“Oh, how the years go by.”

Only the echo of that rough southern voice was caught out in open land like this. Land arid by heat and miles and miles of nothing. “I remember there used to be grass here, more alive than either one of us.” The man speaking kicked a rock across the parking lot of a rusted gas station, a relic of the past, it could do nothing but be useful for scavenging for fuel now. “Will you keep it down? Pull up your scarf.” The man leaned down into the barely kept-together car they had stolen not too many miles down the road. “What for? Ain’t nobody but you and me around here.” Silus retorted. The paint on the red Toyota they nabbed was falling off, chipping to the ground in flakes, and as this bigger man set his weight on it, it squeaked on its wheels, the noise something awful. “Silus!” they exclaimed and he was hanging halfway out the window. “Can you focus?” Silus rolled his eyes. “Yeah yeah..” he muttered standing back up and looking tirelessly at the gas can being slowly filled with gas from the pump.

“I’m serious though.” Silus managed to pull his bandana back on his face. “Ox, I really am. You don’t remember running in the grass? Or those days it used to rain and you’d be happy because it wouldn’t be hot for once?” Ox sighed leaning into the leather of the passenger seat of the car. “I suppose I do remember. What I wouldn’t give for some rain.” Silus laughed, “Amen partner. Amen.” They sat there for a few moments in nothing but completely silent. There weren’t any trees

To rustle or grass to sway. No birds to sing and rarely any cars to pass by and offer a short-lived breeze and you could watch as its light wound into the night.

These two hadn’t seen it be the night for quite some time now. “What comes after this?” Ox said silently. The question lingered between the two. Silus, of course, didn’t have the answer Ox wanted yet had felt his breath hitched when he knew the answer. “Nothing I reckon. Nothing at all.” His bandana had fallen again. “Enough with all that crisis and whatnot. We aren’t getting anything else out of this anyway.” Silus dropped the pump and as it made a loud noise of metal scraping on metal he walked to the trunk and popped it open. “Keep it down out there!” Ox shouted from inside the car. Silus rolled his eyes as he placed the gas can in the trunk and hopped into the driver's seat. “You’re so nervous, lighten up,” Ox grumbled something as Silus put his foot on the gas and turned back onto the two-lane road that seemed to stretch for miles.

The ride home was always daunting to Ox, either it’d be too quiet because they didn’t know what to say or it would be loud because their mind always convinced them that someone had broken into the farm and taken the very last of their rations. They imagined Silus was always stuck in a daydream because he never treated any situation as dangerous as it was. Was he like an air-headed child or just some ignorant cowboy, Ox didn't know. Ox turned their head toward the horizon, mesmerized by it. The sun was always there, of course, these days it never left, and that brought some sort of comfort to Ox. They sighed as they thought about how this even happened, how they got stuck surviving like this. They used to work on a ranch and it had been their turn to put all the hay in the attic and basement of the barn. They hated doing this, the hay bales were so heavy and the wagons never seemed big enough.

They took on a good sweat as they dragged each bale into the basement and once they were done they sat to admire their work. That’s when the sirens went off. A loud voice rang throughout the whole county and the only words Ox could gather were, “This is not a drill. This is not a drill!” The farm owner found Ox and pulled them from the barn into the bunker under his house. Ox had always been thankful that his boss was a paranoid man in case something like this happened. They stayed there for weeks, no one would tell Ox what happened because they weren’t even sure themselves, and when they finally emerged from the bunker, it was all gone.

The cows, the crops, the trees. All of it vanished and was replaced with dry soil broken by empty lifeless veins. And as they looked to the sun they noticed it was much closer and half of it was gone. News couldn’t explain what had happened, why so many people lived through it, why new diseases started suddenly popping up everywhere, or why everything was just gone. People started dropping like flies.

The memory of Ox and Silus meeting was torn into small recollections. The vivid ranch that was once breathing life was replaced by a desolate panorama and would serve as the perfect scene for a shootout. Everyone wanted to survive. Silus would rather share supplies, that were now rare, with Ox instead of just shooting them for it. Ox was thankful but had their suspicions. It had been five years since they traveled together now, so no suspicions were confirmed.

As the years passed the sun, once this omnipresent beacon, waned, and all anyone left could do was hope that maybe when it disappeared into the void, it would come back the next day. Who knew what would happen when it was finally gone.

Silus hit the brake before Ox even realized they were back home. “You done daydreamin?” Silus quipped and Ox groaned getting out of the car. The ranch, with its rotting wood and faded past stood tall, a testament to humanity's lively existence. As they walked toward it all either one of them could think of was the twilight and the constant need to live. All they had was this never-ending cycle of being together. Although Ox misses the way things were they couldn’t help but crack a smile as Silus nudged their shoulder. Even at the end of the world, they could laugh. That was enough for them.


Roach scuttled along the street, sidestepping the chunks of broken buildings and shattered glass. The pads on the bottom of his six spiny legs could have easily helped him climb the debris, but he barely had the energy to even hold his antennae up after a long day spent hunting. A long, futile day. Just more decaying bodies and dead wood, a few bits of cardboard here and there. They weren’t terrible snacks, but Roach longed for the days he scratched through the kitchen walls, stealing bits of cheese off the table. Once, he even had the pleasure of gulping up a layer of powdered sugar dusting the countertop. Roach sighed and shook the ash off his body so that he once again resembled newly minted copper. He could have sworn he smelt the sweetness. He suddenly skidded to a stop on the cracked asphalt. His antennae quivered. Roach wasn’t imagining it; there was a sweetness. He closed his eyes and inhaled. There! Roach snapped his head around. A piece of a brick with a large crack running through it sat to his left. Roach stared. There was something odd about that brick. He glanced up at the world around him. Pieces of ash rained from the heavens, covering everything in a layer of gray. Half-destroyed shops, some of them still smoking, lined the street. Only one of them had bricks, and a faded sign on its door (which hung on only one hinge) said “Bakery.” Bakery? Something tickled the back of his mind. There was a cookbook in the kitchen… “Bakery Treats for the Beginner.” His stomach rumbled. The days when the old woman opened the book were good days. Days where Roach got to enjoy sugar and vanilla, and perhaps a sprinkle of nutmeg. Days where he almost floated from the intoxicating aroma of chocolate— Chocolate. Roach widened his eyes. He returned his gaze to the brick, crawled forward, and peeked inside the crack. A crumb. A human food crumb, so tucked away inside the brick it remained untouched by the raining ash. It was the color of sand with a darker brown around the edge, and about half the size of his oval body. The smell, the color, the consistency of the particles—Roach knew exactly what morsel he had found: a chocolate chip cookie crumb. Roach almost cried. Chocolate chip cookies were his favorite snack before the nuclear blast. He remembered the last time he enjoyed one—in the kitchen when the old woman decided to bake enough cookies for the whole town. He didn’t need to eat for weeks after the feast. He was sorry the old woman got blown up with the rest of them. “You’re beautiful,” Roach whispered to the crumb, who said nothing back. He took a step forward and caressed the crumb with his antenna. She really was beautiful; she almost shimmered with the sun reflecting off the small batch of chocolate decorating her edges. Roach felt a twinge of self-consciousness at his ugly, burnt copper body. “I’m Roach,” he said to the crumb, who said nothing back. He inhaled her sweetness and shuddered; none of his friends would believe this. His friends! Roach swiveled his head to the left and right, furious with himself for being so careless. He was so close to the Fort; any one of them could smell the crumb if the right breeze swept through. He turned back to the crumb— his crumb—and a fierce wave of protectiveness washed over him. “I’ll keep you safe,” he murmured to the crumb, who said nothing back. Roach scurried around the road until he found a suitable piece of crumpled cardboard, then hurried back to his crumb. He gingerly pulled her out of the crack and wrapped her in the cardboard before setting the bundle on his back. He gave a shake. She didn’t budge. Roach spared one last glance around before scuttling away in the opposite direction of the Fort. Where to take her? The scorpions were to the north and the Grand Lake to the south. He couldn’t risk her being discovered, even if the scorpions were friends. He certainly couldn’t risk her getting soggy. He tucked the crumb more securely onto his back and began to scuttle west. Roach traveled for weeks. On clear evenings, he plucked her out of her cardboard cocoon, gently set her next to him and wrapped his antennae around her. They watched the sun paint the sky orange as it sunk below the mountaintops. On the days it rained ash particularly hard, Roach covered her in dry twigs and stood guard, coughing and sneezing as he struggled to breathe. He consumed pieces of hair and leftover sewage. She consumed nothing. They passed broken houses and demolished skyscrapers that had once towered over the streets. Roach crawled around cars and dead bodies and struggled to climb the hills. “You good back there?” Roach asked the crumb, who said nothing back. Once, she fell off of him and rolled down a steep slope. He screeched so loud he couldn’t speak for a week. The cardboard did its job spectacularly, though, and she remained in one, beautiful piece. Twice, Roach smelled a wasp buzzing near him, and he burrowed straight underground to hide his prize. Thank goodness the only survivors of the blast were the wasps and the scorpions and his kind, or Roach would be fighting a different monster every minute. Finally, a month into the journey, Roach sat inside a mountain cave with the crumb at his side. She leaned against him and together, they stared at the ashen valley spread out below them. Smoke curled from the ruins. The glow on the horizon told Roach that fires still roared in the distance. “We made it,” he whispered to the crumb, who said nothing back. He stared at her. The crust, the chocolate, the glow of dusk—he never could have imagined this. “I love you,” Roach said to the crumb, who said nothing back.


