. Another hundred bucks in his right hand under the cover was waiting to be given to this barber. What was yet to be broken was: Derya’s door, the handles of her trousseau chest, the knife that is supposed to cut the wedding cake, and all the instruments of the wedding band… They all would un-break with what he had in his right pocket, except for the zurna: The zurna player was going to kneel down in front of him. Holding his zurna up, he wouldn’t be able to say that it was broken, for he’d still be holding the end of the zurna in his mouth. Atakan would have to pour a glass of raki in its other end to make it work again. Dentist’s scaler was the only thing that worked trouble-free. It wasn’t usual for a groom to visit a dentist anyway. Atakan, on the other hand, wanted to be genuinely pretty. Many people said that the real problem of being a groom lay in its expenses rather than its troublesome nature. Atakan didn’t buy it. Just in a month, he earned what he’d used to earn in a year: Whenever they went to a wedding or a feast to perform, tips were raining in buckets. Everybody in the neighbourhood knew that the singer of this band was going to get married soon.

“Marriage has its charm.” So the saying went.

Atakan never believed that, but his father had decided to prove it to him for the last month: He’d given him enough money to cover all the expenses for his marriage. This poor zurna player had no idea about the money flow his son had been enjoying lately from singing. He’d never sung after all. Whatever was -and was going to be- broken that day had been -and would be- fixed with the money his father had spared. Atakan was way above the water with three grands in his left pocket. He had tipped twice as of then, but his left pocket still remained untouched. “Third is the charm.” So another saying went. Third was the car radio. He turned it on as he moved. The wind was blowing now. “Turkey is looking for its idol! Applications are still going on… Can you dance? … Can you sing? … What is your passionate talent? … Will you be… Turkey’s next idol?” Atakan stopped at the turnaround. Then he took the third exit. “Sure I will!” He mumbled.


Frost and little beads of ice cling to crumbling brick and grey stone. Heavy snow blankets a roof, and a black cat sitting with its legs tucked underneath it sticks out like a beacon. Snowflakes speckle its fur. Just like everything else across the country. Pine and juniper trees look especially stylish when there is snow because they're newly clothed and, ironically, cozy looking in their white jackets. The sun rises above the hills and the neighbourhood in vibrant, soft hues of orange and purple. A minute later, it blends into baby blue and pink.

Greyish white roofs become sparkling white sugar cookie frosting. Maroon bricks and damp wooden gates become bright children's books' illustrations. The capital of the country is a friendly, fast-paced society of bustling citizens. Through the busy masses of street food vendors setting up their stalls and business men and women scuttling hurriedly into trains, a hop, skip, and a bus ride away, is an immigrant couple in a small neighbourhood who haven't gone out in the snow for two years since they moved in. And they're asleep right now, laying together in their bed. A woman flops her arm to the side, half-asleep, searching for the curve of her partner's waist. Her hair is greasy from not washing it for a while, so she swipes the stuck strands away from her face with the back of her hand. It's quiet, and for some reason, feels so peaceful for her all of a sudden. She opens her eyes halfway, eyelids still heavy with sleep. She parts her lips, and cold air hits her teeth. A light breeze waltzes in through a slit under the window and ruffles the curtains, dappling the room and bedsheets with pastel gold sunlight. A snowflake falls against the glass, and that's when she realises: it's snowing- Oh! It's snowing!

It's snowing. In January. But she's too tired to care. Instead, she rolls to the right and presses the home button on her phone. 7:45AM. Birds have started chirping. Shut up, she mumbles to herself. Her lips taste weird and her tongue is dry. So she pulls herself up, makes a grotesque expression to exercise her face, and reaches to her bedside table for her bottle.

After two sips and a gargle she swallows, she presses her face against the back of her lover's shoulders and goes back to sleep with her arm comfortably resting over her body. The day goes on. Until the evening, a timelapse of the sun's rays disappearing from their bedroom and their tired limbs moving once or twice plays. And at 7 o'clock in the evening, sharp, when the sky is orange again, they wake up. "Go take a shower," her lover mumbles into the crook of her neck. So she gets up, groggily, swinging her legs one by one onto the hardwood floor. Her stomach rumbles as she makes her way to the chilly bathroom. She strips, then steps into the shower.

Her lover gets up as well, and makes the bed.

"Darling, can you bring me the towel?" She calls out after a few minutes. "Yeah, sure, wait," they say.

"Do you want to work today?" She asks once she exits the bathroom, fluffy red towel wrapped around her body. Small droplets of water dripping off the ends of her hair hit the floor as she dresses herself. "I feel… hmm…" her lover's reply trails off, and she notices they're sitting on the foot of their bed and staring out the window. The sun is setting now; sky turning heather purple. "I want to spend the day out." Without any consideration, the woman agrees. The past few months have been like trying to sculpt a statue from a block of steel. She takes a thick hoodie from the closet. "Then let's go sledding," she suggests with a smile, laying across their made bed and wrapping her arms around their waist.

"That sounds nice," they agree absentmindedly, looking at the clouds becoming pink. The bed dips as the woman slides off it. They turn their head. "Wait, sledding? We don't have a-" She's standing on the side with the tough plastic lid of a storage bin.

"Yes, sledding. With this," she says, beaming and holding it up at a jaunty angle under her arm as she awkwardly attempts to put on an extra coat with the other.

They look at her with a warm, cheeky glint in their eye; "I like that." After another shower and some packing, the front door closes behind the two of them, and they start their trudge through the snow to the hills bordering the neighbourhood, hand in hand.

They share pecks on their cheeks. They have a few munches of Kit-Kat and gulps of water from their backpacks. And by the time the woman's calves are slightly sore, it's 7:30PM, and the sky is darkening, but they've reached the foot of the hills. The sun has completely set, leaving only chilly, biting air and dim purple sky. With leftover light casts shadows over the white hills and jacketed trees, the world is a peaceful winter wonderland. "Is this a good one?" She asks, a little out of breath, pointing to a fairly steep, but low one. Following a nod of agreement, she takes her partner's hand and drags them (and the storage bin lid) up the snowy hill. On the top, she huffs a few breaths that turn into puffs of warm air. They become clouds, and it entertains her, so she does it a few more times before laughing and falling backwards into the foot-thick snow. Her partner joins. They wrestle about like they did in their youth; and it makes them happy. It's perfect. "When was the last time we went sledding? I think it was in 2017 when we went to Japan," her partner says.

"Yeah. Sit properly, I don't want your fat bum to break the plastic," she scoffs in a playful tone, pushing them nearer and nearer to the slope with her hand. Then, when they reach, she pushes her lover, making them lurch forward over the edge. Their untied hair whips around and against their face, collecting new falling snowflakes, accompanied by crumbs of compact snow and more hearty laughter. The second time they go down, the lid catches on a clump of hard snow and they overturn.

"Ahh! Again, I want to go again!" She guffaws loudly, clumsily stumbling backwards to pull the lid back up. Tired out, her partner just giggles breathlessly and helps her push it. When the sky becomes navy blue, they sit in the night under the clear sky and let the moon, stars, and phones be their light.

And after a longer while (because of sore calves and thighs and exhausted lungs), they trudge home.

"We should do this again next time it snows," her lover suggests. "Agreed," she, well, agrees.