“Can I stay in the bath for just a little bit longer, Mommy?” Jenny asked her mom. She was playing with her favorite Barbie doll and did not want to stop just yet. Her mom looked at her daughter lovingly and said, “You’ve been in this bath for an hour and it’s time to get out.” “But I don’t wanna!” Jenny yelled. “Come on, we’ll have some ice cream in a little bit if you get out now.” Her mother replied. “ICE CREAM! I am done with the bath. Let’s get ice cream!” Jenny squealed with excitement as she stood up in the murky water. Her mom walked over to the tub and wrapped a towel around the five-year-old, as she eagerly tried to get of bath by herself. Janet, Jenny’s mom, towel-dried her hair, body, and then put a nightgown on her little girl. After getting dressed, Jenny looked up at her mom and asked, “What are we going to do now, Mommy?” “I figured we would watch some TV since your dad is out of town. *COPS* is about to come on.” “NO! I don’t wanna watch *COPS*. You always watch that show and it’s boring.” “Oh, come on child. I’ll put *COPS* on and then I will get you some ice cream.” “Ice cream! I forgot.” Jenny giggled as she ran to the couch and plopped down to wait for her favorite treat. Her mom walked to the kitchen as Jenny settled into the living room. She could hear her daughter singing along to the theme song of the show while she pulled a bowl out of the cupboard. Before she could retrieve the ice cream from the freezer, she heard a knock at the door, and little feet running into the kitchen. “Mommy! Someone is knocking at the door. Do you think Daddy is back already?” Jenny asked. “No, honey. That shouldn’t be your daddy because I talked to him not too long ago and he is still at your uncle’s in Kentucky.” Janet replied with a hint of concern in her voice. “Can I answer the door, mom?” “No, sweetie. I’ve got it. You go watch the show and I will see who is here.” Janet said as she put the kitchen towel on the counter and picked Jenny up in her arms. She placed her daughter on the couch and walked five feet to the front door of their house. Janet looked out of the small window to see who was knocking at such a late hour. She did not notice the man who was standing on their porch. “Can I help you?” Janet asked through the door. A frantic voice replied, “Help! My wife and I just got into an accident up the road and we need the police. Please let me use your phone so we can get an ambulance to her. She’s bleeding bad.” “I’ll call the police for you. Where was the accident?” She replied with a little more concern in her voice. “My wife wasn’t responding before I walked up here. I will need to talk to them. Please let me come in and use your phone.” The stranger begged. “I’m going to call now,” Janet stated as she hurried away from the door and found the portable phone. She walked back over to the front door, and little Jenny could hear the man yelling through the shut door. Jenny was quite confused about what was going on and she did not know why her mom was acting scared. “Is that person OK, mommy?” Jenny asked while watching her mom walk back to the barrier between them and the unknown man. “Everything is fine, Jenny. This man had a car accident and his wife is hurt. I’m going to call the police for him.” Her mom turned and smiled at her as she said this. Janet looked back at the front door and said to the unknown visitor, “I am dialing 9-1-1 right now. What do you want me to tell them?” “P-p-please let me t-t-talk to them. My wife is dying! You won’t s-s-say the right thing and they’ll take too long to get here! Just l-l-let me talk to them!” The man pleaded between sobs. Janet stared at the front door, then looked at the portable phone in her had. Throwing all but a little caution away, she put her foot at the base of the door and unlocked the chain lock and deadbolt. “I’m going to hand you the phone and you make your call.” She said in a loud and stern voice that the little girl recognized. Jenny was still on the couch and did not understand why her mom was acting so strangely and talking to the stranger like he was in trouble. The TV caught the little girl’s attention with a commercial and she quit paying attention to what her mom was doing. A moment later, Jenny heard a loud crash and looked over to her mom. Two men were in the house now, one a small man and the other was quite larger than him. They had Jenny’s mother by the neck against the wall. The big man had a large knife in his hands and was yelling at the small man to get Jenny. “You almost fucked everything up. Now get that little bitch over there and we can get this over with!” “You want me to get the little girl?” The small man replied with a small amount of confusion in his tone. Jenny watched her mother as all of this was happening. She saw the knife by her mom’s throat and did not want anything to happen to her. She just knew that she had to help her mom because her mom always helped her when she fell off her bike and scraped her knees. Suddenly, like a lightbulb flashing over her small head, she remembered that her dad kept a big hammer in the kitchen cabinet by the floor. Jenny always got in trouble for trying to pick up the hammer, so she knew exactly where to get it. She was going to get these mean people away from her mom. Without hesitation, Jenny ran into the kitchen cabinet and opened it. She could hear one of the men yell, “Get that bitch!” as she took off. She knew that she didn’t have much time to save her mom. Jenny franticly opened the kitchen cabinet and the big hammer was gone. She was frozen in fear because she didn’t know what to do now. “Run, Jenny. Run!” She heard her mom yell from the living room. A commotion followed that order, and Jenny ran. She ran right out of the back door into the darkness of the night. She didn’t know where to go so she hid behind the tree in the backyard and held her hand over her mouth. She watched as her mom ran outside and around the front of the house. Something inside the girl told her to stay still and don’t move even though she wanted to chase her mom. She watched the smaller man come running after her mom and yelling, “Get back here!” Jenny stayed behind the tree and made sure that she was hidden because the really scary man was going to come next. As that thought crossed her mind, the big man was stumbling out of the back door. Jenny sucked in her breath and held it. All she could think was that she didn’t want to die. “Where are you?” He lulled to the darkness. “If you’re out here you better come out now!” Jenny could see the man close up now. He was crouched down with his hands on his thighs as if he were taking a break. His black hair was longer than her daddy’s, and it was messy. She saw his eyes searching the darkness for her as he took two steps forward. “I’m not gonna hurt ya.” He lied. “We just need to talk to your mom for a little bit.” The way he said this scared Jenny because she thought he saw her. She slinked around the back of the tree and prayed she would become part of the tree. Silence ensued. Jenny could no longer see the man and she was trying to listen for him to leave. “FUCK THIS!” He screamed so loud it made Jenny jump. She heard his footsteps go back into the house and she peeked around the tree. No one was in the backyard with her anymore. She found the courage to run. She ran toward the front of the house where the side, chain-link gate was locked with a heavy steel chain. She started to climb the gate as she thought, “Well I don’t think I’ll get in trouble for climbing the fence this time. I hope not at least.” She jumped off the fence and was on the other side. She could see her mom now, running and banging on each door of their neighborhood. Her mom was yelling, “Please help us! They’re trying to kill us!” “Mommy!” Jenny yelled at her mom. “Run, Jenny! Find help but don’t let them get you!” Her mom screamed without looking at Jenny. The little girl ran to their next-door neighbor’s house and started banging on the locked storm door. She knew their neighbor was a sweet, old lady that could not fight the mean men. Jenny knew this but needed the phone to call 9-1-1 like they had taught her in kindergarten. The old lady never answered the door and Jenny felt defeated. Janet came running up to Jenny and was almost completely out of breath. “Did she answer the door?” She asked. “No! I don’t know what to do.” Jenny sobbed. “Sadie! You better answer this door. There are men trying to kill me and Jenny!” Janet exclaimed as she was pounding on their neighbor’s front door. “Where did the bad man go?” Jenny asked as she looked around in the dark. “He went back in the house. We need to get help before they come back outside.” A light broke up the darkness on their street. It was a van coming down the road. Janet ran as fast as she could to stop the van with her body. Jenny followed her as she was sure this was the help that they were waiting for. The van slowed down, and Jenny could see the van was full of people. Janet was banging on their windows begging for them to help. The van never stopped and continued on down the street as if Jenny and Janet were just ghosts that they could not see. When the van was out of sight, a loud voice boomed from behind them, “We got what we came for so now it’s time to take care of you finally.” It was the big man. He no longer had the knife in his hand, but he came running toward Janet with haste. Jenny stepped backward and started to cry. She could not fight this man and she wished her daddy was there to help. The man took her mom by the throat again and started to choke her. Janet was fighting back but the man was a lot stronger than she was. “Get off of her!” A miraculous voice yelled from the night. Jenny looked around to see who had said that. All of a sudden, a porch light came on and Jenny saw a woman standing outside with her phone in her hand. “I said get off of her! I have the police on the line right now.” The woman yelled again. The man released Janet from his clutches, and she fell to the pavement. At that very moment, the smaller man appeared at the front door with a confused look on his face. The big man bellowed at him, “Go get the shit! The cops are coming for these sluts.” Janet picked herself up off the ground, grabbed Jenny’s arm, and they ran to the neighbor. “Help!” Janet and Jenny cried in unison. “What is going on? Is that your husband?” The neighbor asked as she walked to meet them in the street. “No! I don’t know who it is. They broke into the house and had a knife to my throat. They went after Jenny!” Janet broke down as she recounted what had happened. The neighbor helped Janet and Jenny into her house to make sure that they were safe. Janet finished telling her what happened, and the phone rang. “Hello?” The neighbor-lady asked. “Oh, they’re right here. The robbers were still in the house, so I brought them inside mine.” Then a pause. “OK, I’ll let them know. Thank you so much.” She hung up the phone and looked at Janet. “The police are inside your house investigating what happened. They want to speak with you.” Janet nodded at the neighbor with a small, grateful smile. “And you, young lady. They will want to talk to you too and it’s going to be alright. You are awfully brave for only being in kindergarten and you helped your mom a lot tonight. You know that right?” “The big hammer wasn’t in the cabinet.” That’s all Jenny could muster from being called brave. “Hey! That’s OK because you are both safe now. Your mom is very lucky to have such a brave little girl.” The neighbor replied with a soft smile. “Thank you. Did you call my daddy too?” Jenny still had tears in her eyes when she asked this. “No, I don’t know where your daddy is to call. The police will be able to help you call him, OK?” “OK.” Janet and Jenny walked outside and saw the whole block was full of red and blue lights. This hurt Jenny’s eyes as she walked back home. With each step, Jenny would look around to see if she saw the bad men again. Jenny walked inside the house with her mother and saw that all of her toys were thrown around the living room. There was a police officer speaking to her mom and Jenny stayed silent in the background. A tall, skinny African-American officer walked over to Jenny. He bent down so he would be close to her height and said, “How are you, little lady?” “I’m scared,” Jenny said weakly. “I know you are and that is normal. Your mom told me how if it weren’t for you then the bad men may have hurt her really bad.” He worked up a smile when he said this. “I just didn’t want my mommy to get dead. I thought the big hammer was in the kitchen.” She replied. “She is talking about the sledgehammer that her father kept in the kitchen until she kept pulling it out.” Janet interrupted to explain. “I see.” The officer said as he wrote into his small notepad. He looked back at Jenny, “Can you tell me what happened?” “Are they gone now? I’m scared.” Jenny replied. “They are gone. I promise that we won’t let them try and hurt you, or your mom, again. OK? I just need to know what happened so I can make sure we put them in jail.” He smiled at Jenny and that made her feel much better. Jenny sighed and said, “Me and Mommy had just got done cleaning up all of my toys, but the mean men knocked them all over again. Mommy put me in the bath, and we were going to watch *COPS* but then the bad people knocked on the door…”.


