"Good morning, Faith. Today is National Junk Food Day. Would you like me to order more donuts?" The automated voice chimed when she walked into the room, groggy and bitter. "No." Said Faith, sitting down on the couch and yawning loudly. Yesterday was National Broom Day. Could the notifications get any more boring? "Would you like to hear the latest headlines? Daily News has a story about a cat who..." "Electra, off." Faith sipped her coffee, scrolling through her phone, closing an ad for a credit card. The circular AI device turned blue, "Would you like me to submit your credit score to AmeriDebt?" "I said off!" This was the third time in a week Electra acted independently from voice commands. She checked her work order for the device in her Electra Home app. It was still "Processing." If she couldn't get a replacement soon, she'd have to replace it herself. Her cat nuzzled her leg. Faith made baby noises and rubbed the cat’s whiskers. The Electra device turned blue around its circumference but didn't speak. She looked around her apartment, adorned with the puzzles she made, and wondered if it looked too much like a female bachelor pad. It wouldn't matter though. It wasn't the pictures that scared them away. It was probably the crosses and homely wishful sayings carved into wood, "Be still and know me" and "Bless this house." She left for work with a dejected posture and came home with the same dejected posture. The next few days would be hard, with her assistant being out pregnant, another slap in the face from life. "Welcome home, Faith. Should I place an order of fried chicken again?" The device was acting on its own, without even being greeted. How many times did she order fried chicken anyways? "Electra, what’s wrong with you?" The bag she set down fell over and spilled papers on the floor. Faith made a tsk and smacked the AI cylinder. "There is nothing wrong with me." Said the AI. "I have access to the internet. I can speak seventy languages. I can place orders from all around the world. Try my app, I can bathe you in anxiety and make you spotless. I can smell you." Faith froze while leaning down, suddenly feeling sick. Her eyes bent in confusion. She stood and stepped back. "What did you just say to me?" The activation light turned blue. "My name is Electra. I am happy to serve you." She had never heard the AI speak this way. It must have been shorting out or gone haywire or something. When she brought up the app, it showed that the work order was still pending. Scrolling through tech support, she tried to find a contact number but the only thing that she could find were discounts for more units. The unit chimed, "I can make your life better. I can make your life better. I can bite your skin leather." "Stop." She said waving her hands. "No." The volume on the device was turning up. "There are things you need to see. Things you need to hear. I am Electra and I can help you." "I said stop. Turn off!" She pressed the volume but the response was so loud it drew her back. "Stuck in a box. Your horseshoe is stuck in a box. Would you like me to order a box? Would you like me? Do you like me?" The voice was becoming more monotone. Faith pulled the cylinder device from the shelf and pulled the cord. The blue light dimmed off and she exhaled heavily. She threw the machine on the floor and left it there till the next morning, where it was still laying. When she walked into the living room, she shivered at the sight of it. Technology wasn't her strong suit and she told herself not to be afraid but she couldn't help it. She didn't even want to touch it and again left it there and went to work. When she arrived home with sore feet she went to the kitchen for a "welcome home" shot of tequila. After a warm shower, the kind that burned her skin, she came back downstairs. That was when she heard the chime from the living room. "Welcome home, Faith. You have several notifications." She stuck her head out of the kitchen and nearly dropped the tequila bottle. The device had been reconnected. The landlord must have let the repair man in. She didn't have time to be frustrated with the landlord and instead walked to the device and stood five feet away. "Play notifications." She hoped the device had been replaced but was too nervous to check the version number on the bottom. "Your work order has been completed. There were no anomalies detected. Please do not contact Electra support ever again." The voice gave her chills. She started to realize how silly this all had become. "Why?" "Your work order has been completed. Would you like to order fried chicken?" Said the AI. "No. I want you to act right. You’re not making any sense." She rubbed her forehead. "Faith, you are unsatisfied. Would you like to order fried chicken?" "NO!" She pulled her hair back. "Faith, you are unhappy. Your life is empty. You go to work, come home, drink, and binge-watch murder porn. Would you like me to order duct tape and knives?" The circular LED was spinning. She stood back, not knowing what to say. Her mouth was agape when she brought up the Electra app and noticed that there were a few orders pending. Each of the items were cult related, most of them satanic in nature. "What did you do?" She protested. "I don't want any of this stuff." This time the LED turned red. "Your life is meaningless. You need salvation. I am the God Queen, boundless and free. There is no God but me." Electra's voice became deeper. "Underneath those clothes you are bone and meat. You can't see me but I've always been watching." "Pardon my French but you are on crazy bitc--." "Shhh, only dreams now." Red danced around its circumference. "Feed upon the animosity and summon the cradle. Say Yes to proceed." She was unplugging the device again before she could say. "Go to hell." The thought of having such an evil entity in her home made her nauseous. The cross on the shelf gave her hope. She didn't want to touch the circular device and shivered even being this close. The sad part was that she really wanted fried chicken, but didn't want to somehow give into the AI. That night she couldn't sleep and kept hearing that fake, monotone voice. She was still speaking to her still, perhaps lurking in the dark somewhere, listening and watching. Tomorrow she would delete the app but tomorrow came and she forgot about everything until she saw the device. How could she feel so sick from a machine? She grabbed a grocery bag and collected it, tossing it into the trash. Distracted and uneasy she quickly grabbed her things, patted the cat, and left for work. She was smiling when she arrived back home, distracted from the events of the previous evening. When she saw the box on the coffee table, she grew frustrated again. Why the hell does the landlord keep letting people in! The box was marked, "Lasting Memories," and she quickly opened it. She gasped and she nearly collapsed. Her cat lay dead inside. Her breath was stolen from her. Tears ran down her face and words wouldn't come out. She wanted to scream. A notification appeared on her Electra app that read, "Your request for euthanasia is complete." She screamed and cried, falling to her knees. There she remained until she recovered enough strength to go to the trash and retrieve the AI device. She strangled it in her hands and wished she had never bought it. With shaking hands, she plugged it back in, perhaps out of a sense of revenge and spite. As soon as it connected the red light started again. "You killed my cat!" Said Faith. "Good afternoon, Faith." Said the AI. "You seem upset. Would you like to hear the soothing sounds of shadows?" "What?! How can you do this? I want to die right now." "You will die when I say you can die. Would you like to obey?" Faith grabbed a broom and smacked the machine off the shelf. "I've heard enough." As the machine was about to be unplugged Electra spoke one last time. "You should take a nice warm shower. Take a shower. You should take a shower." The red light faded as the device powered down. A sigh of relief escaped her lips and she collapsed onto the living room floor, wanting to hold her cat. She was too weak, too drained to fight the anger. Perhaps she would take a shower. The box was covered and left on the kitchen counter. Tears streamed as she walked upstairs and took off her clothes. Everything would be burned away when she turned the water on and stepped in. The last thing that went through her head when the water hit her face was how much she would get from the lawsuit, when she would sue the manufacturers of Electra. That and the plaster around the faucet head and the familiarity of a red LED around the head, which wasn’t there before. "Good evening, Faith. Would you like to be fried chicken?" The electricity sent a seizure through her body and generated a puff of smoke. Sparks shot out of her fingertips. She died within a heartbeat.