The dirt under her multicolored fingernails left a trail down his lower back as Jane Sanderson methodically clawed her way down his spine. Her legs wrapped around his waist so tight that her thighs made it hard for him to breathe. It didn't help that the rest of her calves crossed over and locked at the ankles, keeping him firmly in place. She continued using her heels as spurs against his buttocks aggressively to signal him to keep the motion. Then it happened again for the fifth time in the span of two minutes and this time she would have to throw in the towel. Her heart could not beat any faster and her lower extremities could no longer hold her prey captive. Her aging body relented, much to the dismay of her carnal desire to continue. With a final shudder and a lip biting moan of ecstasy, Jane Sanderson's toes uncurled, and her feet unhooked themselves, then her legs slid off the sweaty body of her lover and landed to a muddled thud against the white goose down comforter that was part of a neatly made bed less than ten minutes ago. She lay on her back with her hair matted in sweat against her forehead. With pursed lips, she blew a strand of her curled bangs away from her left eyelid. "Wow." One arm dangled off the side of the bed while the other wiped the sweat off her brow. He lay there beside her, on his back, staring at the texture of the ceiling, trying to focus on a spot to gather his thoughts. "Yeah, wow." Jane Sanderson floated her free hand to the nightstand, where her fingers walked along the surface until they reached her phone, which was buzzing frequently throughout her sexual escapade. A swipe of the screen revealed over a dozen notifications from her dating app. She scrolled through the messages with a raised eyebrow. The first message let her know that her anonymous hookup partner was running late, the subsequent messages relaying further delays and begging for patience and forgiveness. She turned to the man that had exhausted her to a point of dehydration and said, "You're funny. You know, you were actually early, right?" The man with his eyes half closed and on the brink of falling asleep forced his eyelids open and turned his head to face Jane. He was able to discern the fine details of her freckles and large pores along her cheeks. "Huh?" Wrinkles appeared on his forehead as he attempted to decipher what Jane had just said. He hadn't seen Jane's face clearly, outside the blur of motion, since she pulled him into her apartment and shut the door behind them. "All of these messages, silly. Your phone probably needs to be restarted because your messages came in while we were... You know?" Jane held up her screen so he could see the notifications. He squinted at first and then moved his head closer to the screen. "Hey, that's not the Mobile Munchies app." "The Mobile Munchies app?" She turned to look at the phone. "No, it's your messages from TacoRocko." His eyes widened and the contours of his face shifted from aloof to jaw dropping dread. "Lady, those aren't from me. I'm the Mobile Munchie delivery guy." "Wait, what?" Jane Sanderson quickly pulled up the corner of the comforter she was lying on and covered herself as much as she could. "Yeah, your lasagna from Eats-a-Lotta is still outside your front door." He sat up, chest bare, belly extended and resting on his lap. As the post coital clarity seeped in, he looked into Jane's eyes and back at the phone she was holding. "You didn't order lasagna, did you?" "No! Oh my gosh!" Jane's jaw dropped and she looked at the stranger in her bed and then at the messages on her phone. At that moment, another message came with the familiar sultry melodic TacoRocko notification. The message read: I'm only a half a block away. See you soon, can't wait. Jane quickly yanked at the remaining length of the comforter, nudging the delivery driver off her bed as she cocooned herself into the sweat and sex-soaked bedding. The man stood up, only wearing a smartwatch and a pair of socks. His clothing still scattered about in unknown locations throughout Jane Sanderson's cramped, yet cozy, apartment. His hands folded over his genitals in an attempt at modesty. Jane eyes broke out in tears, and she began to stifle a cry of panic that came out as a chuckle, which quickly broke out into a full laugh of hysterics. Her freckled cheeks turned flush as the blood rushed through her body at a frantic pace to match her heartbeat. The man turned to the side, trying to obstruct his privates from her gaze. He began to shiver. The former beads of sweat had now cooled from the air that flowed through the ventilation system as the cooling system cycled on. His chilled panic turned to confusion and then to amusement as laughter filled the room. "That actually happened." He tried not to laugh but the clarity of the absurdity broke him, and he joined Jane in a hearty chuckle. "I'm Jane, by the way." "I'm Ed, pleased to meet you." Jane gave his nakedness a quick once over, "Yeah, I bet you are." Ed looked around the room, scanning for the whereabouts of his clothing and affirming Jane's comment. "I should get dressed." He paused and shrugged his shoulders at Jane as a sign for some help. "Oh? Right. They're here somewhere. Give me a sec." Jane Sanderson pointed to a five-drawer chest and asked Ed to toss her some undergarments and other articles of clothing. He obliged. She promptly slipped into her clothes under the covers and emerged in a T-shirt and sweatpants. Ed stood in a corner while Jane circled her bed and explored the floor. "Nope, not here. Follow me." She opened her bedroom door and entered a narrow hallway. "Found one." She picked up his boxers and tossed them over her shoulder where he quickly snatched them mid-air. She continued down the corridor. Ed followed close behind, hopping into his undergarment one leg at a time, trying not to fall. Jane entered the main room which was where the entry door was located. She pointed to a lampshade in one corner where Ed's shirt dangled haphazardly as a fire hazard. Ed quickly retrieved his shirt. She circled past the sofa, a coffee table, and a pile of scattered magazine cutouts. "Where could it be?" she said to herself aloud. "Nice place you have here." "Thanks. It's a little out of sorts at the moment." "Oh, I’ve seen worse, believe me." "I'm sure you have. How long have you been a delivery driver for... Eats-a-Lotto?" She entered the kitchenette and searched underneath the dining table. "Only a few months. It's a side gig while something better comes up." "Oh? You married or attached?" Jane pulled out chairs, lifted up dinner plates and looked underneath them in her continued search. "No. What about you? I mean, outside of the whole TacoRocko thing." "That's a whole other story." She peeled opened the refrigerator door and rummaged inside with the intensity of someone who was searching for lost diamonds. Ed cleared his throat, "They wouldn't be in there." "What? Where?" "In the fridge, my shorts." "Right. Sorry. I'm still processing." She closed the fridge and sighed. "Understood. Same here." Ed walked alongside the kitchen counter until he reached the kitchen sink. "Hey, over here." He pointed into the sink where many dirty dishes and clouded glasses were encrusted but soaking in murky water. "Eww, I'm so sorry about that." She hooked her finger into a belt loop that was exposed at the surface of the water and pulled out Ed's shorts. The brownish water dripped into the sink and splashed onto the countertop. "I can take care of this. Really." As she jiggled his shorts, his phone slipped out of the front pocket and made a splatter after it clanked across a plate. "Okay. Maybe not." Jane stood there, holding up Ed's shorts as Ed buried his face into his palm in disbelief. Jane winced and her nose wrinkled as she reached into the depths of the grease laden, food funk of the sink. She pulled out his phone with her free hand. It was waterlogged and devoid of any functionality. "Warranty?" she asked. "Nope. I've had it for a few years now." Ed slowly brushed his fingers through his hair, contemplating the fallout from the entire series of events. He pulled up a chair at the kitchen table and sat with his head down. "Now what?" "I know it looks bad, but it can't get any worse." At that moment there was a series of short but rapid knocks at the door. Ed raised his head and broke from his inner thoughts. He looked at Jane, "TacoRocko?" "Oh crap." Jane had just finished wringing out the remaining water from Ed's shorts. "I should probably get that." "You sure about that?" Ed pointed to himself, and Jane zoned out, flowcharting the possibilities in her head. Another series of knocks. "Yeah, I should." Jane cleared a place mat on the dining table that was covered with condiments from local fast-food places and set his shorts atop it. She wiped her smelly wet hands on the back of her sweatpants, leaving handprints on her rear end. When she reached the front door, she placed her foot a few inches behind the threshold, propping the door from opening more than an inch. There was a bit of hushed negotiation back and forth with her pre-scheduled anonymous lover. He handed Jane the bag of food that Ed had previously left at the door. She quickly closed the door and returned to Ed with the delivery meant for another person. "How'd it go?" he asked, while patting down his phone with a nearby kitchen towel. She shrugged her shoulders and rolled her eyes. "Lasagna?" "You know that's someone else's, right?" He held up his dead phone and shook a few more droplets of dirty water out of it. "Eh, I’ve probably already gotten dinged on that order, anyway. Sure, I could use a bite after all this." "I've got a washer and dryer combo in the next room. I can take care of your shorts. You want to heat this up? Microwave is over there." Jane handed him the bag and retrieved his shorts from the place mat. "I don't have much of a choice, do I?" "I guess not." She disappeared into the adjacent room with his formerly dry shorts in hand and a promise to be right back. Ed navigated the options on the microwave panel and left the lasagna to rotate on the glass tray as he examined his surroundings. The refrigerator door, covered with a collection of magnetic decor with phrases of affirmation and positive sayings, was framing a few wallet sized photos of Jane, alone, posing in casual clothing at various locales that Ed didn't recognize. Jane returned and closed the door behind her, muffling the sound of the washing machine as it teetered and creaked while filling with water. "It should only be an hour, I'm guessing." The microwave beeped. "Right on time." Ed opened the microwave door and steam, followed by the aromatic scent of pasta with Italian seasonings, replaced the sour funk of the kitchen sink that had permeated throughout the area. Jane cleared as much of the table as she could without spilling the excess clutter onto the floor. She directed Ed to a cabinet that held plates and a drawer that had utensils. The two sat at opposing ends of the squared surface and took their first few bites in silence. "So..." Ed broke the quiet vibe as his mouth was still processing the bites into smaller digestible ones. "About earlier, that was something, right?" Jane looked up from her plate, wiped the gooey cheese from the corner of her mouth. "Yeah, it was something." "Something good?" His eyebrows raised as he twirled his fork in the air. "Oh, it was something very good. What about you."