The Day It All Changed December 23, 2018. That was the day it all changed. That was the day I was sure that my whole life had changed. That was the day I read his texts...to Joseline...for the second time. I hated myself as I opened his iPad, managed to enter the correct passcode, and read the exchange between the two of them that ended with him asking her if was going to “scoop” him, gave her a nearby address and there was mention of him asking her for “sloppy top” and her asking him if he was going to “blow her back out.” I know, gross. Who talks like that? We did in jest at times, particularly when we were discussing some second rate sort of woman; some sort of chick who you didn’t build a relationship with. However, I digress. I went through his iPad. I went through his ipad because I awoke a little before midnight, as he was traipsing around the house in the night. I had gone to bed early because I was feeling quite ill for the past few days and felt like I needed it. When I got up, I asked him, via text, if he wanted to watch tv with me. He said he was “good”. I came downstairs a few minutes later because now I was *UP* up. I had gone to sleep around 7:30pm, when Lily was still watching tv. Anyway, I came downstairs and I could smell cologne. He hadn’t worn cologne in ages. I asked him if he had on cologne and he said no. But I smelled it. The whole living room smelled like it. I thought for a moment that he had maybe sprayed it to mask over the weed smell. He often stayed awake long after everyone else in the house was long asleep, smoking. But I walked past the living room and into the eat-in kitchen and saw a bottle of mostly gone wine on the breakfast table. A glance over to the tv stand and I see another. He’s been drinking. He’s inebriated. I pause and ask “What’s up?” He goes on about some game he just watched...I’m not sure if it was basketball or football because he loved both. He’s been watching a lot of games ever since I agreed to let him order all the sports networks about a month ago, even though I was already tight for money. He said some things about the game he watched and then that he was headed to the casino with Chris. Lightbulb. He said he was going to the casino a couple months ago. Correction. He said he was at the casino a couple months ago. He said that when he had been gone for a few days and then he couldn’t catch the train home from Ottentown because it was a Sunday night. What he didn’t know was that I had paid the damn $10 or $20 dollars to look up Joseline’s address months before. The site gave 3 possiles, but I knew Ottentown was one of them. I knew her address was a mile or so away from the train stop. He’d been known to walk several miles often. He often walked from our house to the train which is about a mile and a half. I went to pick him up that night. I took our daughter out of her bed asleep and drove the 45 minutes to Ottentown to pick him up. He was drunk then too. Anyway, Chris is his friend, I think. He talks about him sometimes. He said he was going to go to the casino with Chris and pay nickel slots and maybe get Chris to give him some of the money he owes him. My sensors were going off. He was lying again. What grown man, forty-two years old, goes out on the town at 2am? Yes, it was now 2am. I had stepped out several times for a smoke and kind of waited around for him to say something...anything. I wanted him to say “No, I love you. I’m staying here. I’m glad you feel better. Let’s snuggle.” But no, he just continued on his plans, so it was now 2am. IN a last ditch effort to kind of send the message that I knew something was amiss, I asked him if Chris was coming to the house to get him. He said he had to get some Black and Milds or something...some excuse for why a friend wouldn’t pick him up at the house door at 2am. He asked me what would make me feel better about him leaving. I told him “If I knew that we were a “we”, I would have less trepidation about you going out.” He kind of stopped and looked at me. He said “I understand what you’re saying.” But, not in a consoling kind of way. It wasn’t followed with any kind of reassurance. I asked him for a hug and he gave me one. Then, he was gone. I waited for a few minutes after he left and I picked up his ipad. I fiddled with the passcode for a bit, then I got in. I saw that there were two text message streams. One was me. He had me labeled as Michelle. That’s my middle name. The other was a slew of emoji’s. That one was Joseline. I know it was her because I checked the info tab and saw her number. I knew her number. I had memorized it. I had looked it up and called it from my google phone number so many times. I never responded when she spoke. I just called to hear her voice, as of I was going to get some sort of information from whatever words she uttered on the other end. She never said anything but “Hello.” But back to the text messages. There I scrolled a bit...just a bit, and among his last few messages was confirmation that he had invited her to pick him up near our home together and that they had plans to sleep together. Everything changed. At 2:30am, I started calling him. He didn’t pick up. I thought it was bullshit, because (I forgot to mention earlier) that he asked me if I wanted him to facetime me from dollar slots and with Chris to quell my fears about him going out. He responds via text: “What?” “Can you come back right now?” “For what?” “This is important.” “What’s up?” “I know.” “U know what?!” “Go ahead…” “I need you to come home or not at all. My mind isn’t playing tricks on me. It’s not my insecurities.” “NOT @ all” I sent him a photo of the messages I saw. I called him a liar and a cheater. He asked if I had been tracking his texts. I hadn’t. I did a few months ago when I first found out about Joseline. But I had since turned on the app, because I thought we were moving forward and “trusting” one another now. But I looked. Tonight, everything was so strange, so I looked. I found what I thought I would find. At about 2:45am, I called him and he picked up. We started arguing. He said I was in the wrong for checking his messages. He wouldn’t own up to doing anything wrong. He kept saying “We’re not in a relationship! We’re not in a relationship!” Granted, technically, we had not said emphatically that we were a couple. But, he still lived here. We had been having unprotected sex for the last month or so. We were following my fertility tracker and trying to get pregnant again. He was here for Thanksgiving. We set up for Christmas. I just took Lily out to buy him gifts the day before. The gifts I ordered him just arrived a day earlier; the gifts I bought him anyway even though I said that we didn’t have to get each other anything because he didn’t have any money because I wanted him to get some things on Christmas. He was sleeping next to me nightly. But now, I was nothing. I was not in a relationship with him. He kept saying that he would be back tomorrow to get his clothes. I was adamant that that wasn’t a possibility. He thought I meant I was going to damage them in some way. But I wasn’t thinking of that. I wasn’t thinking of anything. I was trying to be strong and stand my ground. He eventually hung up on me. I stood around for a few minutes, fuming. For the first time in months, I was more angry than hurt. I wasn’t breaking down in a heap of tears and hyperventilating. I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself. I took the opportunity to do the unthinkable. I picked up my phone and for the first time, not from a google phone number, from my own phone number, I called Joseline. I think the phone rang twice before Joseline picked up. She answered. “Hello.” I wasn’t going to back out this time. I was going to talk to her. I was going to eviscerate her with words. I was going to give her a piece of my mind. But, that isn’t what happened. Joseline answered politely. I asked her about her plans for the night and then told her who I was. I asked her if Nick was going to see her and she said yes. I asked her if she had been sleeping with Nick and she said yes. Unprotected? Yes. She was pregnant over the summer and had a miscarriage. I wonder if that’s what Nick was talking about earlier in the summer when he was in a deep depression and he said he was afraid to tell me something he thought would ruin us. I asked at the time if she was pregnant and he said no. She must’ve already lost it. She said he told her he loved her over the summer and that he had never felt this way about anyone before. He had stuff at her house. He had stayed there many times before. He went to her son’s birthday party. This shit is deep. I told her that he still lives with me. The white truck you thought was his? Mine. He lives alone? We co-parent? No and no. He has lived with me for nearly eleven years...*eleven years*. Since he lost his job, I have paid for everything, even before. I pay the rent, utilities, her tuition, *his* phone. I even pay monthly for a goddam loan he had me take out after he couldn’t afford the rent for his turn and forged a check in my name. This all sounds really fucekd up as I write it out. But, I was hearing and seeing what I wanted to hear and see. I believed what I wanted to believe. She said she was so taken aback because he knew that she was a child who saw her father do this. And now he was doing it to someone as well. She said she was done with him. She would try to three way call me when he got in her car. We hung up. A few minutes later, she called me back. She said she saw him, he got in the car and she told him that she just had a very interesting conversation with me. He apparently got mad and stormed off. I continued to talk to her like we were friends. We compared stories. I didn’t know he was fired. She didn’t know he didn’t have a savings. I didn’t know he wanted to be with her. She didn’t know he’d never truly left me. We ended the call when he came through the door. He was mad. I have only seen him this mad two other times. I thought he could hurt me. The first time he did. He choked me years ago our of anger. We stayed apart for about a month but I begged him to come back and he did. Yep. There it is. It seems like sort of a pattern here, right? It was always me begging him to come back and break me down more. Its like I never felt as though I was worthy and I kept asking for more pain for the sake of being the girl who “made it”, the girl who found someone, fell in love, and stayed with him until the day she died. No, we weren’t married. I always seemed to write that off as being ok because we were a different sort of couple and didn’t need to meet the status quo. But here he was walking through the door. He was steaming mad. He ran upstairs and started throwing luggage down the stairs. It was so loud. One hit me. He was throwing down clothes, shoes hangers. I knew he would wake up our daughter. He was yelling about me “having won” and that I was a “petty bitch.” Everything in me kept wanting to say that wasn’t what petty ment. But I knew it wouldn’t make anything better. He screamed in my face a lot. He scared me. He woke up our daughter. He kept screaming in my face that he didn’t love me and that anything I thought I was working toward was over and done. He told me to go kill myself. He said he’d get me a knife. This man, who I loved with everything in me...who I needed so desperately to love me back, was telling me to kill myself. It hurt more than anything he could ever do to me. It felt like a searing hot knife entering my chest. He stared at me with conviction. He was sure he felt this way. But I couldn’t back down. I kept asking. I wanted to know why he’d say something so cruel, why he’d be so mean. I wanted to know what his plan was. Was he going to stay with me through the holidays and then just leave? We had been joking about marriage the other day. Did he ever really love me? Were we truly *trying* anything? What happened? What made me so unlovable? Silence. Silence and angry yelling about my *petty* actions was the cycle that would continue for the next 2.5 hours. Finally, sometime after 6am, he walked away from me. He walked into the basement and locked himself in the downstairs bedroom. Its 6 hours later and I still haven’t seen him.


