I twirled the fork in the spaghetti that was on the plate in front of me. I was eating dinner at my parent's house. I didn’t have the appetite to eat.

“Go on and tell me about it.” Mom began to drag out the chair across the table from where I was sitting. There in front of her was a cup of God knows what. She enjoyed keeping certain secrets to herself but when it came to receiving rewards, she would gladly show them off.

After not having anything to brag about for years, she was excited when she found out she was pregnant with me. She knew that with a child, she had the ability to brag again.

 As a kid, I was placed into a number of extracurricular activities. I went from being a libero in volleyball to solving math equations for a prize with the mathletes in the same year. All of my rewards and trophies were embraced more by my mother; she was a spirited person.

It’s not that I did not appreciate what I received, I just thought “Thank You” was enough. Though, I was more energetic as a kid than I am now.

I haven’t seen a reward in years though, now that I am 29. My mother has been as quiet as a lamb and her famous mantle of rewards has become full of dust.

I work at a bank and I’ve never been employee of the month. My boss says that I am more than advanced at what I do, but I “intimidate” the other workers. Never understood what it was though.

“Carter and I got into another argument.” I sighed.

Carter is my husband, who seems to be holding onto our marriage by a thin line. We’ve been married for 5 years and yet it feels like we’ve been tied to each other for eternity. For the past couple of weeks I had been escaping to my parent’s home with every opportunity I got, because I could never face Carter alone.

“Have you tried speaking to him yet?” Mom lifts up the cup, to take a sip.

“You know I haven’t.” The room was quiet for a second, only the sound of her cup hitting the table softly, broke all silence.

“What were you two fighting about?”

“How clueless I am on the definition of kindness.”

I couldn’t see it, but I knew mom was crossing her legs. She was preparing herself to side with Carter...because he is the reasonable one.

“Basically it was his way of stating that he is a better parent than I am.” I looked down at my plate. I was getting bored of the sight of the fork. The best option was to put it in my mouth. It was the same roll of noodles from earlier.

“What did he say?”

“We were at Benny’s toy store when Leah asked for a really expensive barbie doll. I wanted to buy it for her but I just did not have that amount of money on me. I told her no...but Carter got mad at me and told me that I never buy her anything she wants. I responded by telling him that’s how kids become spoiled and then he just..went on telling me about how Leah is not even spoiled because she has no more than 5 toys at home and the least I could have done in that moment was let her be a kid…” My fingers were pressing into my temples. The more I rethought the situation, the more stressful it got.

Mom sighed a harsh sigh before leaning over the table, giving me all of her attention. “Did you tell him that you did not have enough to buy the toy?”

I shook my head. I could not bring myself to tell him that, but it was easy for me to tell my 4 year old child no.

“I am going to tell you right off the bat that you are not a selfish person. In the 29 years that I was given to be your mother, I know you are far from it.” Mom’s arms were lying out on the table, as she crossed her palms together. “And Carter is not either. You lack emotion. You are too serious with yourself that you put it out on others. You keep doing this and it’s gonna get to Leah’s head.”

I looked down at my plate and then into her eyes. “I don’t know how to change.”

“You’ve done it before. You used to be such a bright and open child. Something changed you and it is up to you to figure out what it is, if you wanna change for Leah.”

From being overcome with fear I forgot how I was always open. The problem was that I couldn’t remember what made me turn into this emotionless human being. I was clawing my way through my memories to figure out what was the cause of this. For the first time in forever, I was becoming anxious. If I could not remember what made me stop opening up in the first place, then how was I supposed to change?

And like a struck of lightning or heaven sent, I remember why.

“Do you remember the summer of 92’?” I asked randomly.

“It is an honest shame that I can not remember the details, but I know that it was a summer that you would never forget.” She grinned.

Mom leaned back in her chair, awaiting the story. Her fingers were curled around her cup as she brought it to her lips to take a quick sip before placing it down on the table.

I took a quick glance at her face to find her grinning, almost smirking.

“Summer of 92’. It was right before my senior year of highschool; my first time as a counselor at Camp Waverly.”

Camp Waverly was the popular sunnyside camp that was located an hour away from our town. It was packed with campers that were eager to play around in nature, while counselors were trying to make money and stay productive during the summer.

“Camp Waverly, you loved it there.” Mom’s face enlightened at the thought of it.

“I really did. I regretted not coming yearly to be a camper.”

Mom was now smiling hugely, while staring into my eyes.

“What?” I asked with a hint of concern in my voice. It was a time to remember, but the way she was smiling was too extreme.

“Are you sure it was the camp that you loved so much?”

She was right again. She could see through me like I was transparent. Even I couldn’t hide the fact that there was something else I loved about the camp. The camp was there for people to make memories, but something particularly special about Camp Waverly was what made it have a special place that was buried deep in my heart.

So deep, I couldn’t even find it without someone reminding me. That someone being my mom.

“It was where I met Carter.” I admitted.

Camp Waverly was the place where I met my husband, Carter. A young boy at the time, who loved to wear the same yellow duck t-shirt that was always tucked into his khakis. It was a miracle that I was able to get his attention because everyone at camp loved him.

“On alternating days, the camp administrator would host games so that counselors and campers could interact off trail. It was our 5th night at camp and the sun was just beginning to set. Everyone had gathered around the huge centered fire pit to keep warm while the administrator was explaining the rules for this game. Both counselors and campers were required to participate and were split into groups since there were so many of us. We were assigned a path and by each mark on the path we were asked to do something silly like do the hokey pokey. Whichever group completed all of their tasks would win a personal stuffed bear.”

“So I take it you won?” Mom was curiously driven into the story now. “Uh, not quite. I remember that my group came in last. To ensure that no child left camp in despair, the administrator made everyone feel victory and passed out, I think, tootsie rolls.”

Tootsie Rolls were a binge of junk back then. Giving that candy to children was like daring to play with a wild animal. It had the weirdest taste, yet no one could stay away from them. We were practically hypnotized into buying them at corner stores or not thinking twice to take free ones that were offered, like at camp.

“Carter’s team won. You couldn’t miss catching a glimpse of those stuffed animals because his campers brought them everywhere just to show them off.”  I laughed at how I remembered this one kid from his cabin, Billy the youngest, ran up to me once with the biggest smile on his face and showed me the bear prize he chose. It was yellow and dirty, but the look on his face represented that he didn’t care. He had his bear and as long as it was in his presence, he would continue to show off his small pearly whites for the world to see.

“Carter chose one for himself too. It was a scarlet red coated hand sized bear that had a grey bow around its neck. He gave it to me on the night that he confessed his feelings. He had nothing else to give, but that.”

“I don’t believe you told me about the red teddy part.” Mom furrowed her brows contemplating whether or not I told her.

“I didn’t. I guess it was because that part was a little painful. On the last day of camp, I lost the bear. We looked everywhere for it, but it was nowhere to be found. My best guess is that one of my campers from my cabin took it.”

I cleared my throat as the image of the bear carved itself into my mind.

“It sounds dramatic but at the time, I was miserable. It was Carter’s first gift to me when he confessed his feelings. I remember blaming myself for losing it because it was the last day and we could not do anything about it.”

“Do you still blame yourself for it?” Mom asked as I shook my head.

For the first time in so long, my eyes were tearing up. I still blamed myself for that incident. Most people would say it was just a toy. Carter told me multiple times that I do not have to worry about it because “accidents happen”. In truth, the red teddy was just a toy. But I couldn’t stop blaming myself for losing it.

“You asked me to find out what was the reason that caused me to change into this person who feared showing emotions and it was because of that summer. I forced myself to forget that part of camp so that I would not have to undergo the guilt I was putting on myself. That’s why I never told you about it. I know it sounds crazy for someone to change over the smallest thing, but I just couldn’t accept it. I thought I had forgotten about it, but it was only the memory that was forgotten. There was still a string attached to me and that guilt, which I refused to cut.”

“You need to let go of it, honey. I know it’s difficult, because it was his first gift to you that you hold dearly, but you have to move on. Carter still trusts you, more than ever now that you are married and you have a child. Carter moved on from it, so now it’s your turn. Forgive yourself.” Mom smiled.

I thought she was going to scold me. She was being too soft, that the tears were moments away from pouring down my face. This escalated too quickly. Even after years, this incident still brings me to tears. I feel weak every time it’s brought up. How was I going to get over this? How could I forgive myself?

“You’ve figured out the problem, now figure out your solution and come to peace with it for once and for all.”

I wanted to tell her the only way I could come to peace with it, was if the bear was found, but then that would be too easy. It was the one problem that seemed harder than a calculus math equation.

A knock appeared at the door. Mom watched me for a second as I sat there, looking weak, before she pushed out her chair to stand up.

“Hold on sweetie, let me just see who is at the door.” She disappears from around the corner, as I took that time to wipe away the tears from my eyes.

It wasn’t long until mom came back around the corner towards the kitchen table. She was smiling again as if the convo between me and her never happened.

“Look who’s here.” She turned towards the people who walked through the door and emerged from behind the wall.

It was Carter and Leah. Leah’s eyes met mine, as she ran over to the side of the table where I was sitting and wrapped her arms around my head, pulling me down closer to her. Her face was filled with joy which made me feel even more guilty. Not just about the doll I couldn’t afford, but also about the impression I put out towards her and others.

“Why are you at grandma’s house mommy?” Leah innocently asks, her blue eyes beaming at mine. “I was just having dinner, sweetie.” I smiled through the pain, for her.