"Well, considering I was only supposed to be delivering food, it was a great - something." They both gave each other a crooked smile. Each one took another bite, chewed, and swallowed with a glow about them that only they could see. Ed set his fork down, interlocked his fingers, and rested his chin atop them. "You never got a chance to tell your long story." "Oh?" Jane swallowed the small mouthful of the saucy pasta. "I was told to live a little. To get out of my shell and do something spontaneous." "And this is what you chose to do?" "Look, this not something I do at all, it's outside my dull and uneventful norm, and it was a first." "I see. Will it also be your last?" "Well, all things considered..." Jane hedged and shifted food around her plate. Her eyes went off to the corner of her kitchen in contemplation. "What did you think of Mr. TacoRocko? Or were they a Miss TacoRocko?" "I don't know, he seemed a bit much, and he had a bulbous nose." "A bulbous nose?" "Yeah, like someone just threw putty onto his face and put to nostrils in there." "The nose is a deal breaker?" "Well, no, but... Yeah, I guess it is. I mean, it's a lot more surface area than a pointy one like yours." Jane motioned to Ed's narrow bridged nose. "You mean this bird beak?" "It has its advantages." "Like?" Ed leaned in; his eyes crossed as he looked down at his own nose in curious amusement. "Well, like when you went down there." "Oh?" "Yeah." "That did it for you?" "It very much played a part." "You're a woman who knows her noses," "Yes, I do," Jane smirked, taking another bite. The two conversed throughout the washing and drying cycle of Ed's shorts. Once the article of clothing was dry, Ed had to take his leave. The two lingered at the threshold of the doorway. "You don't suppose there's a tip involved? You know, for the food at least? "I'm really sorry about everything. Well, about everything before and after... You know..." "Yeah, well, I'd give you my number, but there’s no telling when this thing gets replaced." Ed taps his phone through his front pocket and frowns. "We'll always have lasagna." Jane Sanderson slowly closed the door, pausing before it latched completely.


Facing a financial crunch, I found myself unable to scrape together enough cash for my car registration this month. Frustrated and desperate, I did the unthinkable: I summoned the devil. In a swirl of smoke and brimstone, there he stood before me, all horns and tail, looking utterly bemused. "You called?" His voice rumbled like distant thunder. Heart racing, I blurted out my proposal. "I'll trade you my soul for the next three months' worth of car rego." The devil blinked, a mix of confusion and amusement crossing his demonic features. "Are... are you serious?" he finally managed. "Yeah, dude," I replied, trying to sound nonchalant despite the gravity of the situation. "Can't afford it this month." He shook his head slowly, incredulously. "Bro... You could ask for literally anything else in the world, and you're asking for car rego for the next three months?" I shrugged, feeling a bit embarrassed now. "Yeah, tough times, you know. Maybe I should have asked for a whole year instead. Can you do that?" "Dude," the devil sighed, shaking his head again, "I'm not going to allow you to do this." "But bro," I pleaded, "I really need it. Can't drive without it." With an unexpected gesture of compassion, the devil placed a hand on my shoulder. "I'm not making the deal," he said firmly, "but I'll give you that rego." I stared at him in shock. "Wait, seriously? Does this mean we're bros now?" A grin tugged at the corners of the devil's mouth. "Hell yeah, bro. We're bros." And just like that, I had struck an unconventional friendship with the devil himself over car registration. It wasn't exactly how I envisioned my day going, but hey, life's full of surprises. As the weeks passed, I couldn't shake off the surrealness of having the devil as my "bro." We'd occasionally catch up over coffee (black, naturally) and discuss mundane things like weather patterns in Hell or the best way to haggle with a soul collector. Despite his fearsome reputation, the devil turned out to be surprisingly chill, with a wicked sense of humor and a knack for card tricks. Our friendship was unconventional, to say the least, but it worked. And as for my soul? Well, it seemed the devil was more interested in our broship than collecting on our initial deal. Perhaps he saw something in me worth keeping around. Or maybe he just enjoyed the novelty of having a mortal buddy who could hold his own in banter. Either way, I learned that sometimes, the most unexpected bonds can form in the strangest of circumstances. So here's to you, Mr. Devil—thanks for covering my rego and being the bro I never knew I needed. In the end, I realized that making deals with the devil might not be the wisest choice, but it sure made for one heck of a story to tell at parties. And as long as the devil kept his end of the bargain by not taking my soul, I was happy to call him my bro. And that's how I became bros with the devil.


"Have you heard of the rumours about Windy Beck Lake?" Katie asked Ruth as she got prepared for camp, Ruth wasn't a believer of urban legends or myths, so she sarcastically replied with "Let me guess, another Nessie?". Katie chuckled and said "No, actually! They say that the lake is home to the aquatic witches!" with an attempted spooky tone in her voice. Ruth just rolled her eyes and packed her things, they later got into their car and drove to Windy Beck. The drive went on for 8 hours, which seemed like forever. Katie and Ruth eventually reached the Windy Beck campsite, as the two girls got out of their car, Ruth noticed that there were a bunch of missing posters all over the trees, it made her feel uncomfortable but she didn't want to upset her friend. They set the tents up, made a campfire, and brought out the delicious marshmallows. As Katie tried to practice her guitar music, Ruth decided to explore the place a bit. She looked over the massive lake that was sparkling due to the moonlight, then she noticed a sign that read "**DO NOT SWIM IN THIS LAKE**". "Oh that is very spooky" Katie said unexpectedly behind Ruth, giving her a fright. She turned around but Katie was completely naked, she blushed and said "K-Katie? Why are you naked?" to which she replied "Skinny dipping, what else you think?". Ruth wasn't fond of the idea of her friend swimming naked in a lake with a warning sign, so she blocked her way and said "What if piranhas were in there!" in a worried-demanding tone. Katie smiled and said "You're scared of the water, are you pussycat?" mockingly. "N-No! I'm just..." Ruth said to her but couldn't find the other words, Katie laughed and dived straight into the lake. "Fine! You convinced me!" Ruth said as she stripped her clothes and also dived into the lake, they were both having a fun time despite the water being cold as ice. They continuously splashed at each other, dived underwater a few times, and just had an awesome time. After minutes of skinny dipping fun, Ruth got out of the water, still nude. "That wasn't pretty bad, Katie! We should do that more often!" Ruth said to her as walked over to her clothes, but no response was heard, only a splash. "Katie?" she called out as she looked behind her to see that Katie had disappeared, she sighed in annoyance and said "C'mon! Don't make me stand here cold and butt-naked!" but still no response. With no other option, Ruth dived back into the lake to search for Katie, with the only light source being the moonlight above. As she swam a little deeper into the darkness, two eyes that glowed red appeared, then the "eyes" swam towards to reveal it's true form; A completely naked overweight woman with light-blue skin and long black hair, she was also twice the size than Ruth, making her look small. Her eyes widen in horror as the witch was coming at her, in a hurry, she attempted to swim back up to the surface but something grabbed her by the ankle. She looked down and it was another witch, literally a copy of her. Then she was dragged into the darkness as Ruth looked around in panic as more witches swarmed her, piling on top of her. Ruth and Katie were never found, as their faces were put into two new missing posters.