FEED BACK WANTED!!! plz “Okay, you can take my heart, if it gets me out of this world you can take anything you want.” the boy said with resolve. His regal looking clothes were covered in dirt and sweat. The boy’s eyes were those of an old man though he could not have been more than 13. I did my best to maintain my composer but honestly, I’m sure he probably saw the shock on my face. No one had ever said yes to my deal before. That was the whole point I didn’t actually know how to send someone to a new world, I mean I don’t even know for sure if other worlds exist. Well, they must exist right what are the odds that there is only one world? In any case I still have no idea how to get to other worlds. When the first person came knocking at my door asking for a path to another world, I didn’t want to seam incompetent so I told him that I knew how but set a price no one would be willing to pay, their own heart. I mean who would be willing to give up their heart of all things. More than a decade later that small lie came back to bite me in the form of a wiry teenager standing in my kitchen. I was just minding my business making a fresh pot of tea when he burst through my door. Next thing I knew he was begging me to send him to a new world. So, I made him the same deal I always do when every few years a peasant comes begging for a trip to a new world. I told him the price was his heart. I never thought he would accept the trade. “Are you positive, after all it will be a very painful and terrible experience to lose your heart.” I tried to make my voice as spooky and regal as I could manage as I said this. I even through in some fun whooshing wind to make my beard flow a little bit. After all what's a warlock without a little theatrics. Usually this was enough to turn away even the bravest of peasants.The boy looked up at me with defiance in his eyes. “It doesn’t matter, if I stay here I might as well jump off a cliff. I am the crown prince of this kingdom and my coronation is tomorrow” His voice shook with anger and frustration and just a tinge of exhaustion. I wont lie this information gave me quit a shock. Last I had checked king Andres was the ruler of the kingdom but that was two hundred years ago. I couldn’t help but feel pity for the poor boy he obviously was very upset, but I mean how bad could the cushy life of a crown prince be? With all the servants and what not I never would have guessed he didn’t enjoy his life. Usually, it was only ever peasants who wanted to leave this world. One or twice I had a princesses trying to escape an arranged marriage but never a prince. I wonder just how much I had been missing lately if a prince wanted to leave. “Perhaps just an escape to a faraway city would do. After all the price for a faraway city getaway is only … two tear drops!” Now getting someone to a different kingdom is doable all it takes is a simple transportation spell and bam off they go. Usually, I charged more than a couple tears, but I figured it couldn't hurt to sweeten the pot a little for the prince. Plus, I was low on organic human tears and the synthetic ones from the magic market never work quit as well. They always leave a nasty residue in the cauldron that takes like two hours to scrub out. “You think another kingdom would be any better? Have you seen the world lately everywhere looks like this everyone is either starving or being sent to war, do you think royal families are safe! Mine will be the third coronation this year alone. An enemy kingdom poisoned my father, the armies beheaded my brother and the minute I take the thrown someone is going to start a plan to kill or overthrow me. This world is to broken to live in, I just want to start fresh anywhere has to be better than here.” His words were steely and filled with longing for peace. It surprised me how desperate and hopeless someone so young could be. Suddenly he lunged forward and grabbed a small dagger I had lying on the table. Before I could even react, he had it pressed against his chest hard enough that I could see a small line of blood begin to trickle down. “Just take my heart already! Can't you see this is the only way” Tears streamed down his face as he begged me to take his heart. “Stop!” I shouted my voice booming in the small house. Something about seeing a child stab themselves with a knife really awakens the old fires in you. I quickly used a bit of Magic to turn the dagger into a harmless bouquet of flowers. It really was a shame to have to do that it was my favorite dagger up to that point.The boy dropped the flowers in despair. As I looked at the boy everything in the house suddenly felt very small and unimportant. I realized just how isolated I had been for the past few decades. I glanced at the old clock on the wall it no longer had any hands to tell time with, yet even I could see it was time for me to do something, anything for the world around me. So, I did what all warlocks do in a pinch, I made up a prophesy. Using magic, I changed my voice to sound deeper and grander, then I made a heavy wind rush through the house. “What is your name boy” I bellowed. “Jack” for the first time there was real fear in the boy's eyes as he uttered his name. “Long ago there was a prophecy foretold, When the world is torn apart, and a boy will give up his heart, with the help of a warlock the.... the healing will start. Jack, you have proven yourself to be the one foretold!” The words echoed around us with power. I must say it was not a bad prophesy for being made up on the spot like that. It even had a proper rhyme and everything. Now the tough part would be fulfilling the prophesy. Jack’s face was full of confusion but behind it all was just the glimmer of hope. “Come now we don’t have time to waste there is work to be done Jack the world won’t fix itself!” I grabbed my travel satchel as I said this scooping vials, bottles, and jars from my shelves into the bottomless bag. For the first time in years, I felt truly excited. As I threw open my door and smelled the air outside I had only one thought in my head. It’s time to change the world.


Before my mom died, she rolled her head towards me, gathered all the energy she had left, and bit me as hard as she could. “Where the Wild Things Are” - that was our book. I was Max, disruptive, wild, strong willed. So was Mom. A household of Max’s and no wild things around to scare us straight. We danced and sang and broke things and ate ice cream for breakfast on good days. A week into my arrival at elementary school for kindergarten, mom shipped herself off to elementary school too, as a hallway monitor. We feared that the long days apart would allow for storybook monsters to creep in and ruin the world we had built for ourselves at home out of Shania Twain songs, pillows and sugary cereals. “Please don’t go, I’ll eat you up, I love you so” she whispered to me in the mornings at school as we parted for the 2 hours until lunch. As she let go of my hand she nibbled my fingers, to let me know she meant it. I would kiss her goodnight and nip at her cheek. I’ll gobble you up first- you better watch out, I threatened. Maurice Sendak once said that he drew a picture for a little boy who loved it so much, he swallowed it. He said it was the best compliment he was ever given. Mom’s nickname in Highschool was sunny, it stuck. People who knew her then, as 1st graders or coworkers, still talk about the sunlight that beamed out of her in all directions. You were one of the lucky ones to be cast in her light. I spent my days seeking out her sunshine in hallways and around lunchroom tables. She would write messages in pen for me on the skin of my bananas in my packed lunch. “I’ll eat you up I love you so” carved in browning, sweet letters. I was daydreaming when I was called down to the office for early dismissal. I ran there, excited about what Mom had up her sleeve. I rounded the hallway corner and she stood there, cold, dark. My sun had collapsed in on itself. The warmth of her rays were gone, but the color remained. “I’m yellow, can’t you see I’m yellow?” I didn’t understand why we needed to worry. Why we couldn’t just go home and dress up in her old bridesmaids dresses and eat pancakes for lunch. There were no wild things here to deter us, just the color yellow. Her sunlight was no match for the tumor. It ate her up before I had the chance. Please don't go. I’ll eat you up, I love you so. I rapidly became the wild things from the story, begging and pleading and crying and stomping for her to stay. Please don’t go, I’ll eat you up I love you so. Towards the end words were lost to her, but before she left, she mustered every bit of strength she had, and bit me, as hard as she could, so I knew she meant it.