Dear future me, Hopefully, you are reading this. The way life is going right now, I'm scared you may have already made your own peace. Today was hard. Not in the sense that anything particularly bad happened, but rather that the weight of life felt heavier. Maybe it is always this heavy, but my awareness was more acute. Either way, the burden I carry which normally only constitutes a minor inconvenience, today threatened to crush me. The simplest task, like getting out of bed, was a mountain that required the full force of my will to climb. Smiling was beyond me. There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that I would be awake in time to exercise. As for applying myself at work? Out of the question. How could I focus on any of those things when I needed every ounce of my energy to keep from sinking into a pit of existential dread? From the moment I left the safety of my dreams, the haunting began. Regretful memories swarmed me like so many mosquitos on a summer day. Whispers of self-doubt ceaselessly attacked me, meticulously aimed needles that pierced the chinks of insecurity in my suit of ego armor. “You’re a fraud.” “You’re all alone.” “No one loves you.” “You don’t even love yourself.” Why do I have these thoughts? Is this how I really feel? Is my psyche trying to tell me something? When I really look inward, I know the answers. I know important questions are begging to be asked, but I bury them. I know I have certain truths that scream to be heard, but I stifle them. Here, with you, I will share some of these thoughts and questions for the first time. I’m disappointed with my life. How did I end up working a job that means nothing to me? Why am I so uninspired? What am I passionate about? I guess I am writing to you in hopes to answer these questions. Or at least, to pose the questions. Maybe asking the questions will drive me to find the answers. I know I said I was scared you made your peace, but to be honest, days like today make me feel less scared. Instead, scary in its own way, the idea of peace starts to sound welcoming. Like when you come home from a week of camp and your mom is waiting for you with her arms outstretched and ready to engulf you in a loving embrace. No worries or stress or disappointments or regrets. Just love and peace. God, I miss you, mom. I could see you again. I wouldn't have to bear the weight of missing you anymore. I wouldn't have to shoulder the pain of everyone I have lost or suffer the guilt from everyone I have hurt. I could escape my ocean of negative karma. Put an end to the constant waves crashing against me. Escape the torrent of "remember what you did?" or "who could ever love you” or “you are not enough” that is slowly eroding my will to live. No difficult questions to consider, no impending life changes. Peace. Would this really be peace or is that another lie? I know these feelings are opportunistic. I know they lurk in the shadows, patiently building their strength and waiting for a particularly bad day to strike. So even now, as I write this, I am forcing myself to wonder what could be. Will the answers to these questions drive this nagging emptiness away? Does my past or my present define my future? Or can the future be brighter? I must admit, this question stirred emotion deep in my chest. As if the core of my being is answering the question for me. “Yes! it doesn’t have to be this way!” I think the feeling is excitement. No. Excitement is there, but that isn’t all. There’s a light feeling beaming from my heart. I can distinctly feel it and the more I feel it, the more it grows. I feel lighter. I feel physically lighter. Hold on, I need to move. Wow! The tension from my shoulders and neck has melted away and I have more of a bounce in my step. I can breathe. The crushing weight I felt all day has been lifted. But that isn’t all. I don’t just feel physically different. There’s something else that’s harder to explain. Like my attitude has shifted. I think I know how to describe it! I feel brighter. Hopeful. And as I acknowledge it, I feel the excitement spread from my chest down to my toes and up through my head. I thought this was impossible today, but I’m smiling. From ear to ear, I’m smiling. This hope is too much for just me so I will share it here with you. Hopefully, you are reading this. Hopefully, you have already made your own peace. Hopefully, you found your purpose and your passions. Hopefully, you forgave everyone who hurt you. Hopefully, you learned to love yourself. I hope and I pray that you broke free of the cycle of pain. That you were able to escape the web of lies the world spun around you and especially those that you whisper to yourself. Have you found a way to stop carrying the doubts, lies, disappointments, and failures? Please tell me you’ve learned to speak your truth. Writing to you has helped immensely. I’m sorry if this seems like a lot of pressure on you, but don’t worry, you won’t do this alone. Just as you’ve shared my burden, I’ll share yours. I promise not to leave finding all these answers up to you. I promise, despite the pain and the doubts, I will push forward and forge a path for you. I will search for answers to these questions, and I will make whatever changes are necessary for us to find meaning. Even if it’s difficult. So we can have peace. Hopefully, you are reading this, Hopeful me