“Leah, baby, why don’t you come with me to watch some cartoons while mommy and daddy have a little talk?” Mom had her left arm out towards Leah.

Leah ran from my embrace towards her grandmother and took her hand. They walked over to the entrance, where Carter was leaning before disappearing into the living room.

I didn’t know where to start. If I could, I always ran away from problems and now that one of them is backing me into a corner, I wasn’t sure what to say. My head fell towards my hands in my lap as Carter made his way closer to my seat. I turned out so that my legs weren’t under the table as Carter squatted down in front of me, to receive my full attention. My eyes looked into his; they were filled with remorse as his lips began to part.

“I had a feeling you were over here.” He says, as his lips formed into a grin.

He could tell that I was still having trouble finding the words to talk.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have argued with you like that in the store.”

“No, I am sorry. I wanted to get her the toy, I just couldn’t afford it. I didn’t want to tell you because I couldn’t gather up the courage to so I just made up the whole spoiling situation.” My voice was becoming shaky.

The tears ran down my face like a river stream. I gave up on fighting them back as they were too eager to fall. Carter hadn’t seen me cry in months.

“I am also sorry for everything else. I didn’t realize how distant I was being until I put it all together today. I kept bottling up my feelings until I got lost.” It was like a trance.

His face softens as he smiles at me. His hand runs along the right side of my face, to prevent the tears from falling. It was his way of telling me that he forgives me. “I got you something.” His voice was soft. I hadn’t noticed that he was hiding his right arm behind his back until it came into view.

He places a double sided photo frame on my lap. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was a hand drawn picture of the red teddy bear. I flipped the picture around and it was a photo dated back to 1992 of me sitting on my bed smiling, in which the bear happened to be on the bed as well.

It was like he knew this whole time that this was the reason for my “downfall”.

“I know you had a hard time dealing with the ‘teddy situation’ and you blame yourself for it. I also know that these past couple of weeks have been rocky for us. The way you’ve changed over the years, all of it, leads to the bear.” He admitted. “How did you know?” I looked into his eyes.

“I noticed your sudden fear in expressing emotions. It took me a while but I finally figured it was because you couldn’t forgive yourself for losing it. So I paid someone to draw the bear and dug through that disposable camera we brought along and found a photo of you with it. I thought it might help you put you at ease.” He looked down as if he thought I was disappointed.

I was speechless. My arms wrap around him. I could feel the weight of the guilt from that incident was no longer there. It was relieving even more just by being in his arms. I felt tinier arms wrap around us, as I lifted my head to see Leah smiling. We pulled out of the embrace as she got distracted by the frame in my lap.

“Pretty bear.” Her face enlightened even more as Carter and I laughed at her. I promise to get her one just like it.

We pulled in for a group hug one more time, as I whispered “Thank you” to Carter.


The Blackberry Do Over Sixta the gardener came today. She is Quechua but doesn’t wear the native clothing that many still do here in the Sacred Valley of Peru. The Quechua are descendants of the Incas. The older generation, the parents and grandparents of adult children, often speak only Quechua. Sixta is first the generation that learned Spanish in order to better integrate into the rapidly approaching Western world. Her children are now learning English and the Quechua language and culture are being slowly forgotten. These people are small but sturdy, like muscle-bound Staffordshire Terriers. Sixta and her husband Pepe work hard manual labor for about fourteen dollars a day. I pay more because I respect their time beyond industry standards. They both look like plump, ripe blackberries. Hair so black it looks blue; round cheeks burnt brown from the sun. Stubby hands and fingers stained from pulling grass and digging rocks out of the yard. I almost never understand Pepe because he speaks with a Quechua accent but Sixta translates his Spanish into her Spanish and then I understand.

I believe the Quechua and other native cultures are the true

tesoro  (treasury) of Peru; alongside the mineral resources and the Amazon rainforest that are being ravaged as we speak. Protection for these people is rare and they are largely marginalized. However, with a surge in the viewership of the programs

Ancient Aliens

and  Lost Civilizations,

plus the upsurge of shamanistic journeys in the Amazon with the foul-tasting mix that is known as ayahuasca, Peru has become a focus for archeological and spiritual travel which is energizing the native cultures and shedding light on their intrinsic value.

Sixta and I are going to harvest black berries today. The living wall bordering one side of the yard is a massive blackberry bush. It is about eight feet high and 20 feet wide. Gratefully many of these berries are in plain sight, politely hanging over the fence so we can pick them without going in to battle dress uniform. Sixta must have the skin of a rhino. Nothing seems to penetrate her epidermis. I am “Oooo-ing and Ouch-ing” the whole time. My mind is filled with bowls and bowls of fresh, organic, berries topped with

crèma de leche, cinnamon and powdered sugar. Visions of my mother’s blackberry pie come to mind. And her blackberry jam…memories of picking blackberries as a child on our farm flash in my mind’s eye.

            My family had a farm in Western Pennsylvania. We had cows, pigs, chickens, horses, a cherry orchard, two peach trees and one over-achieving pear tree. The woods grew wild blackberries, which we, as unpaid child labor, were forced to pick wearing long-sleeves in the dead of summer. Because we were semi-poor we didn’t buy long-sleeved

summer

shirts, we wore flannel shirts from the winter collection.

            Along with the suffocating flannel, there were the cat’s claw-like brambles which bypassed the flannel to rudely grab raw skin. Needless to say, picking blackberries was not my happy place as a kid. In addition, the uncontrollable urge to eat them before they hit the basket largely sabotaged my success. Nonetheless, with five kids picking we would amass enough for my mom to make several pies and dozens of jars of jam. My mom was a Martha Stewart type. Any food she touched turned into delicious scrumptiousness. I have never, ever made a pie or even attempted to because I knew it would not pay homage to my sweet mother.

            Despite the pain and suffering I went through to harvest the raw ingredients, I enjoyed the tasty homemade treats. But when it came to giving gifts at Christmas, store-bought was the only safe way to go—in my eight-year-old mind.

            But lo and behold my mother insisted I give the school bus driver a jar of homemade black berry jam several years running. The day she would give me the darling jar decorated with a pert, hand-sewn bow, tied perfectly around the metal ring of the canning jar, my stomach would churn and my cheeks would start to burn. Why was it me that had to do it? Probably because I was the youngest and everyone else had graduated from mortification school.             As the school bus neared, my capillary system flushed into my face. The hair on my arms stood up and goose pimples formed, not from the cold but from the rude assault I was about to make on the unassuming bus driver. Poor guy.             I shuffled up the steps. As I passed, I stuck my arm out with the jam mumbling, “ThisisfrommymommerryChristmas.” The bus driver, Mr. Thomas, an African American middle-aged man, smiled brightly with his perfect white teeth, “Why thank you! That is so nice. Thank your mother for me, will you?” I knew he was feigning enthusiasm. He would probably forget about it as soon as he got home. Why couldn’t we have bought some tube socks from K-Mart, or a Steeler’s skull cap to keep his fuzzy, balding head nice and toasty?             With my mother now passed and my entire family gone I would give an arm and a leg to have those moments back. No better blackberry jam has ever passed the mouth of a human being. It tasted like a dark purple, explosion of love. I am guessing Mr. Thomas scraped every morsel out of the bottom of the jar and probably even stuck his finger in to swipe the extra bits hiding under the lip. Proclaiming, “Mmm, mmm, Miss Natalie sure can make blackberry jam.”

            If I could do it over I would spring up the bus steps holding the lovely jar with both hands. I would offer up the blessed and sacred elixir and say, “Mr. Thomas, my amazing mother is bestowing this priceless jar of homemade blackberry jam to you as a symbol of our deep appreciation and gratitude for driving us safely to school every day.”             I would sit down on the green plastic seat with a smile of smug satisfaction for having been part of a team that produced the most excellent of products. My capillary system would behave, pumping blood to my heart for the gratitude I was feeling. Goose pimples would be inert and unseen, ready and waiting for some other, more appropriate circumstance.             How many times do we wish for do-overs? What if we could live in the present moment, appreciating all that we have now? Would that eradicate the pain of loss and sadness of nostalgia? The pain of guilt or longing for “the good times”. What if right now is the good time? My mother’s passing drove home this point in a painful way. Each moment I have is precious. Is there time that is wastable so that I can fight and argue, blame and judge another? The wise saying that often crosses my mind is, “Live each day as if it were your last.” I’ve begun to be more present, noticing when my mind is chattering away about some problem I’ll have in the future. I stop, take three deep breaths and look at the detail that surrounds me. A stone wall with mustard-colored lichen, tomatoes growing in a red tub, pink geraniums in the border garden, Henrí’s alert, shiny brown eyes, Sixta and her blue bucket. This practice brings me into the present moment. All past and all future have and will only take place right now. As I move on in my life without my precious mother, I hope to evolve so that wanting “do-overs” becomes less a part of my thoughts and I become more fluid with Life itself. But right now, I have blackberries to pick with my Quechua friend. And five dogs crowding underfoot all wanting to be petted. The sun is shining and I can hear the river gurgling outside the adobe wall.