Waking up in the middle of a dream is a beautiful thing. Most dreams slip away in the night but waking up in the middle of one is like catching a criminal in the act. Just how a criminal can’t explain away what you clearly have seen, you can no longer forget the dream. You’ve ‘caught’ it, so to say. If remembering a dream in this way is ‘catching a criminal’ then I suppose I’ve cheated. I woke up to an applause just a moment ago. Not just any applause, though. A TV audience for Jenna Raleigh’s Relationship Autopsy program. So, I didn’t ‘catch’ the dream, Jenna’s audience did, and, what’s worse, I can’t be sure that my dream wasn’t just a by-product of what I heard from the television. I think about what happened in my dream. I walked alongside her for most of it. I knew who it was even though I didn’t see her until the end, when she turned to me under the blossoming magnolia, her long, red hair draped along her shoulders, and smiled. The kind of smile one gives to an old friend, like she actually wanted to see me. I’m surprised I even remember how that’s supposed to look. I saw her just last week. She demanded to see my house before allowing our daughter, Kelly, to visit again. The doorbell sounded angry. I don’t get visitors often so maybe it surprised me, getting one, but I remember it sounding wrong. Doorbells are supposed to let you know ‘a friend is here,’ but mine didn’t speak to me. It didn’t say anything heartfelt, reminding me that I have loved ones. It was cold, but even it couldn’t prepare me for her. Amber, my wife of a life long since passed, wasn’t angry, wasn’t judgmental; she was just there. There isn’t another way to put it. She walked through my house (if you can call it that), looking at the dishes lying on the floor and the sofa and the bed accompanied by chip bags and crushed energy drinks, and just watched. She didn’t yell. I wish she had. I wish she showed me that I was worth yelling at. “This is spotless when she comes over,” she stated. “Understood?” Kelly will be here in a few hours and I still haven’t cleaned. The coffee table is probably the best thing to start; she’ll see that first. I grab a trash bag from under the sink and throw anything crunchy, shiny, or bottle-shaped in. “And when did you discover that Brad was having an affair?” A voice asks from the TV. “Well Jenna, he usually cries after sex or tears up at the very least, but the past few months, nothing.” A blonde woman says, scratching her chin. I feel along the coffee table and toss the familiar feeling things in while looking up to see how Jenna’s crowd reacts to the story. Each woman clutches a handkerchief to their chest while nodding ‘no.’ One particularly plump woman wiggles her way out of her aisle and races down the stairs to a lone microphone. “They change when they’re--“ she gags, sobbing into her handkerchief. “When they’re up to no good!” she says, finishing with a clenched fist in the air. “Powerful words. So, Pam, this change is what tipped you off?” The host asks, moving the mic closer to the guest’s mouth. “Absolutely Jenna, Brad just stopped being himself. Something had to be wrong,” the woman continues. “We were engaged but now I have to break his hea--” CLICK. I turn off the TV and rest the remote on the empty coffee table. It’s a start. I fill one garbage bag after the next and place them in the shed behind the house. I don’t want Kelly seeing Trash Mountain on the curb. I get a text, ‘5 mins out.’ She’s almost here and the place is still a mess! I didn’t vacuum the rug. I didn’t do the dishes. I didn’t cook anything. There are a lot of things I could have done, should have done, but I have to relax. I need to show her that I’m not the same man. I can do that. I pace the house one more time, all four rooms of it, hoping that something will jump out to me, a way to impress her, anything. Ding Dong! “Crap!” I say, pacing in front of the TV. I run up to the door and place my hand on the knob. What’s the worst that could happen? I open the door. She’s there. Not how I remember her, but, still, it’s her, pinchable nose and all. “Hi, Dad!” she says, jumping forward and hugging me. “Kelly! It’s so good to see you!” I say, wrapping my arms around her. I wave goodbye to her mother who is sitting in her car on the driveway. She doesn’t react to me. Brush it off. “Likewise, old man,” she says, walking past me into the living room. She pulls off her jacket and tosses it on the arm of the sofa, revealing a tattoo of a bird flying across her forearm. Since when does she have a tattoo? How could her mother let her do this at such a young age?! She’s sixteen, she barely knows who she is yet. “Looks better than last time, I’ll give you that,” she comments. “Your mother let you get... that?” I ask, pointing to her arm. “Dad...” “It’s just a question, Kelly.” “Yes, she did. Happy?” She asks, her brows furrowing. Breathe. You’re doing it again. Tattoos mean nothing if she won’t even talk to you. Just... breathe. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t... I wasn’t expecting... it looks nice.” “You don’t have to pretend to like it, it’s alright if you don’t. I just don’t want you to yell at me about it, but, look, I can see the tabletop this time,” she chuckles, plopping down onto the sofa and grabbing the remote. “See?” she says, waving it at me. “A labor of love.” “Is that what it takes to get your butt off the couch?” “Hey, watch it!” I reply, walking over to the fridge. “Do you want anything to drink?” “Do you have any tea?” she asks, turning around and peeking over the sofa excitedly. “Is green tea ok?” “Yea, that’s great.” I drop down on the couch beside her and pass the green tea. She cracks it open and enjoys it gulp after gulp. She always was a loud drinker. Everything else seems to have changed. It’s nice that something hasn’t. “Hey, Dad?” “Yea?” “Thanks for having me over. I missed ‘us’ time.” “Anytime, sweetie. I’ve missed it too.” The thought nags at me, Would I have woken up if it weren’t for the TV? I didn’t even set an alarm. I may never have had the opportunity to live in this dream if it wasn’t ‘caught’ for me. It may have been just like the thousands of other dreams that go unnoticed in the night. Kelly might have come and gone, seeing a mess and thinking her father was the same wreck he’s always been. I live in this dream, for now, but it will end. The night only lasts so long until a new dream begins and, that one, I’ll have to catch on my own. I have to be a new man now, even if I’m not. It starts somewhere, the decision to end something for a new beginning to blossom. My daughter deserves a father, even if I don’t deserve her.


“Luke, we can’t afford a second car.” Tara whispered into her cell phone as she made her way to the meeting. “I don’t have money for it. Do you have money?”    “Sure, throw that in my face.”   “We can’t get a second car until you get a job again.”    “I can’t get a job without a car.”    “I got to go.”    “Yea, yea, yea. You’re at work. You’re important.”     “Luke.”    He hung up. Tara wondered what he would be like when she got home to the apartment that night. Would he be the angry man? The crying boy? The drunk? Well, they were both drinking too much lately. The wine was killing her stomach since most of her day-afters were workdays.    Tara was the last to arrive at the meeting. She sat herself and her boss began. “We liked to thank you, Mr. Patel, for your initial contract with us. We’d like to review how you thought the import went under our arrangements and what sort of future opportunities we might explore between our companies.”    Mr. Patel nodded a few times, then shrugged.    My boss, Lacey, looked over his reaction and then she smiled. “Mr. Patel? Perhaps you could elaborate on that thought? How did you think we performed?”    “I was not as impressed as I thought I would be.”    “We heard no reports of excessive damages or shortages. The shipments were within the timeframes we agree on.”    “Yes, yes, they were. But, I don’t know, I thought I would be more impressed.”     There was a long silence. Lacey was stone. Mr. Patel smiled at her. A weird little condescending smile.    Lacey stood up and tapped my arm to join her. She walked out of the meeting and I followed like her puppy who wanted to go back to see if they’d offer me a bone. “What happened?”    Lacey shushed me until we got into her office and she closed the door. “He’s full of crap. We’re not going to be doing business with him.”    “Why?”    “He’s a bad faith dealer. We hit all his targets and now he’s playing coy like we’ve got to court him to the alter all over again.”   “Why?”   “He wants a discount from here on. He wants faster service. He wants a deal. He wants to hold court. He doesn’t like doing business with women. Who cares?”    “How do you know?”    “Experience. I’ve been on treadmills with guys like that. Round and round and you’re not making any distance. He's not a client we can live without, he’s a client we have to live without.”    “So, we don’t even negotiate?”    “There was nothing to be gained in that meeting, only things to be lost.”    “Well, maybe he’ll get the message now. And if he comes back to us, we can ask for more money the next time?”    “No, we can’t trust him now. Oh, he might offer us more, but then he’ll find another way to get the money back. You think he wouldn’t report shortages that never happened? Damages? I won’t trust him. Do I think he’ll get the message? No. Our message was we gave him our best. Almost no damages, no shortages, everything on time, and that’s how he treats us? Bye-bye.”    When Tara got home to the apartment Luke greeted her at the door. “I’m sorry.” He had made dinner and it was on the little half table in the dining area of their one bedroom. The lights were low and the candles were lit. “I’m sorry, Tar. I know we can’t afford a second car. And, actually, it wouldn’t have been my car, anyway. You’re driving my car. Because it’s still in my name, like the insurance. I know, you’re paying, but it’s still my car. I am looking for work. You know, every day I think about our situation. I worry all the time. I know, it’s been eight months. I’m applying. I am. I know, you think it has to do with that soft skills stuff. But, you know, soft skills is just a smile and a pretty face and that’s not what employers are looking for when they go to hire a guy like me. Anyway, I know, you’ve told me not to call when you’re working, but it was a decision that had to be made by both of us. The car I found was a great deal. I think you would have really liked it. But I get it, we’ll kiss that one good-bye, because you don’t think we can afford it. Just means when I am working, we’ll have to pay twice as much for another car. But I get it. Not now. Not until you say when. You’re working so you’re in charge. It’s not a partnership until I have a job, too. We’re equals, but you’re just a bit more equal right now, because you have a job. You know, there’s a lot of times I don’t think you even appreciate what I’m going through. Like, I am trying. I am really trying. It’s not easy for me. Like it’s easy for you. You know how to talk to people. You’re used to all that paperwork, and handshaking, and crap. And you know, some of the people you work with are just being nice to you because they want to hit on you. Like, you know that, right?”    Tara stood up and walked out of the apartment. She stopped in the hall, then went back in and put the car keys on the little table. She walked out again for good.    The next day at work Lacey stopped by Tara’s desk. “We don’t have a dress code but that blouse looks a little big on you.”    “It’s my sister’s.”    “Changes at home?”    “No, just what I wore yesterday.”    Lacey smiled. “No, I mean, has your situation at home changed?”    “Yes, can I take some time? I have to change things at my bank, too.”    “Of course. Do you need an advance?”    “Yes, but don’t let them send it until I fix things at my bank.”    “Call when ready.”        In the following days Luke called Tara’s sister’s house repeatedly trying to contact Tara, and was told not to call. Luke even came to the sister’s house twice, but her sister’s husband got him to go away. One day, Tara’s sister handed her the phone.    “I’m not talking to him. There’s nothing to say.”    “It’s not him, this guy says he’s your former landlord.”    Lacey answered to hear Luke had thrown all her belongings off the balcony onto the apartment front lawn below. The landlord was asking her to come get them.     “Oh, they’re not mine anymore. I left them. He can do what he wants with them. Well, the clothing you can donate, and anything else he throws away. No, I’m not coming for them. I not coming back there for anything. Well, if you call the police, I think they might end up talking to Luke, and then they’ll find out he threw the stuff on the street, and then they might arrest him. It’s not my problem, Mr. Foster. I have nothing to do with the rent. I don’t live there anymore. I gave a deposit when we moved in, I’m not asking for it back. Well, talk to the man who lives there. Thank you for being my landlord, Mr. Foster, and good luck with everything.”