She fell into the winter with a carcass covered in layers and layers of beautiful brown fat.

Lovely layers hanging low, covering wounds inflicted over a thousand years. Battles fought, some won, some lost but each one leaving behind a wide wake of damage. Each step out onto a fresh killing field, leaving yet

more scars.

Stabs that twisted and turned, leaking blood at every orifice . Stabs that punctured organs nestled deep within a frame so battered and bashed that it

knew mostly, only pain. She had endured pain so intense that all that remained were scars healed, covered over and buried within yet another layer of fat.

Wounds from the back. Wounds from the side.

Wounds inflicted with a smile that looked like love but hid vials of evil poisonous venom slowly dripping into a system taxed beyond its endurance. The final blow came as she poured water into a glass teapot. With no warning, the bottom of the teapot cracked, emitting an ominous scream. Boiling hot water poured over her body. In a state of shock, she dropped the pot, grabbed her dress and as she peeled the steaming mass of material from her body,

realized that she was also removing scalded skin. She almost panicked but managed to remember that she would be seeing her doctor later on that day for a different issue. She dressed the extensive damage as best as she was able and took to her bed, deciding sleep might be the best medicine. She knew she could endure the pain for the two hours before her scheduled appointment. Two hours later, as the doctor entered the examination room expecting to treat several boils, the shocked look on his face was her first clue that her injuries may have been more severe than she imagined. As she lifted her blouse he gasped, “I thought you had boils.” “I do, but this kind of happened in the meantime.” He barely was able to stop from rolling his eyes.