THE END


Tuesday morning in the office, it’s a miserable morning. I am still hung over and there is only fifteen minutes until noon. Why did I do shots last night with Rene, why did I drink those car bombs? Why is there a “Candy Was Here” written on my chest with what I suspect is a sharpie marker? I can’t be sure because I haven’t taken a shower yet. That’s disgusting you say. I say fuck you, based on my last text message threatening Rene with bodily harm if he tells my girlfriend the truth, I think I got about two hours of sleep. It’s been that kind of day. The coffee I was so sure would make everything better, burnt me like I wronged it. Who is to say I didn’t, last night is really fuzzy. The last clear memory I have is leaving my buddies house to get more beer. I really hope I am not a favorite on YouTube again. Here is the thing you need to understand about Rene. His mother is a very sweet and loving woman, however she mated with the devil and produced offspring that is more imp than man and named him Rene. He is my best friend and the reason God is laughing at my misery today. I hate that bastard. I am sitting at my desk and the asshole next to me is droning on about golf clubs and his dogs. Normally Stan is a pretty good guy, however today he is the enemy. I try to politely nod and offer the occasional grunt to show that as a member of the same species I recognize his right to breath. I like to think my occasional UHHG and ERRRR get my point across is sufficient. Evidently I ERRR’ed when I should have UHHG’ed, because Stan returns to his desk with an air of fuck you buddy. This is the least of my worries though. My stomach has decided it wants to mate with a fucking brontosaurus, and begins making mating calls that have not been heard since before the meteor sent those fuckers back lizard hell. Translation I’m gonna puke. I run to the bathroom and make it there just in time to ruin my tie and scare the hell out of the new guy. Stupid fucking coffee, and cheese puffs I had for breakfast. Please tell me I am not in hell and that God does indeed love me. It's almost lunchtime, I made it despite all of nature’s attempts otherwise. I feel a little better knowing I will be able to get a little bit of sleep in my car. I hear angels singing ever so softly. All I have to do is punch out and walk out the door. All I have to do is walk past the manager’s office. Any other day this would not be like Frodo walking through Mordor. Unfortunately Sauron is in her office with The Lackeys, Loudmouth, Fat Ass, and The Goat. If I walk past her with my head up smiling and farting rainbows, she won’t smell weakness and attack me like a shark feeding on a wounded baby seal. I make it halfway past her door before she notices me not wearing a tie, my eyes bloodshot and my miss matched shoes. Shit how am I going to run in these? I am doomed, goodbye cruel world. Tell my girlfriend I love her. Fuck you Rene. Her voice is nasally as it cuts through me like Jason does to horny teenagers. “Eric, can you come into my office?” I can feel the disgust in her voice, I can see The Lackeys smirking. Her office is tastefully decorated. I thought it would be more like Vlad the Impaler's dungeon. I really have to quit being so judgmental. I bet she is into bondage. Not hardcore gimp suit, just some light paddling and stepping on your balls in her heels. If she wasn’t so evil and her voice so annoying I might actually think she was attractive in a plain sort of way. Brown hair, brown eyes, nice cleavage, but no ass to speak of. The kind of girl you would fuck and never call back. I bet that’s why she hates me. Some guy who looks like me gave her some great pillow talk and never called back. I hate him as much as I hate Rene. I wish I could tell her I would never do that to a woman. I am a gentle soul totally enthralled by a woman’s spirituality and her intelligence. I don’t care about what my friends think or how she trims her bush. Unfortunately I am in her lair, there is no escape, and no quarter will be given. She starts the conversation with “Just what the hell do you think you are doing looking like that? I try to explain myself, but she cuts me off. “This is a professional environment, or haven’t you noticed”. I try to explain I had noticed, but she cuts me off again. "Are you going to explain yourself or just stand there? And suddenly I was fed up. This is total bullshit, I am hungover, I smell like vomit, there is permanent marker on my chest that I will have to explain to my girlfriend, and on top of everything I was pretty sure I left my credit card at the strip club. So much for plausible deniability. "LOOK HERE MOTHERFUCKER!" And I stopped right there. Oh shit Oh shit, shitfuckshitfuckshitfuckshitfuck. Everyone’s jaw is on the floor, including mine. She is staring at me like Mike Tyson did to the little bitches in the ring with him for all those fights before he bit that dude's ear off. I blurt out “My Grandmother died this morning, I can’t handle this right now”. Now everything changes, I touched a nerve, suddenly she says to me in the soft and gentle voice of Fran Drescher, “Eric what are you even doing at work today? Go home and be with your family”. I look around the room at the Lackeys. Fat ass and Loudmouth have nothing but kindness in their eyes just like Sauron. The Goat's has what looks like admiration in his old eyes. Silently he says well played sir. Well played. I may have been wrong about him. Maybe he understands what it’s like to be taken advantage of by a stripper named Candy. Does he have a Rene? So many questions I need answers too. Before I can get these answers to my questions, a familiar feeling returns. I guess my stomach still needs a good rogering. I ran out of the office and this time I made it to my destination before I puked on the car next to mine. Take that Stan.


Somebody had trapped Martin McDermott in slow motion. One second he was making average love to his wife, and the next second for him was two hours for her. By the time he finished his thrust, she had gotten out from under him, dressed herself, dressed *him* (getting his pants buttoned around his beer belly was the hardest part), called the police, ridden next to him on the ambulance, and spent half an hour crying by his side, lamenting her frozen husband. Finally his crotch reached its zenith and Martin realized something was very wrong. He started trying to figure out what was going on. Looking around the hospital room took around 5 seconds. He had no idea how to reach the people around him, who moved about like gnats in a wind tunnel, speaking and moving in lightning-fast patterns that criss-crossed like a cat’s cradle. He cried out a few times, but no one seemed to stop for long enough to hear him. Martin realized he was in slow motion, and everyone else was experiencing time normally. He didn’t know the exact numbers of how much faster time was for them, but after a while staring at a wall clock he worked out that one second for him was two hours for everyone else. 7,200 times faster. The watching and the mental math took about five minutes, which threw him a few days forward--a few days of everyone in real time watching him barely move. As soon as he was certain he had the rate nailed down he saw the faintest pinprick for the nano-est of nanoseconds in the hospital window, some blurry shape with a blurry little gun-looking-thing and a smug blurry smile. He felt a jolt, looked back to the clock, and saw it was going much, much faster now, so fast he had no chance to re-calculate the rate that life was rushing past him. Then the clock was gone and he was within the grey walls of some deteriorating mental institution. He could see paint running off the walls like water from an ice sculpture and brick crumbling like a sandcastle at high tide. He sat in a cell for about 3 minutes, thinking of what he could say to try to express what had happened to him. He watched blotches of color and light flash in and out of his little cell. He could only assume the blotches were his wife and children and doctors and researchers and journalists. Their voices were so high pitched they were out of the range of Martin’s hearing, and the smells changed so fast that his nose was delivering a signal similar to smelling an all you can eat buffet--so much stuff that his nose just gave up and said Ew. It had been 8 minutes for Martin since he had been at home, making love to his wife in their bed, trying to push away thoughts of the little scientist he had bumped with his car on the way to work, who had yelled at him to Slow Down Pal and Martin had said Make Me You Little Dumb Ass and sped away. Martin started to tear up. It had just been a bad morning. He hadn’t meant it. “Fuck”, he said. Instantly he regretted it. He imagined his wife and children watching him make an ‘F’ sound for a few years, before segueing into the “u” sound, and by that time everybody would know what he was saying but they would have to endure a few more years of him going “cccckkkkkk” before he could say anything else. As soon as he finished the word he realized that everyone had stopped listening long ago. He swore to himself that the next thing he said would be much smarter. He wished he could just be alone, to *think* without seeing how fast everyone else’s lives were racing past. In the time it took to have these thoughts and say that single word, the flashing blotches of color’s visits began to decrease in frequency until there were only a few flashes every couple of seconds--Martin *hoped* they were his wife and kids. He laid down and closed his eyes, clearing his head and thinking as hard as he could for the right thing to say to them before they were gone forever. Suddenly he felt a flurry of activity--hands touching his body, face, eyes, droplets of water hitting him, all so fast they were barely recognizable, like being brushed by a hummingbird’s wings. When he opened his eyes, all he saw was absolute black. They must have thought he died. He punched upwards and hit solid, supple wood. He waited about a minute, and then hit again. This time the wood paneling exploded outward, completely rotted and wet and time-eaten. Slowly, surely, he dug upwards, the soil cycling through winter stiffness and summer softness, waiting, trying to pace each stroke with the seasons. Finally, he struck through topsoil and felt the beautiful air embrace his wrist and hand, seasonal temperatures cycling as years whizzed by--hot cool hot cool hot cool--snow fell on him and melted and massive monsoons brushed his fingertips for fractions of a second, like being gently breathed on. After he had his fill of the patterns of the earth on his hand he stuck the other one through. He strained every muscle and pushed his head through the soil like he was being born, and dragged himself gasping onto the fast-growing grass that was already far past his head. He lay there for a minute, appreciating his freedom, thinking about how it had been about 15 minutes for him since he was making love to his wife in his bed thinking about not wanting to go to work tomorrow, and in that time the grass and vines of the graveyard grew around him and embraced and clothed him, and the stiff grey suit he was buried in turned to strips and rags and fell away. He stood up, breaking his plant life cocoon, and looked out at the crumbling graveyard he stood in. He waited a few seconds and he realized he was finally, blissfully alone, his family gone, the place he was laid to rest forgotten. He watched the grass and various plants bloom and drag the few remaining headstones in the graveyard into their grip and break them down into dust. The trees around him blossomed out like fireworks, cycling--green red brown white green red brown white. He looked up to the sky--light dark cloudy light cloudy dark light dark--the earth turning so fast it was like he was watching an old movie, frames flickering and stuttering--and watched stars blink in and out of existence, watched Andromeda get closer on its collision course with the Milky Way. He had the thought that time must be getting even faster for him to see stuff like that. He was happy that he was aging on his time and not the universe’s, or else he would have been long dead. He looked down at where he had been standing and saw it was now covered in several feet of snow, up to his thighs. He watched for a few seconds longer, the snow unchanging, and deduced that it was maybe permanent. He decided to try to find his house, to try to see a photo of his wife and kids or something before the universe blew up. It had been 18 minutes now and finally the sadness of the situation started to hit him. Martin had always been pretty slow at processing his emotions. None of this quite felt real--how was he supposed to react? Was everything really gone? You bump one petty time-slowing scientist on a crosswalk at 8 AM and you’re condemned to watch the end of the world, after your wife and kids spent their lifetimes watching you sort of vaguely think about what to say and all you came up with was a single swear? The scientist never even thought to free him in all that time? He hadn’t even gotten to *watch* anything in his life happen. It was too fast to see. The only things he could watch were the earth’s natural processes. He thanked the earth for being so mercifully slow, and watched the snow pile up and the trees rot away to nothingness for a few seconds. He understood how flowers and trees felt now that he moved at their pace. Martin wished he was better with words. He wished he was smarter. He wished that he had come up with some clever way of using the slow time to make a point--like if he had spent 50 years saying “world peace” maybe people would have listened! What a sacrifice that would have seemed like! He looked up at the sky one last time, and saw what was coming. Without thinking, Martin said “Fuck,” and then Andromeda collided with the Milky Way. There was a flash of white that scraped the walls of the universe and everything within it. It lasted about .00006 of Martin’s Seconds. 20 Martin’s Minutes after Martin McDermott made love to his wife and thought about how much he hated the nasty little beer belly that he had developed, both he and the Earth became scattered dust and thought no more. The universe breathed a little sigh of relief. It always did its best work when it was alone.