   It was two weeks later in the middle of the day that Luke stood outside the office building Tara worked and started shouting.    “You think you’re better than me!” He screamed from the sidewalk. Security had stepped outside and stood on the office property but could not order Luke off the sidewalk. He was badly dressed, unwashed, and carrying a white plastic shopping bag that held ladies’ underwear. Tara’s underwear. Underwear that she had left with everything else she had abandoned when she walked out. Of all the things of hers he had thrown off the apartment balcony he must have saved these. “Tara! Tara! These belong to you. Come and get them.” Luke dangled them in front of the guards. “Do you recognize these? Are there other guy she works with who have seen these?”    One of the security guard stepped up and started giving Luke belly bumps to provoke him, but he wouldn’t take the bait. He ducked around the sidewalk dodging the guard and screaming at the office. Traffic slowed and people gawked.    Her boss, Lacey, was away from the office that day. Tara went down to reception.    The receptionist met her. “I think that man is shouting for you.”    “Yes. He is.”    “I think he needs help.”    “Yes. I’m sure he does. But I’m not the one to help him.”    “He brought something for you. Do you want me to get it?”    “No, that’ll only encourage him.”    “Should we just let the guards handle it?”    “Sure.”    “What if he comes in?”    “I don’t think they’ll let him. But if he does, he has no business here. So, use your discretion. I’ll be in my office.”    “What do you think he’ll do?”    “I don’t think about it anymore. I only know what I do. I’m going back to work.”    Though it shook her inside, Tara returned to work. She never knew what happened next with Luke, and she never asked anyone.

   Four days later she left the office to get some lunch. Dining alone was becoming one of her favorite past times. She felt so independent and grown up when she treated herself. She was two blocks from the office, and about to cross the street to the tea house when she felt a hand on her arm.    “Stop it!” she turned and hissed.    It was Mr. Patel who held his hands in front of himself defensively. “I’m sorry. I recognized you. I just wanted to speak with you for a moment. A moment. You want coffee? We go for coffee?”    “What do you want?”    “Please, please. Your boss, she is difficult. Yes? I think you – you could do anything she can do. Yes? I think you could. You could do these imports, couldn’t you? All the arrangements? You know how. You work for me, you make more than she pays you. You can do what she does, can’t you?”

   Tara looked at Mr. Patel. Then she turned and walked away, crossing the street.


     Most people don’t care to listen to what I think.

Most people don’t really notice I’m there after the initial moving-in experience when they fix me up how they like me, and then leave me.

Just because I’m the sunniest place in the house, means people seem drawn to me, but only to discuss their problems with each other.      Designed to take the modern stance on a place for everyone to gather for their daily meals, with added shelter from the elements, I think back to what it would have been like for my great-great ancestor.

Back then, people cooked outdoors, and my ancestors would have been much more exposed to the elements but also much hardier to withstand heat, cold, storm and wind.

I sometimes wish I could lead that kind of exciting life but mine has been a good life.

At least there’s a window to see what goes on outside of these four walls.      I am the same size as I was in 1976, surrounded by bell bottoms and Wedges and a loudly-ringing dial phone.

I miss that dial phone.

We had the craziest conversations - she’d always tell me about the weird things people would say, and we’d laugh together.

Sadly they replaced the dial phone in the 1990s with a tiny annoying little modern cellphone they could carry with them everywhere.

The little brat phone has too high an opinion of himself, thinks he knows everything.      My cupboards were replaced by my apartment manager and maintenance crew in 1997, and I was ok with that but I do miss sharing my space with those old biddies.

The old cupboards could sure share a great story, and you’d never guess but they were regular old gossipers.

The new combination of cupboards holds more space, they say, although, how you can fit more space into the same sized room does not really make sense to me.

My new companions are generally more soft-spoken, and since they hold more, they take to yawning sleepily.      I watched so much happen in just a year’s time.

Take this past year for instance.  In just a year’s time I got to know 3 sets of new tenants.

If they knew what I’d seen happen before they even moved in, they might they might respect a modern kitchen a little more.      Let’s rewind to right around Christmas of 2019.

All the sugary smells were about to make me nauseated, and there were simply more people than this apartment was meant to hold.

Just between you and me, I had a conversation with the dining room, and although the dining room is generally a prissy thing with not much inside its empty space, it agreed with me that Christmas is definitely the least favorite holiday.

There’s way too many spills and sticky hands that get attached to us.      Three months after that, it was like a different place altogether.

Those tenants moved out, because I guess they received an eviction notice, and within a couple weeks a new couple moved in.

It was a young couple.

Billy and Mel.

They were pregnant, and had their baby about a month after they moved in.

My goodness, you’d never believe how that kid could scream! It made the cupboards shutter, and I turned another shade of cream just to listen.

     One conversation stood out to me.

It was a late afternoon in May. Mel had the baby on her hip while fixing pancakes and scrambled eggs, and the baby was gnawing on a rubber ring, frowning.

Cellphone yelled (rang actually, but the ringtone actually says “Hey, you, pick up the phone!” - yeah, rude).

     Mel pushed a button and put it on speaker.

“Hey, Mel, honey I’m gonna be home late and I have something to tell you.

Are you sitting down?”      Mel paused in her cooking.

“What do you mean?”      “Just sit down.

Tell me when,” Billy said on the other end of the phone.      Mell sat, trembling slightly.

“Ok, what’s up?”      “Honey, I just got word that the Covid number is up.

I’m going to have to spend time solitary for the time being.

I know this sounds hard, but it’s for the best.

I’m going to have to ask you to pack me several changes of clothes, with whatever you can find that you think I’ll need and put them on the deck outside.

I can’t stay at the apartment for a while.”      “Wh-why not?” Mell asked shakily.      “Several others on the medical team have already taken this precaution several weeks ago, but since I just started at this hospital last week, they let me get the swing of things before letting me know about this.

It’s for your and Roger’s protection, Mell.

I don’t want the two people in the world I love the most to get sick because of something I bring home with me.”      “B-but this is going to go away soon, Billy, it has to. I mean, it’s like the flu right?”      “No honey, it’s much worse.

People are dying every day because we don’t have medications or ventilators or other things to help them.

I don’t want that happening to you.”

Billy’s voice shook for a moment.

Then he continued bravely, “Listen, I’m going to stay at my co-worker’s place and his wife agreed to come to our place and help you.

Their names are John and Fan.

They’re a terrific couple.

John’s about 50 and Fan is maybe 53.

She knows all about raising kids and would love to take a turn at night with Roger, since he’s teething.

I wish I could be there, but I know you’ll have all the support you need with Fran!”      “Ok...I’ll miss you...I wish I’d known before,” Mell said, trying not to cry.

“How long will you have to do this?”      “I...I don’t know, honey.

It could be just for a week or two...or it could be longer.”      I have to say, that was one of the saddest conversations I’ve ever overheard.

I wished right then I could hug Mell.

All I could do was just offer her food.

     It turned out that Fran was exactly what Mell needed.

Fran was a sweet, caring older woman who understood the challenges of being a young first-time mom, and she stepped up every time for Mell, even though they weren’t even related.

(I did have to wonder, what about Mell’s family? That part never made sense to me.

Why couldn’t your own family members share the quarantine space with you, but a co-worker’s family could?)      One conversation stands out in that time that Fran was here in the apartment with Mell.

Billy had been gone for several months, although he called every single night just to say hello to Mell and Roger.

Mell had just got off the phone and was feeling teary and Fran came over to put an arm around her shoulder.

“It’ll be ok,” she said.

“Now how about I share some things with you and you walk down memory lane with me?”      Soon the two women were leaning over the countertops, sipping black tea and laughing at the stories Fran shared as she flipped through family photo books with Mell.

It was sweet and kinda funny to watch those two silently.

It was like looking at the same person in the mirror, only at different stages of life.

I could see what Fran used to be when she was a young woman, wife to a military doctor during the Vietnam War, when he was overseas for months at a time with a very short furlough in between.

I could see how it had matured and changed her, and she’d learned to rely, not on other people, but on a strength beyond herself.

I could see also that Mell was just at that same place in life, and I hoped she found the same strength Fran had.      It was so noisy and happy when Billy finally got to go home!

They had a party, Billy, Mell, Roger, Fran and John.

Fran made vanilla cake and Mell made chicken salad (something she’d learned from Fran how to make, because she’d started out burning water).

They laughed and talked late into the night, sometimes crying, sometimes just seated in silence.

The dining room and I watched quietly.

What a year it had been!

It was almost Christmas time again. Christmas came and went and I didn't even realize it had.  It was the quietest Christmas ever.  Billy and Mell went out to visit her sister's house but other than that, they just hung around the dining table or kitchen cabinets, talking on Cellphone, over video chat to friends and family. But they had each other. I think they valued each other so much more.  It reminded me of something my ancestor had said before he was chopped down for the sake of the human cause.  When you are reduced to your bare roots, you learn to appreciate the small things in life and be grateful for the time you had.