Anika Choudhary had very few material comforts. A hot water bath was not one of them. Neither was sleeping in air-conditioning in the summer or waking up without cockroaches in the sheets. Nor was getting a decent wifi signal when she needed to find work. She did, however, have the kulfi man. He arrived before sunset every day. Come rain or shine. From her balcony, she could see the cows heading home. They ambled, manuring the potholed roads, and narrowly escaped cursing motorists. She heard the bells on the kulfi man’s walking cane, heralding his imminent arrival. She salivated in pavlovian response. A matka perched precariously on the kulfi man's head, wrapped in a worn red cloth. The earthen-ware pot was lined with salted ice— the aluminium moulds neatly nestled inside. The low-tech cooler delivered mostly-frozen bars, even though her apartment was the last stop on the kulfi man’s route. Those creamy condensed-milk frustums were unlike anything else in the world. Ten rupees a pop. She exercised admirable restraint and only bought one each day. She ate evenly and methodically, spinning the kulfi along her tongue so the bar held together. If she waited too long, it was a melted mess. If she did it just right, she got a mouth-full of caramelized sweet lactose, notes of pistachios or almonds, with a finish of ground cardamom and toasted saffron. Without dripping any on her bare toes. But that Sunday evening, Anika Choudhary was staring, and her kulfi was melting.

A light had come on in the building across the road. It was in a room on the top floor. The window was veiled behind the spiky fingers of a coconut tree frond, but she could see someone moving around up there. She knew that building to be empty. Slated for demolition— unsafe for habitation, or some such reason. Before Anika was cognizant of what was happening, she was across the road, kulfi in hand, ducking under the loosely strung rope barricade. The building’s stairwell smelt mightily of rat poop, which likely portended snakes. She ascended the stairs, the dying sun lighting her way through the broken windows. She thought she heard the kulfi man in the distance calling out her name. She had paid, hadn’t she? Yes, she had. Perhaps she was mistaken, and it was just the call of a cat, or a crow, or some creature of the night. Something about the corridors felt oddly familiar. Despite her never having entered the building in all the years she had lived in this neighbourhood. But then again, she had never paid any attention to the empty block that her balcony looked on to. Why would she? She had a doting husband, a circle of friends, a job that paid well. But now here she was, poor, unloved, middle-aged, and living off the transient joy of sweet frozen desserts. Anika felt surprisingly alive after having climbed five flights of stairs. She was fitter than she had given herself credit for; though perhaps it was just the sugar rush talking— she had been carefully licking the kulfi all the way up. The flat that she saw the light in was at the end of a long hallway. Daylight was fading fast, but a street lamp peeked in and threw enough light to get her there.

The door was open, but the flat was dark. Cobwebs crisscrossed the door frame. She brushed them aside and peered into the gloom. Nothing stirred. It certainly looked like nobody had been there for a long time. Perhaps this was the wrong flat? She tried the door of the flat across the hall— it was locked. Anika frowned, deflated, licking the kulfi as she walked back to the stairwell.

Behind her, a light came on. The light from the flat threw a warm arc into the hallway, beckoning her in. Anika turned and hurried back up the hallway. She felt a strange excitement as if she was coming upon the door of a dear friend who had invited her for a house party.

The flat was empty, but all the lights were now ablaze. A dazzling chandelier hung in the foyer, and ensconced wall-lamps illuminated framed art that was long gone. In the middle of the main hall, a free-standing mirror faced out towards the balcony. Why would someone leave such a thing behind? As she walked across the expanse of the room towards the mirror, Anika felt exposed— distastefully dressed at a party for the rich and sophisticated. She walked into the field of the mirror, shyly.

She expected to see her own familiar body— dark circles around her eyes, upper lip fuzz, stray grey hair, pale skin, paunchy physique. But the Anika that stared back was ever so slightly different— she looked as if something about the world finally made sense. She stood eating her kulfi, staring for a long time, until she had reached the end and let the wooden stick drop.

The workweek began again— Anika manned the telephone at a local printing shop. It was a mind-numbingly boring job but it paid her enough to survive. This Monday however, for the first time in days, even years, she felt something approaching happiness. After work, she found herself looking forward to going back home. She hadn't felt that way since her husband was still alive and welcomed her with samosas and chai. The kulfi man carefully removed the bar from the mould— expertly spiked on a wooden stick— and handed it to her. He hesitated before accepting the cash.

“That building is haunted, madam. You shouldn’t be going up there after dark.” He frowned darkly at the abandoned block. Anika noticed that no lights were on tonight. “Nonsense. There’s nothing there. Nobody. Probably rats. I was just curious. I get bored sometimes on Sundays.” He pressed on, genuinely concerned. It had been an upmarket apartment once, but somebody had died there many years ago. Many people who had moved in since had mysteriously disappeared. So people stopped renting there. Prices fell until people had stopped buying property around here altogether. That building was cursed. He reminded her that he had been walking this route for years— he knew what he was talking about. “Oh, please,” said Anika, through a mouth-full of kulfi, “Everyone dies. It doesn’t matter where they live.” It hadn’t been too long ago that Anika had briefly considered walking off her balcony and ending it all. After much deliberation, she decided that as her luck would have it, she would probably end up only being crippled— persisting in a wheelchair to the end of her days, on top of all the other misery. She waited for the kulfi man to leave, idly surveying the sunset reflecting off the parked cars. She felt a girlish urgency. As if waiting for her parents to go to sleep so that she could phone a boyfriend under cover of night.

The flat was dark, but she instinctively knew where the power mains were. She switched on the chandelier in the main hall, feeling almost like this was her flat. She froze. There was a woman standing in the middle of the room. With a jolt of pleasure, Anika saw that the woman was holding a kulfi too. She moved closer. She realised it was just herself— reflected in the mirror. She watched herself walking into the room. Was that really how she walked? It was graceful. The curve of her shoulders softening with the roll of her hips. She didn’t remember turning the mirror to face the door last night. But she brushed the thought aside as she admired herself. Anika had dressed up for tonight and felt more at home in the mirror. Her eyes looked brighter, and the corners of her mouth held an invisible smile, as if it lurked just out of reach. She looked alluring, mysterious. Her saree enveloped her perfectly. It was fitted at the waist and hips, billowing over her shoulders and around her ankles. Anika hadn’t felt this beautiful in years. “Hello, beautiful,” she said to herself, raising her eyebrows provocatively.

“Welcome home, darling,” came a voice from behind the mirror. Anika froze again, feeling stupid at having been caught talking to herself. She stepped out from behind the mirror, ready to face— There was nobody there.

As far as she could tell, she was the only one in the room.

A week passed. Anika awoke, having slept better than she had in months. She had had beautiful dreams she couldn’t remember. Her dark circles had started to fade, and she felt a little hop in her step. The kulfi man’s bells rang out in the smoky dusk. Anika had been waiting for him downstairs, ready for her daily visit to the mirror. She grabbed her kulfi, waited for him to leave as usual, and dashed up the stairs. The lights were on tonight, and there was music coming from within. Had someone moved in? Of course not. The building was still abandoned. She rubbed her palms —clammy with nervousness— against her velvet skirt and entered. “Anika, darling! We have been waiting for you. What took you so long? My, you look fabulous!”

A gorgeous woman, long black hair cascading down to her chest, reached a perfumed arm towards her and steered her into the hall. The lights were dazzling, and the room was full. Silver vases bore sunflowers, wild tulips, and roses. Oil paintings of pastoral scenes, fruit bowls and saree-clad women hung on the walls. Fashionable men and women draped easily across plush sofas, drinking wine out of crystal decanters, or dancing in pairs, shiny shoes clacking on the marble floor. A handsome man sat at a piano, his dark fingers massaging out a soulful tune. Anika saw herself, slack-jawed in the mirror. But she smiled when she saw how beautiful she looked.  “Who are you?” said Anika. “My dear, we are just like you,” the woman said and took a bite out of her kulfi.

The days went by. Anika began to lose weight— she had started fitting into clothes from when she had been married. She ransacked her wardrobe and experimented with new and fabulous outfits for her evenings out. Things had started to change for the better. Strangers in the market smiled at her. Good looking men on the bus turned to look at her. Her boss noticed her renewed enthusiasm and positivity at work. Old friends invited her out — she declined, saying she had to be home before dark. She had fallen into a blissful routine. Every evening she rushed home and waited breathlessly for the tinkling bells of the kulfi man.

“Twenty?” The kulfi man had said, the first time she had ordered in bulk. “Yes! I have friends to give them to. Don’t worry, I won’t eat them all.” Soon, he had stopped asking, pocketing the money grimly, and handing her the bars. He watched silently, as she arranged them neatly on a plate and walked across the street into the building. “Who wants kulfis?” She would say, holding aloft the plate of frozen bars. Her friends —beautiful every one of them— would descend, blowing kisses and complimenting her choice of shoes that evening. She would hand them out one by one. And they would party until the early hours of the morning. The best part was the time she spent in front of the mirror, looking deep into the soul of the real Anika, savouring her kulfi. The smiling, happy, flawless, Anika. “Madam, you’re looking very thin, are you ok?” said the kulfi man, one Saturday evening. “Thank you,” she said. She really was getting slim and gorgeous, wasn’t she? As she walked across the street with her plate of treats, the kulfi man watched her and shook his head with pity. That was the last time anyone set eyes on Anika Choudhary.

It was a few days before people came looking for her. Old friends knocked on her door but got no answer. The police were called, and they had the landlord open her apartment. It was a disgusting mess. Rotting food in the fridge, piles of unwashed clothes heaped on her bed, dishes piled in the sink gathering mould, dust everywhere, cockroaches scurrying in the shadows.