My mother is a walking miracle. I'm not kidding. She shouldn't be alive. I know what you're thinking, but no, she wasn't the only survivor of a plane crash. She didn't fight off an intruder or make a miraculous recovery from a deadly disease. No, my mom is here because someone upstairs has a sense of humour. At least I *hope* that's the reason. I have a lot of anecdotal evidence for my claim, but for today's purposes I will tell you one story. The Story of the Bike. My grandfather was stationed overseas in the late 50's at Camp King in Germany. That's a whole other story, and it even includes a song, but we'll skip that and just go into the fact that army bases in foreign countries are their own little self-contained worlds and this one was no different. Mom had made a few friends a little older than her and they all had bicycles. My mother did not have a bike. But she wanted one. She wanted one so badly that she saved her allowance and begged her parents for one for Christmas. She even planned ahead and bribed one of the neighbourhood teens to teach her to ride. This consisted of my mom peddling on the grass lawn in front of the house while the teen 'teacher' read my mom's Supergirl comic books and grunted occasionally. Gradually, Mother's skill level increased as her comic book level decreased. Finally, Christmas arrived and what does she find under the tree? A brand new bike! Oh boy! Mom rushes outside with her prize and heads out to meet the rest of the b.r.a.t.s on the base and off they go to the 'Drop.' Now every kid that doesn't live in Florida has a hill or road that serves as a catalyst for speed tricks and/or blunt force trauma but this particular hill was something else entirely. It was several hundred feet high at a steep grade and at the bottom was a 90 degree turn. Beyond this was a forest. The army kids would line up at the top and one by one, they would all shoot down at breakneck speed and come to a rest at the bottom. Mother watched excitedly and nervously as they shot down the road, seemingly flying as they navigated the hill. Then it was her turn. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself and pushed off on her brand new bike. Down she went. Faster and faster! It was exhilarating! No wonder the other kids loved this so much! She held on to her handlebars as the bicycle picked up more and more speed. She was soaring now. The wind whipped past her and she saw the kids waiting at the bottom of the hill for her. They were waving. Waving? She didn't have time to consider that now, the ground under her was a blur and she wasn't slowing. Why wasn't she slowing like the other kids? The bottom of the hill was close. She could see individual expressions on her friends' faces now and they were horrified. And *why* wasn't she slowing? She should be- My mother bombed past her astonished pals and crashed full speed into the trees, destroying the bike, two bones, a whole lot of skin, and every shred of pride. She lay there, unable to get up and totally unable to understand why this had happened to her. Why didn't she stop like everybody else? As she pondered this question and tried to figure out how she was going to explain this to her dad, her friends ran up. "Susan! Susan! Are you okay?" "Why didn't you use the brakes?" My mother just looked at them. She had learned to ride a bike in the grass. The bike just ...stopped when it was done. Confused, she just said, "Brakes? What are brakes?" And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I learned that common sense is dead, it didn't die yesterday, and holy shit, that's my mom and somehow I made it to adulthood.


Dorothy enjoyed tea and television. Ever since she had retired, they were her chief pleasures. There was also her husband, Ralph, and she certainly loved him, but he complained about how loud she watched her shows and sometimes he would buy those hideous bagged teas at the supermarket, so she couldn't in good faith place him on the same level as a *Downton Abbey* or a first flush Darjeeling. He was more like a Keemun, dependable but much too familiar. Still, she couldn't complain about Ralph too much. It was through his hard work they'd been able to afford this house out in the countryside, and she enjoyed living here, away from the noise and commotion of the city. It was peaceful. She could steep her tea while listening to the birds and watching rabbits chase each other across the yard. Today was especially peaceful because Ralph was gone, which meant Dorothy could turn up the volume on the television as high as she liked. For now, the news was droning on about the Middle East, those kids who disappeared last year, and the upcoming election, but soon that broadcast would end and one of Dorothy's favourite shows would begin. Indeed, as soon as she heard the theme music she scooted to the living room and sat down in her chair. It was halfway through the episode when she heard it: a knocking on the door, followed by a voice: "Lettuce and peas!" The phrase repeated. Must be those local farmers trying to sell their overpriced *organic* vegetables, thought Dorothy, turning up the volume on the television. But still she heard it: "Lettuce and peas!" They sure are persistent, she thought. What an odd combination too. The banging on the door intensified. "Lettuce and peas!" "Lettuce and peas!" Dorothy settled more stubbornly into her chair. Now they were just being rude. And who goes door-to-door selling vegetables at this hour of the evening? "Lettuce and peas!" She would not budge. She would not deign to give them the satisfaction. People these days were so ill-mannered, and one mustn't oblige their impertinence: banging on the door, yelling… "Lettuce and—" Finally it was over, and Dorothy returned her full attention to her show. ## There were three of them: Mirabelle, her brother Oliver, and the little one the monster called Duncan. Mirabelle couldn't remember for how long they'd been trapped inside the monster's lair, but it seemed like forever. Oh, the things they had endured! But today was the day they would gain their freedom. Their tunnel was complete. They waited patiently until evening— And went: Through the tunnel—into the outdoors. It was disorienting at first, but they held hands and ran: anywhere: away from the lair! They saw a house in the distance and headed toward it. Suddenly they heard the monster behind. But he was far.


Did it dream of red sands and a barren land where nothing blooms? The Pioneer knew it didn’t belong here. Not in this dusty, shallow grave that cradled its body of steel. Once, its purpose had driven it here, even if that purpose was now long forgotten. Something had woken it from its sleep. A call echoed somewhere deep within its mind—a wordless demand it couldn’t quite decipher. The Pioneer stretched its jointed fingers, ones that rough winds had barraged, eroding away the protective shell until only bare metal remained. Now, there was only calm. It didn’t have to stay here. But the Pioneer’s body was heavy, its metallic heart beating ever slower and slower. It could let the sand and dust swallow it whole into its rough embrace. Yes, it could stay here, let its own weight create its tomb. And bit by bit, rust would devour, and atom by atom, the world would eat the Pioneer away. It would leave behind an orange frame, one of jutted broken steel. Wires and cords would blossom where its body lay. But the call came again, like a surging wave over the Pioneer, tugging at its feet and forcing it to move. Mechanical eyes rolled in their pits, trying to find focus once more. With the whir and whine of its joints, the Pioneer stood up, casting off its dusty veil. It took a step and its feet dug into the sand. Its before so sure movements wavered, but it was still movement forward. One lurching step followed another, heavy feet leaving red clouds in its wake. If the desolate landscape around the Pioneer changed, its eyes remained blind to it until its feet met moist ground. The Pioneer swayed, looking down at the water bubbling from underneath its feet. It had been sand before, it knew. Now it was all green. Dark, muted colors that matted the ground, and bright vibrant hues that rose high above, even higher than the Pioneer could reach. A tiny white flower, a multitude of them, stared at the Pioneer from within the lush green. The Pioneer knew the plant, even if its name was long gone from its machine mind. It was sure it had once created one, watched it grow from its striped seed, watched the leaves unfurl and hunger for light and water. But it had never seen one bloom. How could it, in this barren world of stone and dust? Yet here it was, as if mocking the notion. The Pioneer walked further into the green. Moisture condensed on the surface of its fractured shell, rolling droplets leaving stripes that revealed white underneath. Somewhere far, it could feel it. The call that had pulled it out of its sleep and forced its broken body to move. It was getting stronger now, each step bringing the Pioneer closer. A gleaming light shone in the distance. As the Pioneer’s whirring eyes came to focus, they revealed a dome that rose above the green. Now closer, the Pioneer could see where the green had broken through, or perhaps broken out, leaving a jagged hole just big enough. Inside, it was steady ground that met its steps, white gleaming surfaces and straight lines all around. Something rolled up to the Pioneer, its surface smooth silver and white, not a speck of dust to be seen. The Pioneer could sense its call, a reach that surged through its wires and chips. “Unauthorized unit—rrzz—. This area is a restricted living area. You are advised to turn back immediately.” Living—? The Pioneer lifted its heavy head and saw people. Their wide eyes and open mouths stared at the Pioneer, but its focus was already elsewhere. The small machine that whirred and swirled around the Pioneer’s feet wasn’t what it was looking for. The call, the one that pulled at the Pioneer, still pricked at the edges of its mind. It walked on through the place where white of the angular buildings shone against the deep lush. In the dome above, the Pioneer saw a prism of colors, scattering across the shiny surface. “Whatareyou?” The Pioneer looked down. The words were a scrambled mess in its ears. It needed a signal, but living flesh couldn’t give one it would understand. The small person stared at the Pioneer, black eyes wide and intent, as if trying to unravel what the machine was. “Getawayfromit!” Another came to drag the small person away. More fervent calls arose from around the Pioneer as it continued its walk, but those weren’t enough to stop the machine. It had finally found it. The Pioneer stared at what once would have been its mirror image. The buildings made way to a wide opening where the figure stood, towering above the people. Its glossy white shell hid the metal underneath, joints shining steel. It hadn’t been ravaged by the coarse, unrelenting winds, or dirtied by the dust that found its way into every seam. It was whole. And it was gone. The other Pioneer embraced the green that climbed its motionless form and rested on its open outstretched palms. Flowers bloomed on its shoulders and where its heavy feet were bolted to the ground. All this time, its call had been fading, until it was gone. Final goodbye of the lifeless machine as it now embraced the life it had once brought forth. “Unauthorized unit—defensive measures will be—turn back immediately.” The scattered message reached the Pioneer, but whatever it meant, the Pioneer’s broken mind couldn’t grasp its meaning. It only remembered long journeys and the trailing red dust. It remembered when it had finally found water and damp ground. It remembered its purpose. The Pioneer fell to its knees. Somewhere deep within its body, bits and pieces moved, wheels whirred now knowing what they had been made for. The Pioneer stretched its stiff fingers, and on its open palm, it saw green. The green that was more tenacious than the metal. It had a desire to live, hard coded into its very being. And it bloomed. It would continue to bloom, the Pioneer knew, long after it was gone. Now, it was ready for another dream.