DYE ME DEAD Jay Stempin Chapter 1 Michael

The tall bookshelf, bookended by dozens of Medusa-haired skulls, squeaked to life by the sound of a tricycle pedaled by a faerie with daisy petal hair. Green skin. Looked like a flower. She skidded to a halt in front of a paperback edition of Bradbury’s The Illustrated Man .  “Hey Mike, what’s the deal? Thought we had plans to get rid of him. As you can see snow’s falling hard. We really should get going. You know how I get around wintry weather.” “Name’s not Mike. How many times I got to tell you? It’s Michael.” “Sure it is, Mike. You’re with the syndicate, right? Know all about you. And I’m here to remind you of our mission. And let me reiterate the ‘our’ in this mission. You’ll get used to working for me. What? You don’t like that idea? Is that why you’re shedding skin like snowflakes? Get a grip. For the love of all the ash in Hades thought you’d be better equipped, emotionally.” “First off, Esmeralda, who’s the fool you’re referring to? Don’t work with many fools. But I know a few.” He gave her a long icy stare. He had dealt with fae before, notorious for trickery and games. “I’m kind as a dewy flower.” He smiled, knowing full-well that kindness was one of the last resorts for a faerie. She cringed as if someone had offered her a slice of raw liver.  “We’re all one here.” “Is that so? Get your gear, Mike. Time to head into the wilderness window.” Michael stepped outside. Snow was falling hard, sideways and upside-down. Some flakes, with the wind whipping about, were turned inside-out. He buttoned up his winter jacket and laced up a pair of snowshoes and trudged into the woods, pausing under a fat oak that formed a protective umbrella against the snow. He dropped his mittens into a pocket and rolled up his sleeve and blinked at his forearm. A tattooed map appeared on his arm revealing his current location and the surrounding topography of Nevada City, California. He muttered an incantation in the name of Zig and Zag Saunders. Zig and Zag were twins, brother and sister, born in San Francisco. They now lived in Nevada City and had been praying for help, via social media devices on their iPhones. Michael was assigned as their social worker. Michael trudged through the snowy woodlands until he reached a fork in the trail: one, to his left, followed a stream, the other a steep rocky snow-covered hill to his right. He glance over his shoulder, sensing he was being watched. The snow had stopped falling and the sun appeared, mirroring its bright moony light against the snowy landscape. He did not see anyone in the area and noticed had not left any snowshoe prints in the trail. He grinned and winked at the sky.  Onward he trudged until he spotted a cabin nestled amid a throng of trees. He removed his snowshoes, hooked them onto a pine branch. His boots crunched through the snow. Still no track marks in his wake. At the cabin’s front door, he stomped snow from his boots on the front mat: Welcome for the Last Time. A woman with short-cropped hair highlighted in purple answered the door. She was dressed in slippers and thermals and a wool sweater. Looked to be in her twenties. “Yes? Can I help you?” Michael bowed and took a step back. “Hello, friend. Is this the residence of Zag Saunders?” “Last time I checked, yes.” “I’m here on her behalf. Are you Zag?” She shook her head and placed a finger under her dimpled chin. “You’re here to help my brother, aren’t you? I’ve been wishing for you to come. He’s sick with an injury and has trouble getting around.” “I do not!” The gruff reply came from deeper in the cabin. “Oh shush your mouth,” she snapped over her shoulder. “And don’t get out of bed.” The sound of a floorboard squeaking was followed by something dragging. Tap. Drag. Tap. Zig rolled her eyes. “Doesn’t listen very well.” “And you’re not taking my friend from me,” continued the same gruff voice. “Julius’s mine.” A man appeared next to Zig. Sandy brown disheveled hair and blue eyes rimmed in gold. Hooded sweatshirt with two crescent moon patches, each with a faerie dangling by one arm from the moon’s arched edge. One fae was waving the peace sign with two fingers, the other flipping the bird. “This is Zag,” said Zig. “My brother. Were twins.” The likeness was remarkable. Same blue eyes. Same sandy hair. The woman was about an inch taller. Zag had long hair twirled into a single braid. He had carved his crutch into the likeness of a braid with the head of Medusa on the handle.  “Would you like to come in, Michael?” Michael gave pause, surprised by her knowingness. He offered a humbling nod. “You’re a wise one, Ms. Zig. Very in-tune with the realm beyond the physical plane. We all need to be in tune. And here we are: to remember who we are and why we’re here.” Winter winds slid under the cabin’s front door causing an icy draft that’d make a snowman’s pee freeze. Zig shoved a rug to the door, blocking the gap. Zag, leaning on a crutch, boasted: “We’ve been praying and meditating for you to come. For years. Glad you’re here. But you sure took your time. Run out of gas? Get lost Hoodwinked by a rabid wolf?” Zag turned and hobbled to a sofa and sat next to a hand-stitched Guatemalan blanket scrunched up on the sofa. There, seated on a throw pillow, arms wrapped around her legs, chin resting on her knee, was Esmeralda. “Took you long enough,” smirked Esmeralda. “Hello. Been supporting these two, I hope. Let’s get down to business then.” She buzzed around Zag’s head and cartwheeled through the air, landed on his shoulder. “Be kind, silly human. Be kind. Stay loving to Julius.” Esmeralda took flight and disappeared under the gap in the front door. Gone. They all sat at the kitchen table. Michael set his coat on the chairback. He was wearing a black T-shirt filled with a collage of interlocking gold halos. Stamped over the halos, in bold white letters: Archangels 27 Buddhas 9.

 “Zag, how you been? What’s been going on with you? What’s good?” Zag’s eyes remained on the window, watching snow fall and twinkle in the morning light. “You mean being dead?” Zag shrugged. “Feel the same, I guess. What about Emma? I really miss her. Wonder if I’ll see her again. By the way, got your message last week. That dream was vivid, dude.” “Hope it set your soul free.” Wings bloomed from Michael’s V-shaped back; he yawned, and then scratched his arm with a wingtip before they disappeared into the crystalline comfort of his spine. “Worried about Emma.” “Oh stop,” said Michael in a feathery tone. “You’ve got a gift but you must remember not to allow emotions into your threaded consciousness. Your empowering energy can be a bit of a double-edged sword.” “Ya think…? You referring to being able to remember past-lives? Yeah, it sucks. That’s almost worse than being dead. Probably a close second. My heart’s heavy right now. Like I’ve got Fred Flintstone’s stone house on my chest.” Michael sprinkled a handful of glittery dust over Zag’s head, and began to sing, ever so softly. It was an unfamiliar tune with an intoxicating rhythm to it. Catchy. “This’ll help you, for a time. New recipe.” His bright brown eyes smiled. “What were you singing?” “A new recipe blend Just put it together. Been working with a local spellfarmer who helped me sync my singing recipes with her herbal blends. She’s got quite the garden in the canopy.” There was a pause. “You talking about Belle Gaia?” Michael grinned. “You’re tuning in. You’re intuitive, just like your sister.” Zag’s face said he not all that impressed with these hunches. “Just echoing what I hear in my mind. What was so special about that? What I really want: find Emma.” “Careful with those memories. Could be hundreds, or even thousands, of years old.” Zag did feel lighter though; he expressed all this to Michael and Zig. A smile formed on his face. “What is it?” said Zig. “Haven’t seen you smile like that in eons.” “I see her, in my mind. Emma’s face fills my thoughts.” He gazed off again, as if the wooden crossbeams under the ceiling were talking to him. “Her infectious laugh, like silver wind chimes vibrating sweet tonal chords. Perfect."

“Come out back. Got to show you something. You know you’re becoming quite the popular one, in certain circles,” said Michael. “Just got to find out what happened to her.” “Brother, you’re popular. Great news.” Zig’s eyes beamed. “Popularity doesn’t interest me,” he said solemnly and closed the door after Michael followed them to the back porch. “Right now, I’m just going to hold onto her smiling image, her soft caramel eyes, her touch.” “Okay. Too much information,” Zig said, tugging on a ski hat. “Emma’s silky locks rolled down her back. Her youthful enthusiasm was everything wrapped in a bow.” Zag sighed, leaned his crutch on the wooden screened-in back porch. Michael said: “You think she’s dead, don’t you?” Zag gave him a funny look and shielded a ray of sun streaming through the tall snow-covered pines. A forest of trees stretched out in front of them. A narrow twin-pathed trail meandered from the cabin and disappeared into the Wood. “If she is, why can’t I be with her? Flippin’ sucks, dude.” “You’re toying with memories. Don’t you know how taxing that can be?” Zane shook his head. “I get it. But it’s tough when she twirls into my thoughts every day.” Michael ruffled his shoulders and began to hum and send vibrations through Zag’s legs. “You thinking of her now?” There was a pause. Zag said, “Who?”