The police questioned Anika’s boss. He said that she had been acting strange the last few weeks— coming in late, skipping lunch, daydreaming, and even sleeping on the job. She had not turned up for work that week and didn’t answer her calls. He just assumed that she had quit. They questioned Anika's neighbours, but nobody knew anything. The neighbourhood shopkeeper said she had stopped buying groceries for a few weeks now, He thought she might have been out of town. In the evening, the kulfi man came around as usual. The police stopped him for questioning too. Did he come around regularly to this area? They showed him a photo of Anika. Did he know this woman? “She’s gone,” he said, “You won’t find her.” “Why not? Where did she go? What do you know about this?” “The curse has consumed her.” “Curse? What curse?” The kulfi man pointed at the top floor of the abandoned building. The police had to break down the door to the flat. The lock was rusted and the door couldn’t be opened.

The flat was empty and dark. The power supply had been disconnected a few years ago. By torch-light, they saw that the marble floor was covered in a sea of ants, interrupted by scurrying rats. The room was littered with melted, putrefying, kulfi bars.

At the foot of the mirror, in the middle of the hall, was another pile of kulfi sticks. All of them licked clean. Later, one of the junior constables would swear that as they exited the allegedly cursed apartment, he heard a faint sound of tinkling laughter and music.


A man wearing pink robes stood in front of a crowd of men and women, all wearing their own robes of different colors. They were wizards meeting once again in a very mysterious room, which despite being filled with a hazardous amount of candles, somehow still managed to look poorly lit. The wizards all looked very serious and contemplative, but in reality they were bored by the meeting and impatient to leave as soon as it was over. Their colorful attires made them look a bit like a box of tired crayons. The man in pink stared intently at his clipboard, before finally looking up. “Well, I think that settles it,” he said, monotone. “Instead of directly dealing with the evil tyrant ourselves, we’ll just tell a farmer that he’s the chosen one. I mean, if it isn’t broke, don’t fix it.” The other wizards muttered in agreement. Satisfied, the man in front nodded. “We’ll meet again next month. Remember, you’ll have to show up *during* the full moon, not after. This tower is only available then.” “Sorry, Brother Pink,” said Brother Brown sheepishly. “It’s alright, just make sure not to do it again. I think that’s everything. I’ll see you all-” A woman wearing blue robes raised her hand, killing the other wizards’ hopes of leaving early. “Yes, Sister Blue?” Sister Blue stepped up. “Hi, um, I had some concerns about our clothing.” “You don’t like the robes?” Brother Pink asked, surprised. “No, no, it’s not that,” Sister Blue quickly assured. “I have no problem with the robes themselves. It’s just the… color.” Brother Pink raised his eyebrow. “You don’t like the color?” “Well, think about it this way. I wear blue robes, right? Isn’t that a bit strange?” “Why would it be strange for you to wear blue robes? You’re a Blue Wizard.” “That’s the thing, I am a Blue Wizard. But I practice fire magic.” “So?” “So?” she repeated. “Why would someone practicing *fire* magic wear *blue* robes. In fact, why would I be called a Blue Wizard in the first place?” “Well, what else would you be called?” “I don’t know, the Red Wizard?” “Brother Red is already the Red Wizard,” he reasoned. “He has the robes and everything.” “Yes, but why in the world is he called the Red Wizard?” she said, sounding exasperated. “He uses nature magic!” “There’s red in nature,” said the Red Wizard defensively. “I know there’s red in nature, Brother Red,” replied Sister Blue, “but when someone thinks nature, they usually picture the color green. Speaking of, Sister Green.” “Yes?” the Green Wizard said. “What type of magic do you use?” “Ice.” “See!” she said, pointing in Sister Green’s direction. “That’s my point exactly! She’s the one who should be wearing blue. Blue is cold. But instead, they gave me the blue robes. I use fire magic, I’m literally the opposite of cold!” “Okay, I see your point,” Brother Pink admitted. “But we’ve all had these colors for so long, it’s not as if we can just make a switch. People would get confused.” “Get confused?” Sister Blue said, her face starting to look red (which was perhaps fitting for the conversation). “You don’t think people are already confused why a necromancer decided to wear pink?” “What's wrong with pink?” he said while looking down at his own robes. “Nothing! If you want to paint a little girl’s room! But it’s not a great color for someone with the ability to raise the dead! You should’ve been Brother Black, but the actual Brother Black is a healer for some reason!” The eyes of a dark skinned man wearing black robes widened when he heard Sister Blue. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked. Sister Blue, realizing her error, looked awkwardly at Brother Black. “I mean… well, it doesn’t make sense for you to be… I mean, you’re a healer.” “So you’re saying a Black Wizard can’t be a healer?” Brother Black asked frankly. “No,” she said, panicked, “that’s not what I’m trying to say!” She felt the judgmental glares of the other wizards. “Look,” Sister Blue said frantically, “I’m not trying to be racist! I just mean, when people think black they usually associate it with darker magic!” The wizards groaned at her poor choice of words. “What are you groaning for? What do you all think black magic means?” Brother Pink sighed. “I think it’s time for you to leave, Sister Blue.” Sister Blue tried to search for support from someone, but everyone was doing their best to avoid her gaze. Looking defeated, she walked out of the room. A wizard wearing white robes shook his head in disgust. “The nerve of some people,” said Grand Wizard White.