No one really knew what happened inside the Bath House--all they knew was that the people who went in were not the same who came out. Well. Not technically. Sure, they looked the same. They had the same mannerisms. The same essence. But that was about it. It was like looking at a stranger twin of the person you used to know. A stranger because they didn’t recognize you. They didn’t recognize anyone, or anything, from their old life. And all it took was one appointment. Move on and move into the new you--the Bath House’s very own slogan. No channels or podcasts had ever managed to interview any clients of the Bath House or gather any relevant information of what was really going on inside the ‘boring building on Blane Road number 10’. All the media had was speculation, wild conspiracy theories. Even after that one time an especially motivated reporter tried breaking in and instead broke his leg falling from the downspout. That was the first time Lenny heard about the Bath House. That was when he knew he had to get a job working there. He just had to. It took a while. A few months. It took patience. The screening process was rigorous. The paperwork endless. But then. Finally. They called back. When he announced the big news, his friends looked on blankly. The where what now? His sister rolled her eyes and murmured something like ‘whatever’. His parents were skeptical but congratulatory anyway. Whatever you want, son, you do you. He still wasn’t sure what that meant, exactly. Maybe their cautious doubt was understandable. Both his parents were spaceship designers for the Galaxy Corp. His sister had gone on to major in molecular physics. And Lenny was…well. Lenny knew his parents had borne through his multiple career choices over the years—‘career’ being a generous term--no matter how farfetched or strange or hard to explain. That time he signed up for the six-month Mars expedition. The Infantry training against Alien Invasions—heck, it was 2045, the year they really thought it was going to hit. He learned some basic coding, hacking imaginary enemy fire shields. Mostly he learned that he hated waking up early and sitting at a desk for fifteen-hour shifts. Anyway. He’d lasted longer at the Bath House than everyone thought he would. What do you even do there? His sister asked him every night at the dinner table. He’d explain it, every night, again: some people have a shit time, a bad streak of luck, say a traumatic experience. The Bath House helps them to move on. He just facilitates the process. Yeah but how? His sister always persisted. And what do you do? Like open the door for the doctor? Somehow she couldn’t imagine him doing anything important. He wanted to tell her that the Bath House didn’t exactly have ‘doctors’—not in the usual sense anyway. But that would be discussing company secrets and see, he’d signed an NDA way back when. Technically, he couldn’t tell her, or anyone, really, anything about his job or what he really did there. At the Bath House he usually clocked in at the regular time because he was a punctual guy—he always prided himself on that. Commitment issues aside (or so his therapist used to tell him), he could always commit to being on time. Maybe that was why he got so many job offers, why it was never hard to slip in and out of jobs—people liked guys like him—guys that just showed up. The Bath House was definitely a boring building—and by boring there was nothing remarkable or imaginative about it—square, white concrete, a film of windows on each of the ten stories. A flat roof. It didn’t even have a sign up front or on the door. Just a number. Ten. It could have been an office building or a bank that went under for all anyone knew. Derelict weeds adorned cracks in the parking lot and groped the side of the building. Lenny always thought it was kind of…depressing. Ironically so, because ‘moving on’ was their whole game show and ‘moving on’ was supposed to be, well…cheerful, wasn’t it? A hopeful prospect, a fresh perspective? Even the receptionist was nondescript—a woman with glasses and a bland beige cardigan and a fixed smile. There was nothing that stood out on her face and she was neither bad looking nor pretty, she was the kind of woman you’d forget the second after you turned away. Lenny felt a little bad about it—he felt worse he never remembered her name, but he reasoned it must be a plain name, too—she looked like a Sue. It unsettled him she didn’t remember his name, either. She called him ‘the tech guy’. When he walked into the front door and scanned his badge, she picked up the phone and said, in a voice that couldn’t have held any less enthusiasm, “The tech guy is here.” Usually, he rotated the rooms on eight floors. The top two were restricted access. The regular elevator didn’t even go up there. He tried not to eavesdrop as the ‘transition counselors’ led the clients from the waiting room to the consulting room to the changing room. He tried not to listen when they discussed personal matters that really wasn’t his business but sometimes he just couldn’t help it. Anyway, it’s not like they ever noticed he was even there, loitering in the hallway. The stories were real downers. Yesterday there was that woman whose sons had cut contact with her. Last week, there was an elderly man whose wife left him for her nineteen-year-old art student. And the first day he was here, a couple had lost their twin children to a freak car accident. It made Lenny realize his life was well, rather ordinary. Mars stint and alien shield hacking aside. He’d never experienced gut-wrenching trauma or horrific tragedy like those people and finally he felt like he was doing something that mattered. He was helping them. He just wished he could talk about it. Tell his sister and mom and dad. Show them that he was actually finally doing something that sort of mattered. Even if all he did was change the filters in the baths and replenish the water supply and plug people in. Okay, fine, maybe he didn’t want to tell his sister that her suspicions were accurate and that he really was just a ‘tech guy’. But still, let her wonder. Let her imagine him being cool and important just for a little while. The process was simple. The client entered the Bath Room in their issued white body suit, looking skeptical and apprehensive and awkward. Lenny delivered his lines. There’s nothing to worry about. Make yourself comfortable. It won’t take a minute. He guided them to the water filled pod in the middle of the room. Usually there was relaxing spa style music playing—a waterfall or random tropical birds fluttering. The client would then lie inside the water until they were partially submerged. Lenny would dim the lights. Apparently it was better to dim the lights before plugging people in because well, they’d probably tried it the other way around and that didn’t go so well. As much as the client had been briefed for the process, no one liked actually watching the plugs getting buried into their skin. The clients usually got a sedative before getting into the Bath so they wouldn’t splash around or cause a fuss. Lenny continued to say soothing stuff he’d learned in training like, You’re doing great. Almost there. Just try and relax. Then came the plugs. They looked like rubber wires and had incisor tips which dug a centimeter into the person’s arms, legs, torso, and feet. As the sedative kicked in, Lenny worked on the plugs. There were about eighty of them. It usually took a half hour. Usually, no one complained. They were too drugged out to feel anything. You’re doing so well, Lenny would say. Just try and breathe. The final stage had to be just right. Once all the plugs were in, Lenny would transfer the client’s tailored identity sequence into the main processor connected to the plugs. Then he waited for the download. Another hour, and the entire process was finished. No more Dark Past. No more unwanted memories. All gone. The last client of the day took him by surprise. She was young—early twenties, close to Lenny’s age. Tall and slender with crow black hair trailing down to her waist. Strikingly beautiful. But Lenny was a professional—he was the tech guy—he didn’t linger. He was even more surprised when she introduced herself. Kate. Mostly, clients preferred to remain anonymous. She didn’t ask any questions like people usually did. Will it hurt? How long will this take? Like they were getting a tooth pulled instead of an entirely new persona. Kate wasn’t like them--anxious or impatient. There was something about her eyes though. Even as she was lying in the water looking up at him. Trusting. And sad. As Lenny plugged her in, he saw the scars on her wrists. They reminded him somehow of tally marks on the wall of a prison cell. He thought it curious that she chose to leave them there. As Kate drifted off, he wondered what new identity she had created for herself. He wondered where she came from and what had brought her here. Today, there were no birds, there was no waterfall. What sounded over the speakers was a long and distant electronic hum that sounded as though they were flying through space. Being a tech guy, Lenny didn’t have access to personal information. He couldn’t actually open the client files and see what new personality they’d created for themselves, what new memories, what enhanced coping mechanisms. Not that he wouldn’t if he could—he just didn’t have the password. All he had was a sequence which he now typed into the processor and downloaded into Kate’s brain. He wondered if she wanted to keep her name. Mostly, clients adapted new names. New addresses. Sometimes, they awoke speaking a different language. There was not one vestige, one shard, of their past selves left behind. He felt a little regretful they hadn’t talked more. Maybe he and Kate would have had things in common. Maybe they would have been friends. Maybe more. But he’s getting way ahead of himself. The processor notified Lenny the download was complete. Maybe Kate would open her eyes speaking Russian and introducing herself as a pole vaulting champion named Natasha. People sometimes got carried away. At least, that was what Lenny wanted people to think. That it was all their idea. Their imagination. Their fantasy. He was, after all, just the tech guy. A step above the janitor, maybe, but still no one the ‘transition counselors’ looked twice at or even bothered to address unless they needed one of the hard drives looked at. It was the same old story. Back at the Mars habitat—the team leader sure liked his coffee hot and punctual but never thought to ask Lenny for anything that really mattered. He would never know about Lenny’s ideas on heat shields or rebooting the system for faster turnovers. It didn’t matter anymore, anyway. Here he could make his ideas heard. Even if no one ever found out it was his idea in the first place. It didn’t matter. Each day, clients came in with their own program, their own agenda. But at the end of each day, they left with his. In a way, he liked to think that he was sending his creations, little pieces of himself, out into the world. In a way, he was. And they would never know. Kate opened her eyes with a gasp. Yes, she was still Kate. Lenny didn’t want to change that part about her. But that was the only thing he hadn’t changed. He’d had fun with this one--he’d given her something special. Yes. It was his finest design yet. Lenny stood to greet his new creation.