Chapter 2 Zag

 “Emma, you want a cup of tea? Got some Gunpowder Green.” She stepped in behind him and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him close. She kissed him on the neck. “Let’s play scrabble.” He spun round and their lips danced together. He could feel her heart pounding against his. He closed his eyes inhaling the flowery scent in her hair, nibbled at her neck. They sat at the table, scrabble board set up. Emma set her word onto the board: Quicken. Played it off his word: Tangle. Tea kettle whistled. Emma strolled down the hallway, her long hair shining in the moonlight pouring in through the window. She disappeared into the kitchen. Sirens wailed from somewhere outside. Zag stirred in his seat, but he could not get up. Something was holding him down. He looked to see his feet shackled to the chair legs. Julius, perched on a wooden branch of a Japanese maple, took flight and flew in through the open window and landed on the window sill. “Hola ‘migo,” said Julius. Julius was a dwarf dragon. “Hey there. Did you hear that siren?” Julius began pruning his purple-green scaled belly, wrapped his tail around his talons. “I did.” “What’s the emergency? Ambulances out there?” “Not that kind a siren, pendejo. It was Shellbee, the siren of the Wood.” “Oh, man. She’s at it again?” Julius began muttering something else in Spanish. “Come on, man. In English. I’m not bilingual.” “Try and stay present, friend.” “Doing the best I can. But since I died, well, living in this spectral frame’s a bit of a challenge.” “Learning curve’s something you can handle, amigo.” Zag closed his eyes. A buzzing sound flitted through the air. Sounded like Shellbee wooing someone in the woods again. Zag woke him. He rolled over in bed, mulling over the dream. Julius was sleeping atop the sofa, a red-embered fire glowing in the fireplace, tail wrapped around his scaly frame. A tapping came to the door. Michael was invited inside and offered a cup of tea. Zag went on to describe his dream in detail. “And here’s the thing: If I am dead, why am I dreaming? Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy to dream about Emma. It has happened a lot since I died. But why am I stuck here, in this body, if I’m dead.” “It’s not your time to transition. But you carry a gift of past-life remembrance. And you’re just learning how to catalogue all these memories. You have a job to complete. That’s why I’m here. Your liaison. It has more to do with your sister than Emma.” “Emma. Tell me about Emma.” “It’s for you to discover. It’s part of your soul contract. That’s all I can say for now.” He glanced to his gold pocket watch. I must be off. Toodle-oo.” Before Zag could even open his mouth, Michael was gone. Zag sat on the sofa. “Well, Julius. What do you make of all that?” “How ‘bout you cook up some pork tortilla soup.” “You’re always hungry.” Zag sipped on his tea and heard a feminine voice whispering in his ear. He turned, wondering if his imagination was playing games with him. “You’re still alive, my sweet cantaloupe. Even if you’re dead.” Sounded like Emma. Was he dreaming again? There she stood, dressed in a flowing gown of purple, yellow frockcoat, tawny boots, and spinning an umbrella in her hand. Her long white gloves shimmered like starlight. “If you want to reunite with me, you’ll need to save your sister.” “What’s the matter with Zig? She alright?” “Hurry. Zag. Hurry.”  “Hurry? Haven’t hurried anywhere since my body began to fail me years back.” Julius appeared in front of his nose, hovering, wings going at hummingbird-speed. He whacked Zag in the head with the tip of his leathery tail. “Use your core strength before your sister is sent to cadaver central.” Zag hobbled to a standing position. “What’re you doing?” said Julius. “I’m going to find Zig.” “Sit your butt down, pendejo. Use your core essence.” Those words from Julius made something click for Zag. He sat down, closed his eyes, and meditated on Zig. Within several minutes, might have been longer, Zig was uncertain how much time passed as he drifted into the safe haven of meditation. Zig? Can you hear me? Zig? It’s your brother. Trying to reach you psychically. Where you at? There was a gentle tapping at his third eye. Zig smiled; kept his eyes closed, seated in a pretzel position. Body swaying. Waves of energy rolled through him; shoulders and arms began to shiver with warmth. Felt silvery inside. Was his sister trying to respond? Wow. Exciting! Zag continued to focus on each inhalation and exhalation. A voice spoke in his head: I’m sorry but your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please hang up and try your call again. What? Hello? This is Zag Saunders. Trying to reach my sister. The same voice responded in his head: Sir, your call cannot be completed as dialed. This is Ophelia Jones, psychic switchboard operator of Akashic Records Warehouse. Can I help you? Hi. I’m trying to reach my sister. Think she’s in trouble. Sir. Please state your name and the last four digits of your social security number. He gave her this information. But he really wanted to flip her off for making him go through this charade. Your account has not been activated, sir. Would you like to activate it? Does Satan steal souls? ‘Course I do. Sir, in order to activate your account, I’ll need some information. This call is being recorded. Can you give me the address of your temporary residency at Akashic Records? Akashic Records? I don’t live there. Live in Nevada City. Mr. Saunders. There’s no Nevada City address here. Can you give me your secret password? Don’t have a password. He felt Julius land on his shoulder and purr, “Tell her: Winnie the Pooh.” Uh….Winnie the Pooh. Thank you sir. Now, for further security, can you verify your death date? Earth Day. April 22, 1990. Thank you sir. The line seemed to go dead. Hello? Operator? You there? Hi there. Who’s this? The voice did not sound like the operator. Zag replied: This is Zag Saunders. I’ve been trying to reach my sister. Zag? This is Zig. Need your help. She informed Zig that she was arrested for illicit energy travel and she needed to be bailed out. Zig caught an Uber and made it to the police station. Got her released. Zig, in tears, explained, on the cab ride home, that she had been set up. She did not even know what illicit energy travel meant. At home, Michael was there wearing his signature grin. “Bravo, my friends of Earth. You’ve done it. Both of you are safe now.” “Safe?” Zig wiped her nose with a tissue. “Don’t worry your sweet heart. All charges have been dropped. He hugged them both.  They chatted on the back deck for over an hour. “Heaven has unique ways of handling situations. But understand this: you two will be working your magic. Here on Earth, for many years to come.” Zag stood up and performed a few deep-knee bends. “Look at this? I can move. No pain in my legs.” He pushed open the screen door and danced around the yard, waving his arms in the air and shouting with excitement. The following day Zig and Zag both received letters in the mail confirmed their acceptance as Health care workers at Akashic Healing Arts. They were to pack their bags and relocate to Earth Too, a planet in the fourth dimension, locate at 117 Bradbury Lane.


Brecti smiled warmly at her father when he came to collect her, his ever-present scowl deeper and darker than usual. She, on the other hand, had perfected the art of warm smiles--scowls were for men, smiles were for women. "You ready then?" he barked. "And so it begins," whispered Hitieli in Brecti's ear. Brecti ignored her. Ignoring the ghosts was a skill one developed over time, especially when they chose to remain invisible. "Yes, father," Brecti said, and Hitieli screeched with laughter at Brecti's docile tone and calm expression. The laugh was full of hilarity, but the sound had a distinct edge, that of a ghost who was beginning to stray into madness. Brecti rose and followed her father from the tiny cave in which she slept. "Whatever happens, girl, you will never enter this hovel again," Hitieli cackled. Brecti envied the ghosts. She had, for most of her life, longed to be one, if only because they were able to hide their words and actions from

each other.

The living, on the other hand, were constantly watched by the dead, their every move noted and, if they strayed from the Way, reported. If they stole a diamond from the mines, for example, or if they scowled when they were supposed to smile. The ghosts were, after all, just the ancestors of the Wayfarers who had gone before, obedient and submissive. Brecti had tried to join the ghosts twice. The first time she had been a child. Her mother had stopped her and her father had screamed that she was never to do such a thing ever again. Brecti had simply looked up at them, the blood pooling around her feet and her hastily bandaged arms not detracting for even a moment from the fixed, docile smile upon her face. She hadn't understood. The ghosts were to be respected and honored. What could be wrong about joining them? But she had obeyed. She hadn't known how to do anything else. Besides, it was the ghosts who had called out to mother, a thundering echo of twenty or thirty ancestors screaming Brecti's name in unison. They must have not wanted her either. The second time had been a year ago. By then Brecti understood that ghosts went mad, with time, that they were trapped in the Belows just like she was, that becoming one meant dying and never again evolving, changing, growing. For a while, that had been enough, but on the day of her fifteenth birthday, she had realized that the living couldn't evolve, change, or grow either. So, what did it matter? After her shift had ended, she had climbed the side of an abandoned mineshaft, the steepness and the darkness posing no threat at all to one who had been born in the Belows, who had spent her life crawling on cavern walls. She'd expected a flood of ghostly watchers to fill the space at any moment, screaming, yelling, calling for assistance, but no one would come, not in time to stop her. But the ghosts hadn't appeared. When she had climbed high enough, she had closed her eyes, taken a breath, and prepared to let go. That was when Hitieli spoke to her for the first time. " There is another way,"  Hitieli had whispered.

"I'll tell you, if you will listen." "Where are the others?"  Brecti had wanted to know. Ghosts were never alone. "They're holding back, girl. I told them to. You are my kin, and I have rights." Which was when Brecti recognized her. Ghosts weren't worth noticing, not usually. There were too many of them, crammed into every inch of the Belows. But any good Wayfarer knew the names and faces of their own ancestors. "Yes, girl, you're my daughter's daughter's daughter's daughter, and we have much to discuss." Hitieli was already showing signs of ghost madness, but she had not turned into a howling specter, not yet, so Brecti had listened. And when Hitieli was finished, Brecti had climbed down and returned home, smile firmly in place. She had not spoken again after asking where the other ghosts were. Hitieli had warned her not to. Brecti had spent an entire year listening. Hitieli was an older ghost. The oldest were nothing more than whimpering wisps, curled in on themselves, unable to dampen their voices or fade from view. They congregated near The Pit in the distant depths of the Belows, their madness having defeated them. Hitieli would inevitably join them, but as yet, she was still awake, still in control, still able to hide herself from the other specters. When The Pit had opened many generations previously and people had started becoming ghosts after death, the Wayfarers had rejoiced. Brecti knew they had. Their rejoicing was etched indelibly into the Undying Tablets that lined the walls of the Main Shaft. Why not rejoice in being able to spend more time with those you loved? But as time passed, and older ghosts got angrier, louder, sadder, wispier. . . There was nothing that could be said. Rejoicing had been recorded in the Undying Tablets, and to say that the ghosts were somehow bad now was to go against the ancestors, something the Way would never allow. Brecti had considered jumping into The Pit, its black expanse going deeper than anyone had been able to measure. No one knew what lay at the bottom, if there even

was  a bottom. What they did know was that those who jumped did not become ghosts. But Brecti didn't want to