A Slippery Slope Note: This story contains triggers about dementia that may be upsetting to some. Dementia is the cruelest of thieves. It slips in, unnoticed, stealing small memories at first, ones you might have just misplaced, leaving you with the belief that you need to pay a little more attention to details. Then in an effort to pay better attention to details, you find that you are obsessing over whether you have forgotten something and you start repeating yourself more often than before. It is at this point that you realize that you are being robbed and you seek professional advice, first to confirm what’s happening and second to find out how to make it stop. But that’s the catch. You can’t make it stop. You can perhaps slow it down a bit, but there are no locks, no alarms, no sentries to post that will keep dementia at bay. It becomes more and more aggressive, taking away the ability to control your own life and ultimately stealing your dignity. My mother was diagnosed with dementia. It was a hard thing to watch. She was a very competent, self-sufficient woman who eventually died in a nursing home without knowing who she was, who I was, or anything about her life except the occasional lucid memories that slipped through. That is, she could talk to me about me, her daughter, while at the same time asking who I was. I was her caregiver until it reached the point that it wasn’t safe for her to stay here in my home. She would get up in the night and start cooking only to go back to bed and leave the stove on high or the water running in the sink, or even scarier, she would leave the house and I would have to ride around and around the neighborhood until I found her. The final straw was the night I found her in a graveyard a couple of miles from my house. She said that she was looking for her final resting place next to her husband and she became quite combative when I tried to get her in my car to come home. She had a total melt-down because she didn’t recognize me, thought I was trying to kidnap her and eventually I had to call 911 and an officer from the local precinct came out to help. She finally agreed to go with him because of his uniform and he was able to give her a ride home. That’s when I realized that dementia was not only stealing from my mother, but it was stealing my mother away from me, too. As she looked at me with challenge, distrust and fear, I knew for certain that we would never have another heart-to-heart talk, just being mother and daughter who had a bond so close that nothing could break it, except that now it was broken and the basic building blocks of our lifetime of shared memories were no longer there. The foundation that was our relationship was changed irrevocably, and now solely relied on my memory of our life together that would never be reflected back to me in her words and actions. Putting her in the nursing home was one of the hardest decisions in my life. I felt like I was giving up on her or that I had failed as a daughter as I turned her over to total strangers. At the same time, she looked at me like I was a total stranger and that sliced me to the heart. Once dementia sneaks in, the process of losing the one you love begins and continues until the actual physical loss of life is a relief. You find yourself at the funeral with no more good-byes to give because the person you loved was stolen from you years ago. This is not necessarily a comfort. Then you start to realize that dementia isn’t quite threw with you yet. What about heredity? How prevalent is dementia in your family tree? So, you live with the fear of developing dementia yourself. It’s not like anyone can know for sure or do anything about it if they do know. It just comes on, gets worse, makes it impossible to live as an independent adult and then you just forget everything necessary to function and eventually you die. So, I did what anyone facing an unpredictable and unstoppable event might do, I put it aside and went on with the business of living my life. Fast forward about 25 years, and you find me facing the reality of an elusive and slipping memory head on. Are all my worst fears coming to pass? Is this dementia? If I had thought that watching my mother go through this was hard, I now truly recognize the cruelty dementia brings as it toys with your ability to make accurate assessments. The depth of this heinous crime is just now being realized as I live it. Of course, at least for a while, I watch it happen to my family and friends, too. I watched my children watch me for signs that I was following the memory loss path of their grandmother and the fear, pity, and sorrow in their faces as it became apparent that I was going down the same road. But most of all, it is the absolute lack of control that beats down your spirit. One of the first things I did to try to put dementia in a box labeled “health issues to manage,” was to be sure that I let people close to me know that I was repeating myself. I could see it in the faces of the people around me. At church, I would see people I normally would chat with after service, look sympathetic and find excuses to end our conversations, probably because I was saying the same thing over and over. Then simple things like making out a grocery list became nearly impossible. In my lucid moments I would find multiple grocery lists around the house that had a lot of the same items and then there would be items I couldn’t figure out what I had planned to do with them if I bought them. And of course, I never seemed to have one of these lists when I was actually at the grocery store. Just a little absent-mindedness? And then there are the packages. Did I really order this set of towels? They are pretty blue towels, but when I tried to put them away in the linen closet, it was already quite full of very good blue towels. Why did I order these? Maybe I’ll give them to someone who needs them. What else did I order? I should review my last credit card statement. Still trying to control my slide down the slippery slope, I make plans to put in checks and balances to offset faulty decisions, but then of course, I can’t remember to follow-through. No matter how hard I fight it, my mind is wide open to burglary. I’ve worked all my life to learn and become the best person I can be only to now have it all taken away, piece by piece, until I resemble an angry child trying to get through the first day at a new school. So, I have dementia. I’m still the same person I’ve always been. I know who I am, and I know where I am, but I for get things. I repeat myself and I can’t help it. Just tell me if I’ve said this before, but I have dementia and I forget things. Have I told you about this new recipe I tried the other day? It’s for making blueberry scones and it’s delicious! The key is to make sure you put your butter in the freezer for about ten minutes and then grate it into the flour instead of putting it in soft. I found it in … well I’m not sure where I found it, but I made it just the other day and it is delicious! Have I told you this already? I seem to be forgetting some things lately and I’m repeating myself. I know that is irritating, so please just tell me if I’ve told you this already. Some days I’m fine and other days, I just seem to forget things. I just thought I’d call you. We haven’t talked in a while. Oh, did I just call the other day? Well, you can never talk to good friends enough. How are you? Have I told you about this new recipe I tried the other day? It’s for making blueberry scones and it’s delicious! The key is to make sure you put your butter in the freezer for about ten minutes and then grate it into the flour instead of putting it in soft. Frances called me today. I’m not sure why she calls so often. I think we just talked the other day. She’s living with her oldest daughter now and her health is getting worse. She may have early dementia. That’s such a shame. It’s hard when you can’t remember things. I have dementia, too. I know who I am and where I am, but I forget things. I’m so forgetful these days. I can remember most things, hopefully the important things, but sometimes … Just this month, my daughter put my bills on automatic payments. I’m not sure I like that. I’ve always managed my own money. I’m never late, but she said that I had missed a month or two on paying utilities and my credit card bill. That’s not like me at all. She says that now bills will just be paid directly from my checking account. I’m not sure I trust that. I like it better when it’s under my control. But then, I have dementia and I forget things. The other day I was driving and got lost. Well, not lost exactly. I’ve lived here for twenty years, and I know this whole area like the back of my hand. I’ve always had a good sense of direction and I remember landmarks very well. But the other day I looked up and just couldn’t figure out where I was. The houses looked familiar and unplaceable at the same time. I could read the street sign and the name sounded familiar, but should I turn right or left? Left, I think, but when I accelerated someone blew their horn at me. It was loud and long! That was rude! Is the light green? No? It’s red, so I’ll wait. Which way should I turn? I started crying but managed to pull over to the side of the road out of the way. I called my daughter. She asked me about street signs and what I was seeing and then she talked me through getting home again. Of course, I know where I am now. That was just a strange situation that I’ve never experienced before. I’m sure I’m fine now. I have dementia. I know who I am and where I am, but I forget things. My daughter says that I should come and live with her. I’m not a child! I want my own space. This is my house, my home, and I want to stay right here. She means well, but I’m not ready to give up my independence. Sure, I forget things sometimes, but I’m a grown woman and I can take care of myself. I’ve always taken care of myself! My daughter wants me to move in with her. Have I told you this? I know I’m repeating myself, but I just can’t remember if we’ve talked about this. I don’t want to move. I like my home. This is where I need to be. Am I really that forgetful? I still feel like I’ve always felt. I know what I’ve always known. I just repeat myself sometimes. I think I’ll call Frances and see what she thinks. Did you know that Frances is in a nursing home? Her health is getting bad, and she needs some care. I’m so glad that I can still do for myself. I don’t think I could live in a nursing home or with any of my children. I may forget things sometimes, but I can still take care of myself. I’m going to visit my daughter. It’s just a visit. I’ll be back here in a few days. Who’s going to feed my cat? Did I make arrangements for someone to take care of Sunshine? My daughter is here to get me, but it’s just for the weekend. I have too much to do to be gone for long. And who’s going to take care of my cat? I have to get someone to watch Sunshine. What is my daughter thinking! I can’t just pick up and go off with her for the weekend. I have a cat. I think I need to feed her. Kitty, have you eaten yet? Is my Sunshine hungry? I’m not sure how long I’ve been here with my daughter, but I’m ready to go back home. You know, that cat looks just like my kitty. Yes you do! You look just like my Sunshine. I miss my kitty. I’m ready to go home, but my daughter says I need to stay here. Why do I need to stay here? I’ve been taking care of myself all my life. I need to get back to my house and my cat. Maybe I’ll call Frances. I know who I am, where I am and why I’m here, but I forget things. If I only had my car … Did I sell it? I asked my daughter and she says we sold it a month ago. I didn’t sell it! She sold my car without telling me. Now how am I supposed to get back home? I’m stuck here. Why did she sell my car? This cat looks just like my Sunshine. I miss my kitty. Who’s taking care of her while I’m stuck here at my daughter’s house? Someone needs to feed her and love on her. If I had my car, I’d go take care of that. What happened to my car? I think someone took it. Maybe it was that nurse who was here the other day. I didn’t like her. She made me stretch and exercise when I just wanted to go home. I miss my kitty. But you look just like my Sunshine. Come here, kitty. That’s a sweet cat. Of course I took a bath. This morning? Well, sure. It was this morning, I think. Yesterday? Well, maybe yesterday. I don’t need you to tell me when and how to take a bath! My daughter fixed the best ham and eggs today. The ham was sweet and the eggs were seasoned just right. It was delicious! She takes good care of me. Did you know that this cat looks just like my Sunshine? My daughter fixed the best ham and eggs today. The ham was sweet and the eggs were seasoned just right. She’s good to me, my daughter. This is a sweet cat. She looks just like my Sunshine. I’m so glad you stopped by to visit. I’m doing fine. I’m staying with my daughter for a while. She made the best ham and eggs today. The ham was sweet and the eggs were just right. Did I tell you that I’m staying with my daughter for a while? I’m sure I’ll go back home soon, but I’m here for now. I know who I am, where I am and why I’m here. I miss my cat. This one looks just like my Sunshine. I don’t know who this woman is who says I have to stay here. She can’t tell me what to do. If I had my car, but someone took my car away. I’m not supposed to drive any more. They say I can’t drive, but I’ve been driving for years and I’ve never had a wreck or a ticket. I didn’t get a ticket, did I? I’m a good driver. Was I in a wreck? Wy did they take my car? What do you mean I should ask the woman I’m living with. That’s my daughter and I’m not living here. I’m just visiting. I have a house and friends I need to get back to soon. Maybe I’ll drive back tomorrow. I miss my cat. I don’t know why all of my friends and family never come to see me. There’s just this woman who says I’m living with her now. I don’t want to live with her. Who are you again? Is this your cat? I used to have a cat, I think. Did I have a cat? This woman I live with is nice and she has a great cat. I think this cat loves me more than her now because she is always in my lap. I just rub and pat on her. I think I used to have a cat. And didn’t I use to have a house? I know I did, but I can’t remember where it is. Where is my house? Who’s living there now? Will I be going back there soon? I don’t know who all these people are. I’m so tired. I know who I am, but I’m not sure where I am or why I’m here. Do I have a daughter? I thought I did, but if so, where is she? I just sit here and let people tell me what to do and when to do it. I don’t like to be bossed around. Did I have a house? I have all these pictures, but is that my house? I think that was my mother’s house. I don’t know who all these people are. I’m tired, I’m so tired.