From the Prompt - **You've just walked in on your sibling murdering someone, and they are surprised by how unfazed you are.** My answer was to long to post it there so I am putting it up here.  Blood, I could smell it permeating the air. It smelled a little like rusted pennies and funnily enough raw hamburgers. I knew the smell well, but why the hell was I smelling it now? In my family home where I have never done any of those, well, hidden activities. Curious, I began my investigation through the living room to the kitchen. Nothing cooking in here. I moved on my eyes flicking to the laundry, the door was open a load of washing was on but no blood could be seen. I went on to the hallway towards the back of the house. The smell got stronger and I began to worry Had I fucked up had I been seen one night? Had I been followed back to my family home. Was I about to find the body of my mother and father slaughtered in there bed? I didn’t really know how to feel about that, feelings of any kind confused me. Still I did my best to copy what I saw in others. I told my parents quite often that I loved them, I smiled and hugged them, when they did something that pleased me and reminded myself that I should do the same in return. That was the normal thing to do and I had to look normal so as to not get unwanted attention. Stopping at their bedroom the door was open, the bed made, clothing put away neatly in draws and closets. The headboard and bed side tables were even clutter and dust free. I moved on. Bathroom, clean and clear. My old childhood bedroom now an office. A little messy with paperwork but still clear. My eyes locked onto the last door, right at the end of the hallway, my little sisters room. I let out a soft breath and edged towards her door wondering what I would find. She was 5 years younger then me and a pain in the ass. Id thought of killing her often, spent hours dwelling on how I could get away with it so no one would be able to trace things back to me. Id been young, immature and no plan was ever perfect enough, it meant she survived to reach adulthood, lucky bitch. She also stopped being such a pain in the ass. I’m sure my moving out helped a lot with that. Now this. The smell of blood. Had someone else killed my sister? If so they were fucking dead. I’d hunt them down and spend a few days skinning them. Id rip out there teeth and nails one by one, break there fingers then any other bone that I felt like shattering It wouldn’t be quick, whoever it was would suffer until there hearts gave out from the agony. My long strong fingers curled around the door handle and I was turning it when the thought that the killer could be still in there and I had no weapon. To late to retreat now, I pushed hard on the door letting it swing back to hit the wall letting me know no one was hiding behind it. A woman screamed and turned to face me both of us stood frozen staring at one another. She was drenched in blood, it covered her from head to toe dripping from her hair onto her shoulders soaking into her once white shirt. I could still see the image of a unicorn on it and frowned. I knew that shirt, and the one adult childish enough to wear it at 22 “Debbie” I said with disbelief “Jamie” yep that was her voice I looked past her to the mess on her bed, the body had been stabbed multiple times even now a knife protruded from the body. I stepped closer to have a better look and my sister stumbled back stopping only when her shoulders hit her cupboard doors. “what a mess” I said looking now at the room, blood had sprayed up to hit the walls, it had soaked into the carpet and the bed, well the bed was done for. She would never be able to get the blood out and give it a few days and the smell would be unbearable. I sighed “your lucky I have a truck with room for all this shit” I hissed wondering where to even start. Id never been this messy “your, your not gonna call the cops” she shook as I looked at her “the cops, why would I call them?” wide eyes stared at me “I killed someone” I nodded this was fact, why she was stating the obvious thought I never understood why people did that “yeah I see that” “that's wrong” It was? funny I never felt that way “they why did you do it” she curled in on herself at my question her slim arms hugging herself “he, he” and her voice died I looked back to the face trying to work out who the stiff was “he tried” she started again and petered out I rolled my eyes not wanting to stand here while she tried to explain and failed “whatever, he is dead now and we need to deal with this fucking mess” I had rolls of plastic in my car. Duck-tape, rope and chemicals as well as a plastic body suit. I turned to go get it “don't leave me” I turned back as my sister cried out and the first of many tears began “your really not freaked out by this?” she pushed off from the door she had been leaning against “no, and I’m not leaving, I’m getting plastic to wrap this shit in so it doesn’t contaminate the rest of the house when we drag it out" She used her hands to swipe at the tears it only smeared the blood around more “when are mum and dad coming home?” I needed to know “tomorrow” she hick-upped after telling me and I let out a small breath. At least that was good news this would take hours to clean up and mum and dad would insist on calling the cops even if that meant sending there baby girl to prison for the rest of her life. “go have a shower” I snapped “try not to get blood everywhere” I had a second plastic body suit in my car that would fit her with some minor modifications, I'd be damned if I was cleaning this up on my own. Walking off I was lugging things back in happy to hear the water going in the bathroom. I made a note to clean that room to, everything would need a good scrub down with bleach and a lot of it. At least Debbie was doing as she was told. For once. I rolled my eyes again as I ripped off the first heavy duty garbage bag from the roll and began to stuff loose items into it. I didn't care if it was clothing, stuffed toys from her childhood or school books, everything was replaceable. This was step one of the clean up. I'd need help taking it all out, that was step two. I already had a disposal spot in mind, one I have looked into for my next project but I guess that would have to wait. Step three would be wrapping up the stiff for that Debbie would have to help me Hearing the water shut off a good half an hour later my sister was dressed in her ratty gardening clothing when she came back to her room. Clearly she didn't want to ruin any of her good stuff as she liked to call it, I found half of it vomit inducing, all the pink and sparkle and her obversion with fucking unicorns, blah. What was wrong with black on practical black? yet another thing I didn't get. thankfully I was a guy so I didn't have to worry to much about fashion and shit. holding my hand up to halt her at the threshold she looked to the bags already filled with blood spattered items. “stop” I pointed to the plastic suit I had hanging on the door “put that on first” her eyes went back to the body on her bed “hurry up” she pulled it on taping down the openings like I told her after also putting on booties and gloves then came in. together we wrapped the body she didn't complain as I instructed her on the best way to wrap so as to avoid seepage and so that we could carry the body with ease. Next was the mattress and all the coverings, she would need a new bed after this. Hell I’d even splurge and buy her one for being such a good sport about this even if I was the one doing her the big ass favor here. As night fell we moved everything out to my car. The mattress fit, just barely. Everything else pilled in on top. Going back to clean, her carpet was ripped up, that would be hard to explain to the parental unit but not as hard as the massive blood stain. Id get her a huge ass rug to cover the un-polished floor if I had to. The cleaning went on for hours the chemicals strong enough to make even my eyes water as we wiped every surface down three times over, just to be sure not a spot was missed. Only when I was satisfied did we stop, having worked until the wee hours of the morning. Feeling bone tired and seeing my sister was on the verge of passing out I considered letting her stay home to sleep in mum and dads bed for a few hours while I took out the trash but she insisted on coming with me as we that’s when the conversation I didn’t really want to have came. I should have known “how do you know how to do this?” I sighed wondering how much to tell her, if I even should tell her knowing that after the trauma of tonight wore off or at least dulled a bit she would come to see me in a new light. I’d no longer be the weird annoying big brother, I’d be the killer big brother the freak. “I just do” I muttered hoping she would be satisfied with the answer and let it go at that but no she was a girl she wanted to talk about her feelings and all that shit. I ignored the next few questions as the spic finally turned to why she had done it. I had expected the answer to be he had hit her, had hurt her in some other way, maybe even tried to rape her but no instead she admitted that she has had these feelings for a while now. She would break up with boyfriends when the desire to kill them got to great but tonight something had snapped and the knife she kept sandwiched between her baseboard and mattress had ended up in her hand while she had been making out with her latest guy. Before she knew it the blade was in his flesh “it was so easy” I nodded understanding “and the blood, so much blood” she sighed making me look at her because I knew that sigh had made that sigh myself a few times “I should have planned better” she admitted after several minuets of driving in silence “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t shown up to help me bro” I rolled my eyes knowing what would have happened. She would have done a crap job of cleaning up. Mum and dad would have come home. Eventually the smell of blood rotting in her mattress and carpet would have stunk out the whole house just as an investigation on the disappearance of the boy really truly began. One cop showing up just for a chat would have been enough for them to be suspicious and she would be taken in for questioning. Things would only go down hill for her from there. “yeah you should have planned better” I said “but I can teach you that” the words slipped out before I really thought it through “really?” I could hear the hope in her voice and knew I had to follow through now with my promise “yeah” “wicked” the word made me smirk “yeah we are” reaching out to turn the music on because I didn't want to talk any more 'bad to the bone' came on making me roll my eyes and my sister laugh aloud “how appropriate” she commented turning it up so the base boomed, wasn’t it just, I thought.