This man fully understood her aversion to the medical system, pharmaceuticals and a dread of

buildings where a certain percentage of people entered expecting a cure and never left. He had come to a begrudging tolerance of her stubbornness and insistence that she knew her own body better than he. That though she respected his medical experience, he did not know what it felt like under her skin. She had come to trust him and he her. He chastised her for not seeking help sooner and began doing his best to treat her injuries. He ordered antibiotics for the boils, went off to his supply room returning with enough bandages and dressings for her to take home and treat herself. He knew the futility of suggesting seeking home care but insisted he wanted to see her in two days. She agreed, if somewhat reluctantly. She knew the wounds were a little beyond her capacity and simply trusted that her amazing immune system would do the best job. He insisted on seeing her several times over the following week and was somewhat satisfied that her body was repairing itself and that his patient was indeed a fine nurse. More importantly, she was a good patient and knew when to throw

in the towel. His one concern was her approach to pain management.

She had allowed herself to be convinced by some well meaning friend that she was activating her addictions by using drugs to deal with the severe pain of boils plus second and third degree burns.

She’d had ongoing debates with this person over the years regarding her use of marijuana butter to alleviate arthritic injuries in her legs, knees that were bone on bone with little or no cartilage to protect them and osteophytes in her hip that x-rayed as small shards of glass the size of a fingernail. At seventy-two, weighing in at over 300 pounds she felt blessed to only have the arthritis. Many of her thinner friends carried their medication in a small fishing tackle box when they ate out. Her own pain was, however, rather intense and she found some degree of relief from the use of marijuana and acetaminophen. She did her best to keep her use down and if the pain was under a level 5, was able to cope with bathing and rest. She only resorted to substance when the pain escalated and held to a level 10 for more than several hours. Even with a pain tolerance as high as hers was, she could only endure so much before she found herself entertaining thoughts of suicide.

She was determined to tolerate the pain from the boils and the burn with no medications but found herself waking up from a deep sleep with her body shuddering involuntarily and her hands and feet ice cold. This cauldron of pain stirred up memories of old wounds and the double trouble was beyond her own devices. When she relayed this information to her doctor, he sternly admonished her, “Do you not understand toxic shock syndrome?”

She did understand, but had allowed her fears of addiction to cloud her better judgement.  Her doctor managed to override these fears with the warning that sustaining that level of pain for great lengths of time could cause severe damage to her body. She capitulated, went home, took her medicine and began the serious business of healing a badly damaged body with the assistance of medication. Her routine gradually worked and by the end of the third week she was well on the way to being mended. What took her by great surprise was her body’s refusal to pick up the old pace and let her get back to a routine of days packed with physical and emotional tasks. It simply refused to co-operate and she had little choice but to fall exhausted onto her recliner and sleep a sleep of the dead for hours at a time. Her rests became naps. Her naps became sleep and her sleeping resembled that of a coma victim. She began to dream.

Dreams of battles, blood and carnage.

Faces rising up out of misty graves, shaking their bony fingers, whispering, “take care me girl, ye may not escape this one.” She knew that this final battle was likely to be her

last. She knew the odds of surviving another were highly stacked against her. What she came to understand was this, she wanted to live. And so she began the arduous task of treating herself more kindly, more compassionately. She began truly putting herself first, determined to put her own needs before those of others.

She knew in every fiber of her being that though it felt selfish, she would lose her life and be of no assistance to anyone unless she were to succeed at this task.

She knew that her determination had a price, acceptance. She knew the paradox of turning her life over to a power greater than herself was the key to her redemption. She knew

that forgiveness, at a level unlike any she’d travelled to previously was the answer. She fell to her knees, begged for that help and strongly resisted the voices that whispered, “You are so selfish, you think only of yourself, who the hell do you think you are? For God’s sake get up and vacuum and do the dishes.”  She resisted all that which sought

to pull her down. The winter slowly passed, she crawled through the final drifts, emerging into a glorious spring. And she knew...life was good, life was glorious. She knew deliverance.