Growing up, I always felt out of place whenever they’d start talking about the business. At first, I thought I’d grow out of it and come to love these business meetings and the view of everyone in a slick business suit that look like they’ve never experienced a single wrinkle. They look suffocated by how buttoned up their shirts look. I always wondered how they could sit behind a desk staring at numbers and letters for hours on end. At the age of twenty, I still don’t have a liking for working in an office. I’ve always loved the outdoors. If I dare tell my parents that, they might fall ill. They seem to be allergic to the outdoors for they never want to leave the comfort of their offices. We walk through the main door and whatever activity that seemed to happen before we arrived suddenly stops. Everyone seems to be busy typing or reading something. I know that look. I use it whenever my parents give me an office assignment to do. I can barely focus to get through half of it. “Good morning Mr William. You’re coffee?” She passes the foam cup to my father with her hand slightly shaking. She closes her eyes slightly as my father takes a sip and slowly nods in approval. She seems less tensed as she updates my father on the errands he has for the day. She leaves shortly after with a shy smile and a brief hello as she heads back to her desk. The office hasn’t changed since the last time I was here. Still big, classy and cold. It only has the necessities: three seats, a huge desk and a desktop that matches its size. The drapes are a dark shade of grey which seem to accentuate the room. The man standing right in front of me is my father, The Mr William McCroyale whose clothes are always ironed and black shoes never seem to attract dust. His hair is never unruly and lies obediently in a neat fold. His watch never has a stain and his shirt ever white. He is neat and organized. His blue eyes are ever stern. “How do you like the place, Lillian? All of this will be yours someday.” He smiles as he looks around his office. One might think that he’s just received news that his only child has won the elections. I fidget uncomfortably yet he doesn’t seem to notice. He beams as he sits down and slowly begins to go through the paperwork that’s lying on his desk. The outdoors and all the activities that came along with it give me joy. Sitting in an office seems tiresome and draining. I don’t want to disrespect my parents by telling them that I don’t want to carry on with their legacy. Disappointment will be an understatement. As I look at my father now, his eyebrows furrow, a sure indicator that he is deep in thought, I can’t help but wonder what his reaction will be when I tell him the news. I enrolled in The Tourism Agency for one of their courses and got accepted. Just as I’m about to speak, there’s a slight knock at the door. “Come in,” his deep voice resonates the entire room. His secretary walks in. Her leg is twitching as she tries to control herself. Is she always nervous? “Sir, Mr Clayton’s here to see you.” My father looks up as he puts his paperwork aside. He never puts his work aside. I panic. Who is Mr Clayton? He walks in taking in his environment with a disapproved look in his eyes. “I see the office hasn’t changed. Still a simpleton?” He asks with a smirk plastered across his tanned face. He looks exactly like my father; well dressed, clothes ironed and black polished shoes. His assistant, standing right behind him, is busy biting on her lower lip as her shaky fingers hold onto a folder. “I assume that this the girl you were talking about.” He slowly scans my body as if checking for an error.”Meet Lilian. My daughter.” He says with a proud smile. “It’s lovely meeting you, Mr Clayton,” I say biting on my inner cheek unsure of the events taking place. “She’s perfect,” He says with a smile as I turn to look at my father with a questioning eye. “Perfect for what?”

“You will be marrying Mr Clayton’s son, Ronald, to merge our businesses.” My father says calmly. His smile slightly falters but he’s quick to regain his composure. “It was lovely seeing you, Will. I will keep you posted on the wedding plans.” He leaves soon after, his secretary following closely behind him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask between gritted teeth. “Did you take me like a piece of property that you could sell me off to whomever you wanted to?” He looks at me waiting for the moment I’d keep my mouth shut. “Lilian dear, it’s been a dream to expand the business and we thought that this would be a great way to start.” My father says trying to look composed. Before I have the chance to talk, the door opens and in walks my mother who has a big smile. She’s dressed to impress with her animal print dress and heels that seem far too tight. “I was close by and thought we’d have lunch together.” She says as she stops in her tracks, her eyebrows furrowing together as she takes a glimpse of my sorry state. I hadn’t realized that tears were flowing down my cheeks. “What’s going on?” She asks with concern as she approaches me. “Now isn’t a good time Lydia. How about we…”

“No,” I interrupt him before he completes his sentence,” I have news for you too. I recently applied for enrollment at The Tourism Agency for their courses and just got accepted. I don’t want to take over after you leave the office.” I say as I take in their worry stricken faces. Tears begin to flow down my mother’s face. I thought I’d feel free once I let that off my chest. So why does it still feel heavy?


She danced between the rays of light, Searching for another like her, A home away from the envious eyes. No matter how she weaved and tangled herself around the empty space she could not escape them. No moon or planet was untouched, no cavity of the endless expanse held any solace for her. She drifted for an eternity, sometimes further into the expanse where it took longer for them to find her, but eventually they always found her. Millennia came and millennia went, and she had lost hope. Resigning herself to the chase, until one small whisper reached her that sounded nothing like the others. It almost sounded welcoming, cold and even, with no room for false intentions or deception. So she gave this voice an audience in her mind, having no reason to distrust even the smallest glimpse of hope. If this venture went wrong, all she would have to do is run as she always did. So where was the harm? It lured her closer to her pursuers, closer than she had ever dared go on her own. In the ever circling race, she for the first time in her infinite existence ventured to the very core of the expanse, where all eyes were drawn. Her dancing grew direct, flowing with less and less deviation towards this small voice in the void. Until there she was at the very core of existence, and she danced in place, spinning with no direction or need to move from where she stood. The voice enveloped her, drowning out her fear of the eyes, wrapping her in a safe cloud of sound and her own beauty. She no longer felt the eyes forever piercing her soul, no longer chasing her. She was safe, but how? For the first time in her existence she stood still and just looked around her. She looked out and saw millions of stars, all circling around her and for once saw how they too were beautiful. They shone through the darkness that surrounded them, in a defiance of what constantly threatened to snuff them out. She saw them stand their ground against their perceived enemy and envied their courage in contrast to her fear. She wondered if they were as scared as she was. And what gave them the courage to face that fear rather than flee? But these thoughts all quickly fled as she questioned how she was able to finally sit stagnant, why was she no longer fleeing? She sat in the very center of the universe, in a black hole that seemed to defy all light. It did not pierce the space she was in, and yet it was still present. All the light was drawn in, then bent around its edges, leaving an infinite void within. A void that was somehow welcoming. Honest in its intent and its actions. It meant her no harm and yet did not care for her. It simply allowed her to exist within it. She questioned its intent, why had it reached out to her and saved her? And its response was indifference. He had sat here unmoving for an eternity just as she had run and danced, and yet she had never ventured to him. She had never even acknowledged his existence and never asked for help. He felt he might as well take that step as he had grown bored of her dance. He cared not for it, and wanted momentary peace. More for himself than for her. And so he fell silent again. Leaving her alone in his embrace to weep as it all overwhelmed her.


“Cassie??! Where are you??! Cassie! Seriously, come on out! This isn’t funny anymore!”

She trudged along on the newly fallen leaves, looking for any sign of her sister. Her dog, Maxine, close at her heels,

“Go find Cassie, Max! Please!” the dog ran on ahead in the direction of the woods. “No, no. Anywhere but there …. Why, Cassie? You know better…”

Jenny marched forward, begrudgingly, as if on her death march. The clouds, too, as if sharing her mood, shifted colors before her very eyes, coming together in harsh, dark, ominous grey hues overhead.

As she approached the tree-line, an eerie silence befell her. The wind had stopped. All bugs and birds alike had already headed out for the winter, leaving nothing but a quiet emptiness in their absence.

Maxine’s hair stood up on her hackles, as her upper lip curled into a menacing snarl. “I know Max,” she whispered comfortingly, “you did good girl! No need to go any further.”

She patted the dog on the top of it’s head hoping to comfort it, but the dog never relaxed, and neither did she.

“Cass! Max found you already! We know you are in there! Please come on out now!”

A swift rustle was heard behind one of the tall pine trees, before breaking way to Cass’s voice—

“Oh c’mon, I wasn’t even deep into the woods! I’m only right here on the outskirts of the trees. No reason for everyone to panic,” she said jokingly.

Jenny looked back at her sister reproachfully, staring into a face that was identical to her own. Even though they were technically identical twins, their personalities could not be more different.

“You know we aren’t supposed to go anywhere near the woods, Cass…”

“Oh really? And why is that Jenn? Aren’t you the least bit curious? Haven’t you ever wondered why all these rules are in place? We’re young, our hearts were made for exploring and having fun!”

“The rules are meant to keep us safe. I’m sure there’s all manner of snakes and spiders and other poisonous plants in there. Even Max doesn’t like going in” she said, one hand still petting the pup’s head, although now she was unsure of whether or not she was actually trying to comfort the dog, or rather, herself at this point.

“So you really think it’s off limits because of bugs and flora? I swear Jenn you can be so naïve sometimes, so gullible… so easily fenced in…”

“Stop trying to scare me with conspiracy theories, Cass.”

“I’m not trying to do anything. And they’re not theories. They’re highly plausible realities. They’re hiding something in the woods, Jenn. Something more than arachnids.”

“Well, I’m sure whatever’s hidden, is hidden for a reason Cass, so let’s just get back to the house okay? Before the storm hits at least…” Jenn said, as thunder aptly rumbled a low foreboding sound in the distance.

“What are you so afraid of anyway? It’s just trees.”

“You literally just told me some ‘other mystery’ lies beyond them though, and now you’re trying to convince me it’s just your everyday average forest?”

“Well that’s just it, Jenn. We won’t ever know if it’s average or magical, unless we take that leap of faith will we?”

“More like a leap of insanity Cass, and magical isn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe the vibe I get from this place…”

“Well I am not content to just wait around for forever. Now’s a good a time as any, so you can stand there and wait for me, or you can join me.”

“Please tell me you’re not serious, Cass.”