A Little Secret "So? Can you keep a secret?" Eddie asked me again, as I sat, puzzled, wondering why he was so excited. I felt apprehensive at first. Eddie was 15 now, always busy with friends or track practice or some girl. He rarely wanted anything to do with his little 8-year-old brother anymore, so this visit to my room in the middle of the night was more than a little suspicious. "Um," I hesitated, sitting up in bed and looking around the shadowed bedroom, "I guess so," I finally mumbled as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. "C'mon, put your shoes on!" Eddie said in a tone that was somewhere between a whisper and a shout, "You gotta see this!" He hopped to his feet and tossed my sneakers into my lap. "Ok, ok," I said, pushing the words past a yawn, "I'm comin'," I put my shoes on and tightened the velcro straps, then tucked Bear back into the bed with one of my pillows so that it looked like I was still sleeping, just in case Mom came in. Satisfied with my decoy, I followed Eddie out into the hall. The house was dark, illuminated only by the warm orange glow of the streetlight outside, and the occasional flash of lightning. I had always loved storms. There was something calming about the steady pitter patter of heavy rain on the roof. Even the distant rumble of thunder somehow soothed my senses. Mom said I had an old soul. I'm not really sure what that means though. "C'mon, dude!" Eddie whispered and hurried me, still only half awake, past Mom and Dad's room, down the stairs and into the kitchen. "Can't it wait till tomorrow?" I griped, "I'm so tired," "No way!" Eddie replied, barely able to contain himself, "you gotta see this, dude. You're not gonna believe it!" He crept across the kitchen and opened the pantry door. I stared quietly as he emptied out the lower shelf, depositing cans of beans and corn on the floor. He waved me over with a hand and I crouched next to him. "Look!" Eddie instructed, pointing excitedly into the pantry. I peered quizzically at him for a moment. He must be going crazy, I thought, but decided to humor him. I got down on my hands and knees and looked inside. "Is-" I stammered over a sense of awe, "Is that a door?" "Mhm!" Eddie replied excitedly, "Touch the knob!" "Are you sure we should-" "Just do it!" He urged. "Ok," I said with a shrug and reached down into the back of the pantry, past an old bundle of shopping bags and a long abandoned spiderweb. My arm was just barely long enough and I strained to reach the tiny door. As soon as my fingertip brushed against the cool brass of the knob, I was somewhere else. Except I wasn't. I was in the pantry, standing in front of a large wooden doorway, with dusty, worn hinges and a brass doorknob. I turned around and dropped to the floor just as a colossal hand soared over my head. I looked up again, and to my surprise, it was gone. In its place, stood Eddie, still wearing his red flannel pajamas and white sneakers. "Eddie?" I jumped to my feet, "What's going on?!" "C'mon," Eddie ordered, waving over his shoulder for me to follow as he approached the door. I looked longingly at the enormous cans of corn outside the now cavernous pantry. Trembling slightly, I followed Eddie to the door. "Go on, dude," He said, looking at me expectantly and gesturing to the shiny brass doorknob, "Go inside! I'll be right behind ya, promise." He thrust his hand out toward me, pinky out. I wrapped my pinky around his and we shook. Feeling reassured, if only slightly, I reached for the knob. The moment I turned it, I was somewhere else. I stood in the center of a wide circle of massive stones. Birds chirped a happy melody and the sun shone brightly on my face through the verdant canopy of leaves above me. The same wooden door, with the same dusty hinges and the same brass knob stood behind me, just out of arm's reach. Suddenly, there was a flash of golden light and a familiar looking man dressed head to toe in shining silver armor appeared next to me. He looked a lot like Eddie, except his raven hair was longer, his piercing blue eyes were more fierce and determined, and a short beard wrapped around his squared jaw. "Hey, little brother!" The knight exclaimed with a wave, "You're taller!" "Huh?" I mumbled looking down at my feet. I was dressed in armor too, and much taller than I had been a second ago. I reached up and touched my face. "Whoa! I have a beard?" "Yup!" Eddie said with a laugh, "You're a knight like me! This is awesome! C'mon!" "Eddie wait!" I called after him as he ran off into the woods, "Where are we!?" A sudden scream somewhere in the distance stopped any answer from coming. Eddie sprinted off in the direction of the scream and a knot began to form in my throat. I chased Eddie through the brush for some time before coming to the edge of a clearing where he crouched, hiding behind an ancient looking oak. "Let's go home," I whispered as I crept up beside him, but he was staring intently into the clearing. I followed his gaze to a woman dressed in a beautiful azure ball gown with a river of golden curls cascading down her shoulders. She screamed again and I saw it. Scattered around the clearing were a dozen or more statues of soldiers clutching spears and shields, and at the center of the stone battlefield loomed a large figure. It had the body of a woman, supported by a serpent's tail covered in glittering green and black scales rather than legs. Even from a distance I could see the slitted, snake-like yellow eyes glaring at the woman in the dress. "We gotta help her!" Eddie said and charged from our hiding place before I could object. "I am Ser Edward!" He roared as he charged the creature, his sword drawn, "and you will not harm this innocent woman, monster!" The creature hissed and snapped its gaze in Eddie's direction just as he raised his sword to strike. Eddie stopped dead and my breath caught in my throat. I watched in abject terror as my older brother turned to stone just as the soldiers must have moments before. The creature loomed over the statue of Eddie, running a slender, clawed finger along his petrified chest. I couldn't move. I could barely breathe as I watched the monster slither over to the horrified woman in blue, snatch her from the ground and dart off with her screaming into the woods on the other side of the clearing. I just sat there for what felt like an eternity. I couldn't bring myself to stand. This couldn't be real, could it? Finally, I willed myself to my feet and ran over to Eddie. I stared into his face, perfectly carved from smooth gray stone, his fierce eyes staring blankly into the distance, and began sobbing. I didn't know what else to do. I glanced back in the direction of the magic door with the brass knob. I could go home. This was probably all a bad dream anyway. No, I decided. I was a knight and that woman in the blue dress still needed saving. "I'll find a way to save you, Eddie," I whispered to the statue of my big brother, "I'll find a way, promise," After a few hours of wandering around the woods, trying to figure out a way to find the monster, I came upon a village nestled against the foothills of a mountain. A tall gray tower poked out from a forest of thatched roofs and stone chimneys. Streamers of smoke whisped their way up to the sky, and pleasant sounds and smells drew me closer. As I approached the gate at the edge of the village, I was stopped by a pair of gruff looking men wearing loose fitting shirts of chain and bronze helmets. Each man clutched a spear tightly as they approached. "'Scuse me, Ser knight," said the man on the left, "have ye come t' answer the lord's call t' arms?" "I, er," I stammered, "Call to arms?" "Aye!" The other guard replied, "Lord Ricard Reinhardt the Third o' Ravenswood calls upon all brave an' mighty warriors o' the realm to slay the evil beast that has plagued our village for decades!" "I guess so," I said with a shrug. They had to be talking about the same monster right? "Then head on up to the Lord's Hall!" Said the first guard. "Straight up da main road an' up da hill," said the man on the right, "can't miss it," It was not a long walk from the main gate to the Lord's Hall, and it was not a difficult place to find, being the largest building in town aside from the stone tower. The smell of roasted turkey filled my nostrils as the door swung open in front of me and a loud rumble escaped my belly. The hall was full to bursting with people. There were knights in shining armor, warriors with horned helms, and hunters covered head to toe in animal furs. Everyone wanted a chance to slay the monster. "My Lords!" A loud, deep voice boomed over the din of the feast as I found an empty seat, "My Lords! Your attention, please!" The hall went silent. The feasting stopped and everyone found a seat leaving only one man standing. He was a large man, as tall as he was wide. He wore a long crimson drape over a fine suit of armor inlaid with gold and jewels. His bushy salt and pepper beard was braided at the end and a golden crown rested atop his ebony hair. "Thank you all for coming here tonight!" The man exclaimed with his arms outstretched to the crowd, "I come to you seeking your aid, and bearing grave news! My daughter, Liliana, was taken from me this day by the very beast, which I have called you here to slay! The time for action is now, my friends. I offer his weight in gold and silver to the man who returns my daughter to me, along with her hand! Go forth, warriors of the realm. Slay the beast which no man can slay, and return to me, a son!" The crowd of warriors jumped to their feet and rushed for the doors, pushing and shoving their way out of the hall. Every one of them was eager to complete the Lord's quest and win his daughter's hand in marriage. I rose quietly to my feet once the rush subsided and walked outside into the crisp evening air. I knew the monster couldn't be killed. They would all turn to stone, and I couldn't help them. A single tear rolled down my cheek as I thought of poor Eddie, still standing in that clearing. "Pst," a sound came from behind me, followed by a tap on my shoulder. I whipped around and came face-to-face with a scrawny old man sporting a bushy gray beard and wearing a silly pointed hat and matching robe. "Yeah?" I said, looking around for someone else he may have me mistaken for, "do you need something?" "I can help you," the old man offered proudly, "Come, come, my boy. Follow me!" He continued muttering inaudibly under his breath as he stalked off. With a shrug, I followed. We arrived at the foot of the stone tower at the center of town minutes later and the old man produced a big brass key. He inserted it into the tower door and it swung open silently. He waved me in and I cautiously followed up a long spiraling staircase that seemed to go on forever. When we finally reached the top, I followed him into a circular room filled with all sorts of strange objects, colorful vials and flasks, and an assortment of swords, bows, shields, and staves. It smelled like Grandma's house which put me oddly at ease. The old man scurried across the room, leaving me gaping at his collection of curios, and began digging through a rough wooden chest. "Aha!" He exclaimed moments later and rushed back across the room, clutching a small round shield. He thrust it into my hands with an expectant smile. It looked like an ordinary shield, too small to cover even my whole torso, except for one detail: its face was a polished silver so clear that it could have been a mirror. I looked up at the old man as I realized how to defeat the monster, except the man was gone, and so was his tower. Instead, I stood at the mouth of a cave. An old fort stood, partially collapsed, inside the cave, its portcullis open and its halls dark. Thunder rumbled. I looked down at the shield still clutched in my hands and, with a swell of determination, I strode inside, my sword drawn and my nerves steeled. It did not take long for me to find the rest of the warriors that had so valiantly charged up the mountain to face the creature. They stood all around me, silent and still as stone. They had already failed. I searched the ground floor of the keep and quickly found a way up to the upper level where I was greeted by the soft orange flicker of candle light creeping out from beneath a heavy door. I carefully pushed the door open and crept inside. The room was elegantly furnished. A large bed covered in silken sheets stood at its center. The woman in the blue dress sat, peacefully brushing her golden hair, at the far end of the room. Beside her stood a single statue of a man, frozen in fear with one arm back as though he was shielding some invisible companion. The floor creaked as I stepped into the room and the woman, Liliana, spun around to face me. "You should not be here!" She said in a half whisper, concern growing on her face as she eyed my shield. Before I could even think about responding, a hiss sounded from the doorway. I ducked and rolled backwards, just as a scaly, clawed hand sailed through the space my face had just occupied. I jumped to my feet and instinctively parried another blow with my blade. Without meeting the monster's gaze, I raised my shield and held my breath. No attack came. I heard a gasp followed by a soft sob and the crumbling of stone. I peered up from behind my shield and gaped. Liliana sat sobbing in the arms of a man before the unmoving monster. The man, I realized, had been the statue standing on the opposite end of the room just moments ago. The monster was now the one that was made of stone. "She was my mother," Liliana sobbed, gently running a finger over the creature's petrified scales, "cursed to live as a monster and turn men's hearts as cold as stone by a jealous witch who was in love with my father. You did what had to be done," She wiped a little river of tears from her cheek, "The curse is finally broken, and I have my Erik back," Liliana smiled up at the man holding her. "Thank you, Hero," He said, but I was not listening, I was already running. I ran as fast as I could, out of the fort, down the mountainside and back to the clearing in the woods. Eddie was still there, kneeling in a pile of crumbled stone at the center of a circle of confused soldiers. I sprinted to his side and wrapped him in my arms. "I thought I lost you, big brother," I mumbled past tears and sobs of joy, "I thought I lost you," After I explained what had happened, Eddie and I made our way back to the door in the woods with the dusty hinges and the brass knob, and went home. When I awoke, I was in my bed again, Bear clutched tightly between my arms. Had it all been a dream? I rolled off the bed and planted my feet on the floor. Why was I wearing my shoes? I took them off and went downstairs for breakfast, eyeing the pantry warily as I hugged Mom and Dad good morning. Then I saw Eddie, already at the table with his bowl of cereal, flash me a sly wink and a smile, and knew. It was real. It was all real! Years passed, and Eddie and I shared many more secret adventures together in the magic world hidden in our pantry behind the tiny door with the dusty hinges and the brass knob. We slayed dragons and saved kingdoms. We met fairies and elves and goblins. Eventually Eddie and I both moved away and I forgot about the little door until the night of my son's 10th birthday. My new family and I had just moved back to the old house the week before, and that night, at midnight, I slid carefully from my bed, careful not to wake my wife as she slept peacefully beside me. I crept out of our new room, once my parents room, and down the hall. I slowly opened the door to my son's room and crouched beside his bed. "Pst, Lucas, wake up," I whispered, gently shaking him awake with an excited smile plastered on my face. He stirred and looked up at me, puzzled. "What is it, dad," he mumbled as he rubbed sleep away from his eyes.