end . She wanted to be free. So, she followed her father, obediently. As they wound through the tunnels of the Belows, scrambling through tiny holes and ascending the steps of mighty mine shafts, others joined them, other smiling girls who were sixteen that month accompanied by other scowling fathers. "Higher, higher, higher!" cackled Hitieli, but her voice was difficult to hear over the susurration from the hundreds of ghosts following the procession, whispering and chattering and shrieking from every side. Brecti's family was poor. Their mine was among the deepest, but ever since The Pit had appeared, people were afraid to dig deeper. Instead, they dug outward, and expansion, rather than depth, had been recorded in the Undying Tablets as the most Way-filled direction. Brecti wondered if the Above-grounders had any idea at all just how far the mines had spread. There were lots of things the Above-grounders didn't know. For example, they didn't know about The Pit. "Look at it!" Hitieli crowed. For a brief moment, Brecti's feet stumbled, but she corrected her gait before her father could shout. They had reached the Main Hall, a place of worship and where decorum had to be observed. Brecti had never been to the Main Hall. Once, it had been the deepest part of the Belows, but those day were long gone. It had taken most of a day to climb this far, and Brecti hoped that her stomach would not betray her hunger and bring her father's wrath down upon her. The shock of stepping out into such a large, open space was difficult to bear. Brecti focused on placing one foot in front of the other, on smiling, on trying not to gawk at the huge pillars hewn directly from the rock or at the cavern ceiling high above that sparkled with the ancient diamonds that had been embedded there. Enough to feed her family for a lifetime. Six lifetimes. And still they climbed. The staircases were wide and ornate now. No more narrow tunnels and stairless shafts. She began to feel light-headed, perhaps from the length of the journey, perhaps from hunger, perhaps from the thinning air. "Keep your feet, girl," Hitieli whispered, directly into her ear. "Not long now." It was a lie. Hours passed, the day bells were rung, and still they climbed, ceaselessly, not pausing to rest or slowing their speed, for that was not Way-like. Ahead of them, a girl collapsed. Her father kicked her, but stopped when Hitieli revealed herself to him and screamed in his face. The girl did not rise. Brecti passed her without looking. "Listen to my voice. Listen only to me," Hitieli said, returning to Brecti's side and fading so that Brecti, and Brecti alone could hear and see her. "Above, there are trees. Above there is water, so much water, enough for everyone. Above there are friends and homes and light and love. Above the dead stay dead. Above is terrifying, but Above is better than Below." Brecti didn't answer, but she let her smile dip and widen so that Hitieli knew she had heard. "Good," said Hitieli. "It will all be over soon." Their progress slowed. They had reached the famous bottleneck, the single corridor that led to the Choosing Chamber. Guards lined the walls, glaring angrily at the girls who passed. Brecti's father grabbed her arm hard, using his larger size to plow through the masses. Brecti hoped that no more girls fell. They would be trampled if they did. In the Choosing Chamber the husbands waited, surrounded by hollering ghosts who whistled at and commented on the latest batch of brides. The men, who were of all ages, jockeyed for a chance to grab one of the 'pretty' ones. Brecti had no idea if she fell into that category, but it was only a few minutes before a hairy arm grabbed her and her father let go, melting away into the crowd. His part was done, his duty executed, and he would probably never think of his daughter again. Brecti didn't look at her husband as he pulled her toward the next corridor. He didn't matter. More guards lined the walls, not there for the husbands or the wives, but because in the next cavern an Above-grounder stood. He would be marrying couples from the Belows in a bored, tired voice. Above-grounders were a threat to the entire Way. Only Above-grounders could perform marriages. It was one of their rules, along with keeping the ghosts out of the Marriage Chamber and not sending anyone who was armed out of the mines. If the rules were broken, the Above-grounders would invade. "Are you a nice girl or a naughty girl?" her husband asked, his scratchy face close to her ear. Brecti suppressed a shudder, relieved that he couldn't do anything until the ceremony was complete. The queue slowed to a crawl as each couple was married, quickly and perfunctorily, before hurrying to one of the marriage bed caverns to rest and recoup and. . . Brecti did shudder this time, but her husband didn't notice. Or didn't care. Finally, they reached the front of the queue. A tired Above-grounder waited, bedecked in purple robes that awed Brecti more for their cleanness than their bright color. "Almost time," Hitielli said. This cavern was large and comfortable, designed for the Above-grounders who hated the Belows and who only tolerated them for their diamonds. It was brightly lit by roaring furnaces around the end but also by a new, unusual light that shone faintly behind the priest. Brecti's eyes widened slightly as she realized what it was. Daylight . The priest muttered some words. Brecti's husband barked a quick response, and then the priest reached for one of the iron 'necklaces' that were stacked next to him, the collar that would be placed around Brecti's neck marking her as married, as taken, as

possessed . "Almost. . ." muttered Hitieli. Brecti tried to keep her body from tensing. "Almost. . ." Then, her husband let go of Brecti's arm to take the necklace in both his hands, as was customary. Brecti took a tiny step away from him, and then Hitieli screamed, "NOW!" Hitieli made herself visible to Brecti's husband, to the priest, to everyone in the chamber. "We defy you!" she shrieked. "Think you can fight us? We dare you to try!" Brecti ran, past the priest, past the Above-ground guards who were too focused on the threat in front of them, past the acolytes and hangers-on. Behind her she could hear the Below guards rushing to join the fray. "There will only be a dozen or so," Hitieli had said. "So just run! They won't care about you." So, run Brecti did, ignoring her stabbing headache, her weak legs, her empty stomach. The Marriage Chamber was close,

so close  to the surface. The Above-grounders wouldn't have it any other way. "Faster!" Hitieli shrieked, and Brecti turned to see the ghost at her side, a triumphant look on her face. Brecti quickened her pace. "This is the

other  Way!" Hitieli screamed, and Brecti's heart soared, because she knew exactly what Hitieli meant. Ghosts could stay and go mad and sink to The Pit and float forever in misery. Or they could leave the Belows and . . . end. Hitieli had chosen her Way, and she had offered Brecti, her kin, the chance to choose too. "Close your eyes," Hitieli said, and Brecti obeyed. She was a child of darkness, she knew how to move through the world with no light to guide her. Suddenly, the sound of her footfalls changed, softened. The echoes that Brecti was so used to hearing vanished, leaving the air feeling barren and empty. Warmth, almost unbearable in its intensity, beat down on Brecti from above. She threw her arms to her face with a cry and fell to her knees, hitting the stony ground hard. Even with her eyes closed, even with the sun already setting, it was so

bright . It was also so, so quiet. No ghosts wailing. No Hitieli whispering instructions. Nothing at all. Then: "One of them got out!" "Quick! Get a medic." And gentle hands lifting Hitieli from the ground before she fainted and distant voice that might have been a remnant of Hitieli or may have bee Brecti's own thoughts whispering, " Freedom. "


Sally Wong was six years old when she was diagnosed with leukemia. At first, her prognosis was grim: she was given only six months to live. She endured chemotherapy and many transfusions, but was able to pull through in the end. This whole time, she was determined to win her fight and, after a year, she was declared a healthy, cancer-free seven year old. As she walked out of the hospital for the final time, that’s when tragedy struck. I was in a rush to get my ice cream truck licence and inadvertently drove onto the curb. She was pronounced dead on the scene but at least died holding her mother’s hand. Luckily, I was on time for the Ice Cream Truck Drivers’ Certification Test and passed with flying colours. **Ryan Miller, 6, 18 Months Ago** Ryan Miller was a very bright kid, considering his parental circumstances. He was really good at shapes and colours as a kindergartener and wanted to be an architect. Everything came to a halt when he was diagnosed with lung cancer, likely transferred from the smoking habits of his whore mother, Sarah Miller. Ryan and his bitch of a mother were not in a good financial situation, but were miraculously able to secure the funds to get the required treatment. Ryan’s condition rapidly improved and he was back to school in a year. When crossing the street on his way home from school that fateful Thursday, I accidentally slammed my truck into him at full speed, splattering him. At this point in time, I drove really quickly with the windows open to keep the ice cream nice and cold. Nobody in the Ice Cream Truck Driving Academy (or ICTDA for short) ever spoke about freezers, so this tactic worked reasonably well. However, this made turning to avoid cars and children really difficult. **Charlie Hayfield, 5, 11 Months Ago, Ruined My Birthday** Little Charlie was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, and his entire life he only knew pain. His GoFundMe campaign, featuring a heartbreaking testimony from Charlie and his extremely baffled yet concerned family, won over thousands of strangers on the Internet, reminding us that there is still hope for this world. He never gave up hope for a better tomorrow and after years of waiting and the kindness of the world, that tomorrow came. Unfortunately, that tomorrow came on my birthday when I was in a rush to buy a proper freezer. At this point, I was very upset because my business was hemorrhaging money in fuel expenses, wasted icecream, and lawsuits. In a sense, Charlie’s death was the turning point for my business. **Brian Schumacher, 4, Five Months Ago** Okay, this one was not strictly “accidental.” Brian was diagnosed with Devil’s Colon, a type of cancer identified by a heavily enlarged colon that excretes blood and incantations. Things were looking grim; treatment options were limited and Brian was not long for this world. I was contacted by the Make-A-Wish Foundation to make Brian’s childhood wish come true. I wasn’t provided any details initially, and met with Brian and his parents in the hospital. When I met Brian, I asked him if he wanted to tag along with me for the day, but he had other ideas in mind. He told be that his wish was to be run over by an ice cream truck, and that he wanted, in his words, for his “brittle brittle bones to become one with the truck of iced cream, as always desired.” Needless to say, I refused this request on principle. His parents threatened to reveal to the media how many children I ran over, but I’ve always been pretty transparent about this - all of them are painted on my truck in memoriam. They insisted and insisted, saying that Brian would really enjoy it, but I explained to them that the other children didn’t seem to like it that much, and that Sarah Miller was really busting my balls over this. That’s when the targeted harassment campaign started. After one-too-many death threats, I finally agreed to fulfill this wish. Then out of nowhere, Brian was miraculously cured - free from the grip of Devil’s Colon. Given that he was no longer dying, I called this off. After doing the rounds one day, I returned to my house only to notice Brian sitting at my kitchen table. He said to me, “don’t think this is over, we made a deal.” And then he said that if I don’t hold up on my end of the deal, I would be sent to the Place of Draining Colour. I didn’t know what this meant, but I was scared enough to comply. The next day, we met on an empty field. I began driving and rammed into him, ending his existence. I exited the truck and heard his final words, a faint “thank you.” **Sarah Miller, 36, Yesterday** This bitch was a child in my eyes. My only mistake was not doing this sooner.