Cassie took two steps back into the overgrown brush, and called out to Max to follow her. The dog let out a throaty growl.

“Fine,” Cass said sourly, “you two scaredy-cats can keep each other company, for all I care!” and she disappeared into the shadow of the thickets.

“Cass! I’m not playing with you anymore! Stop being ridiculous and come back to the house!” Jenn yelled after her sister.

Only silence answered her.

This is just like Cass…. For once though, just for once, why couldn’t she listen to me? Jenn sat down on the cold ground, close to the dog, “looks like we might be here for a little longer, Max, might as well get comfortable” if such a thing was possible, in such a place.

To be honest, Jenn didn’t really know why the woods were off limits. She had heard stories of missing children, and dead dogs but, the dogs were all thought to have died at the hands of natural woodland things like snakes or cougars. The missing children, well, I mean, who hasn’t thought of running away from home at one point or another and just pitching a tent at the end of the world? Whatever the real reason was though, Jenn herself just didn’t like the feeling of being lost, and in the middle of a forest so expanse, that possibility was all too plausible for her liking.

She looked up at the trees; at least 80 foot tall, and still growing. She suddenly felt smaller than she’d ever felt before. The trees seemed to bend and lean at strange angles, giving the sensation that they were almost craning their necks to look at her. The thought sent a shiver up her spine.

And that’s when she heard it. The blood-curdling scream. Max immediately jumped to her feet and started barking out of control,

“Cass!” Jen yelled, “was that you? Are you alright??!”

A deadly silence followed.

“Cass! I need you to say something! Do you need help?!”

No birds chirping. No bugs fluttering their wings. No sound of her sister returned.

Jenn took a deep breath, “I swear, if this is some kind of silly prank, you will pay for this Cass!” she said, as she took her first steps into the forest. Her heart racing as the light of day disappeared behind her. It was dark in the woods. Too dark, like night had already descended. With every step that she took, branches grabbed at her arms, thorns lodged themselves into her hands, and a layer of mud made her every step feel heavier.

“I don’t even know which direction she went in” Jenn said, tired already, and clearly frustrated. “Cass! I’m coming for you, but I need to know where you are!”

Jenn could hear Max barking in the distance, but the dog seemed a thousand miles away already, and Jenn had never felt more alone. It was a strange sensation for her, because from the very moment she even came into this world, she had technically, always had another person right beside her. She recalled learning her first words with Cass, and riding bikes in the park with her sister, and chasing after the ice-cream truck, why couldn’t they just have done something like that today? How was she even supposed to find her? Twin-telepathy? Hah, as if, that’s only an option in science fiction.

The trees seemed to buckle even tighter, mocking her in her efforts. They twisted in grotesque ways, and seemed to stretch on endlessly into nothing but darkness.

Except, in the distance, Jenn saw a small flicker of light.

“Cass! Cass is that you?” she called, not even expecting an answer at this point.

“Jenn! I’m over here! Come quick! Help me! I’m stuck!” Oh thank you, thank you! Jenn thought, Cass was here and had apparently just gotten stuck in something, maybe this ever-thickening mud, or an animal trap of some kind; this would all be over soon.

“Hang on Cass, I’m coming for you!” Jenn yelled as she raced toward the flicker of light.

As she got closer, the flicker turned into a more stable, and much larger, image of silver. The silver was reflecting the last bit of light through the trees, but appeared to be almost illuminated by some inexplicable internal light source itself.

As she got closer still, she noticed that the silver formed into a very specific shape. A large, six foot, standing oval mirror.

What was a mirror doing all the way out here? She wondered.

As she approached closer, she saw that there was no dust or dirt or anything on the mirror, it looked like it had been pristine clean, and there were ornate designs all around the edges depicting things that looked either like vines or archaic writing.

“Jenn! Help me!” She heard Cassie’s voice… coming from… the mirror?

Jenn looked into the reflection. For a moment, she thought she was seeing her own. The same brown hair. Those same brown eyes. Until her reflection spoke.

“Jenn! I’m stuck!”

It took Jenn a moment to process what Cassie was saying…. How was it even possible…

“In there?” Jenn asked… “you’re.. you’re stuck… in there?”

“Yes” Cass snapped, “what does it look like??! I’m sorry, I know I messed up, can you please help me out and I promise I’ll always listen to what you say from now on!”

“But… how?” Jenn asked, “How did you get stuck in there Cass??”

“I don’t know Jenn! One second I was walking around the forest, like you, and the next I was looking at the forest from the other side of this mirror! Does it matter? I just want out!”

“Can you just? Walk back through?” Jenn asked.

“Yea, sure, like I haven’t already tried that” Cass said rolling her eyes, before walking to the edge of the mirror and placing her hand on it. “It won’t go through” Cass said.

Jenn held her hand up to Cassie’s, and watched the mirror ripple like it was made of water,

“Cass! Something’s happening on my side! It’s… it’s moving! What do I do??”

“Can you try to pull me out?” she asked, “grab my wrist!”

“What if I get stuck too though?” Jenn stammered, “can I just go back and get help?”

“And leave me here all alone?!” Cass whimpered, “and how would you even find your way back to the mirror, Jenn! You won’t be able to find me again! Please just grab my wrist and pull me toward you! It won’t hurt! We have to try something!”

“I’m just… a little weirded out..” Jenn said quietly, pulling back her hand from the mirror with a wince like she had touched a hot stove “what if it’s some kind of curse or something? You literally don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into… and I don’t want to be a part of it… and I don’t know how to get you out of it…”

“You’re weirded out?!” Cass scoffed, “I’m the one trapped in a mirror for crying out loud! I know it doesn’t make sense, but I need you to help me! There’s nothing rippling or moving on my side, so you have to do it from your side!”

Jenn took a deep breath and looked at the face in the mirror, all the fear rising up to her throat, because for once, Cassie didn’t even look like the brave one, she looked terrified.

Jenn put her palm back to the surface of the mirror, the ripples swam from underneath her fingers. She applied pressure, and was shocked to see that her fingers went through the barrier easily like it was made of water and not glass. She wrapped her fingers around Cassie’s wrist, and was just about to yank them both back hard, when, instead, Cassie grabbed Jenn’s hand with her other arm and pulled. Jenn fell on top of the floor, next to Cassie, with a harsh thud,

“What the hell did you do that for??!” Jenn yelled, “Now we are both trapped in here!”

Cassie stood over Jenny, looking down with a cold stare,

“No, my dear, only you are” and with that, Cassie placed one foot, then one leg out of the mirror, and stepped effortlessly into the other side.

Her head still ringing from the fall, Jenn struggled to stand on unsteady legs. She ran to the mirror’s edge and placed both hands on it, pushing with all her might, but this time the pressure didn’t give, and the mirror wasn’t water, but solid glass. She banged on the edge between worlds with both fists, until her fingers turned purple with bruises. She screamed at her sister on the other side, bargained, pleaded,

“Cassie! Please! Whatever kind of sick joke you think this is, it’s not funny! Please help me out of here! I want to go home! Now!”

Tears started to fall down Jenn’s face, as she watched her sister shake her head “no” and turn her back toward her before walking off.

She thought she could hear a dog barking somewhere in the distance, but over the sound of her own desperate screaming she wasn’t sure.

She sat down at the table, smelling fresh-baked rolls hot from the oven, green beans steaming next to the ham.

“Can you pass the butter please, mom?” she asked.

“Sure thing, honey” Sandra said as she handed her daughter the tray, “and what all did you do today on your thanksgiving break from school? Hopefully enjoying the holiday?”

“Oh yes, very much so” she replied, “me and Max played all day, but it feels good to finally be home.”

“Yes, well I’m just glad you both made it in before the rain hit” her father said from across the table, “now let us say grace: Dear Lord, we thank You for this day You have made and this meal we have prepared. We pray that it nourishes our bodies, and gives us the strength to keep us safe from evil. We thank you for our family, for Max, Sandra, myself, and our dearly beloved daughter Jenn.”

She smiled.

Max growled from underneath the table. A low, defiant rumbling.

“Amen” they all said in unison.

The sound of forks scraping the plate and chewing ensued.

“Hey mom?” she asked,

“Yes Jenn?” Sandra replied,

“I was just wondering… if you and dad had given any more thought to ya know, maybe adding any more siblings to the family table?”

Sandra laughed, “Oh honey, you know that you have always been, and will always be an only child right??! But surely Max counts as family by now, too huh Jenny?! So cut your poor old mother some slack!”

She smiled. It was going to take some time getting used to that name—Jenny. But what’s in a name? They can be changed as easily as the leaves change colors.

Max started to bark. Louder and louder. Persistent. Aiming them all at the intruder before him.

“Silly girl, I don’t know what’s gotten into her today!” Sandra said, “Max! Stop! Shoo, that’s Jenn, shoo! You can’t have her food!”

The barking didn’t stop.

“Can you please put that dog out, Sandra!” Gerald said exasperated, “I’m trying to enjoy my meal!”

Sandra grabbed the dog by the collar, and let Maxine spend the rest of the night howling in the rain.