As I approached the tall office building I suddenly felt unnervingly overwhelmed. The only job I had ever worked was at a small local diner, which got me through my awkward high school years and my slightly less awkward college years. The diner was friendly and familiar, which was drastically disparate to intimidating building I was approaching. The interview I endured to acquire this secretary position took place in a coffee shop, ironically right next door the diner that I had just quit 3 days before the interview.  That being said, I was unaware of the massiveness of the building I would be working with. I did not think I could ever be more nervous than I was for my interview, but as I neared the entrance, I was. Just as this realization crossed my mind, I felt drops of a hot liquid splatter onto my pantyhose clad feet. My hands were anxiously shaking, causing my coffee to spill over and stain my brand new pants. Working in a diner for so many years, I did not own any professional clothing, meaning the stain was rather devastating. I shook it off and tried to think of a less embarrassing explanation for the stain as I opened the door to the my new place of employment. I was still a half an hour early, so I knew I would have time to search for my desk. When I received the call informing me that I had gotten the job, my boss told me that I would be on the 12th floor right next to the coffee machine, and that he was confident I wouldn't miss it. If only he knew of my absentmindedness, he would not be so confident in that assumption. The unclear knowledge of where my desk was furthered my anxiety, the only saving grace being that I was early, which allowed some time for inevitable error. As I was calming down, I noticed I was receiving some odd stares from workers getting ready for their day. I wondered to myself whether these stares were because I was new and unrecognizable, or because of the dreaded coffee stain that was now set into my clothing. I hoped it was the first thought. I decided that just in case it was the latter, I would find the restroom and try to eliminate the stain. I followed the signs to the restroom, where I quickly entered the ladies room. After a few minutes of a scrubbing and drying process, I got the stain to be faint enough to go unnoticed by others. I left the bathroom and started towards the elevator, as I knew 12 floors of stairs would be an awful way to start a Monday morning. I pressed the button with the arrow pointing up on the elevator and nervously waited for the doors to open. As I waited, I responded to a text from my mother that wished me good luck. Her excitement from hearing that I got the job quickly faded when she remembered I had no experience in this field, and that I was notorious for messing things up before they began. While these were valid feelings on her part, it made me even more nervous. I was determined to prove to myself, and my mother, that I could do this. The elevator doors opened and I stepped in alone, as I was early and most people would be arriving for another 15 minutes. As the elevator started moving, I checked my phone for the time to confirm that I was still early. The lights suddenly flickered off, my phone being the only source of light in the small elevator. My heart beat quickened and I began feeling panicked. After what seemed like five minutes, but was really only a couple seconds, the lights flickered back on, and I took a deep breath in relief. The relief quickly faded when I realized the elevator still wasn't moving. I tried to think calmly of a solution. Should I press the emergency button, or would the elevator start moving again at any second? I did not want to press a noisy alarm button if it was unnecessary, as it was so early. That was not the first impression that I intended to have. I decided to call the receptionist of the office building, as I noticed she was already there when I arrived. The phone did not even ring before it went to the automated voice message, meaning the phones must have still been down. I sighed in defeat, knowing I would have to press the noisy alarm. I pressed the button, but no noise sounded from it. I then started to panic again when I realized that nobody had any way of knowing I was stuck in there. I knew people would be arriving soon, and realize the elevator was not working, but that left me with almost 15 minutes of being stuck in there. I did not know until now that I had, what seemed to be severe, claustrophobia. My chest felt so tight, which combined with my shallow breathing, leaving me in a pitiful mess of hysterics. I was trying to take deep breaths, but the effort was useless. The sound of my phone ringing made me jump, it was my boss. I whispered a bleak "Hello," as it was all I could muster in the midst of my claustrophobia episode. He hastily responded, concern filling her voice, "Monica, the receptionist saw you get in the elevator and contacted me on my personal phone I warned her you would be coming today in case you had any questions. Are you okay? The power went out which stopped the elevators." His words spilled out so quickly, I barely had time to comprehend what he was saying before he was finished. "Um, I am freaking out a little bit, but I am still eager to start my day!" I tried to sound as cheerful and grateful as I could, given the circumstances. He laughed and told me that maintenance was on the way to get me out, and to be patient, then hung up. I waited for about 20 minutes, when I started hearing some banging from below me. According to a movie I had seen, the elevator mechanics were in the basement, below the elevator, so this was a good sign. I tried calling to them, but got no response. I was calmed down, as I knew I would be out soon. I started thinking about what an embarrassing first day this would be, and how I would be able to concentrate on learning what the new job entailed after such a stressful and slightly traumatic morning. Just as I was thinking this the elevator shifted a bit, and starting moving normally. I was so relieved and grateful that the experience was coming to an end. As the elevator doors open, I was thinking about how the day could not get any worse. I lifted my head to exit the elevator and stopped when I saw him. I prayed to be back on the elevator, trapped.