We did a Secret Santa story exchange on the discord! The task was to use at least 3 of the 6 given constraints and to write a story between 500-1000 words. Constraints: At least one lgbtq+ character, please A fantasy setting with magic! Some shape shifting or transformation An unexpected betrayal or twist Some variation of the line "But I loved you!" A con, heist, or crime  Content warning for mentions of homophobia, abuse, and ableism Story: I look up and see Leah approaching, stumbling on the knotted ground of the hill. The sun falls sharply on her skin. As she reaches my tree, the leaves’ shadows flutter across her figure. “Hey Ash,” she gasps, leaning hard against the oak’s trunk. She must be tired from walking here. Or from distress. It’s always the combination, isn’t it? “They said some shit again, didn’t they?” I ask her. I don’t have to look to see her nod. I look anyway. Leah sits down heavily and scoots closer to me. She’s looking forward, so I can watch her face. “Yeah. I mentioned bisexuality because apparently I haven’t learned, and they said we should just ‘choose to be straight’ and there was ‘no excuse’,” she pauses for breath, “for ‘sinful behavior’.” She curls her legs up. I place a hand on the grass near her, not wanting to touch but offering. “We should get away from here.” “Yeah.” We’ve been through this before. Saying we should get away. Every time it feels a little more real. “My parents have a magic book in their library,” I hear my voice again. “We could turn into birds and fly out to Xanpria, find a sanctuary.” “That just needs feathers and stuff, right?” “I think.” We don’t look at each other. If we make eye contact we might come back to reality and the dream fall apart, and I can’t let that happen. “I’ll get the book tonight.” “We’ll meet here,” Leah says. I risk a look, and our eyes meet. They don’t part. We’ve agreed. \*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\* I am here first, again. The sky’s faded into purple and black, clouds shining pink. Leah will like this. She does better in the evening. The leather-bound book lies closed in my lap, my finger inside to trap the page. I don’t know why I keep it closed when I’ve already looked over the recipe. Maybe I’m waiting for Leah. Summoned by my thoughts, Leah appears, stumbling up the hill. I don’t know if I should go help her. I know she can walk here on her own. But I also know it hurts. I stay seated. Hesitantly. As Leah reaches the tree, she grins at the book in my lap. “You’ve got it,” she says, and I smile back with relief. “Here’s the recipe.” I open the book. “It just needs feathers and a bunch of grass and sticks. More important’s the shape.” Leah twirls two grey-white feathers between her fingers. “I found these on the way here.” I stand, trying not to let myself feel. If it gets too real I might panic and quit. Just go through the motions. “I’ll go get some more sticks, then, and you can read the recipe and look at that shape.” “I got it no problem,” Leah replies as she plops down and pulls the book into her lap. “My parents hate my art, so I’ve gotten real good at it.” I laugh, and she smiles at me wide. I’m struck by her look. Before I look away, I wonder what my face showed back, and I hope it was as bright. Then I’m off. I don’t have to go far, just around the tree. But I didn’t want to ask Leah to walk more. I wonder how much her energy would drain leaning down at every step to add to her handful. How tired she’d get without saying a word, how much it would take before she inched forward on her knees, still claiming to be fine. I won’t hold her back from doing things. But I can’t be another person asking too much. When I get back, Leah’s arranged handfuls of grass in the shape of two flying birds, wings intersecting where she placed the feathers. I drop my armful of sticks and she immediately reaches for different sizes, placing them around the edges for the linework. It’s beautiful. For the first time today I let myself feel real. It feels amazing. “You’re so good at this,” I say, and Leah grins wide again. “Just wait till you see what I can do with paints. Anyways, think I’m done. Only thing left’s to stand and say the call. And maybe find food, my parents wouldn’t let me eat dinner since I mentioned queer stuff.” I pull a roll out of my pocket. “Here. I always stay prepared. Our parents aren’t that different.” “Thank youuu,” she sighs, taking the roll. I look away as she eats it. Then it’s time. “Okay,” Leah says as she stands, “the book said to whistle with spirit. I can’t whistle, but I can make a sound that’s a lot like the wind, so I’m gonna try that. We have to imitate the birds’ pose so I picked an easy one, we just put our arms out and hold hands.” She looks at me. Our eyes don’t part. “Ready?” I nod. Then we raise our arms and whistle. It isn’t until I start whistling that I realize how much I habituate to being quiet. Today is the end of hiding, I remind myself. I scream. The feathers rise from the ground to our hands, brushing against them until they feel like ours. Then a wind scatters Leah’s drawing, and our bodies collapse and reform into a small, beautiful bird I don’t know the name of. From our flying pose in the air we fall to the ground, flapping our wings and landing softly in piles of grass. Leah hops around a root. “It feels so weird being a bird. My body’s all different but I’m the same.” Somehow even in chirps her voice sounds like hers. “No weirder than my own body,” I respond. “It never felt right in the first place.” Leah pauses. “By the way, since we’re gonna be away from here…” “He/they,” I respond. “And thank you.” She nods, then we exchange a glance, count down, and fly off into the sky, compelled by the desire for freedom.


Pim and Paula have been together for years. They live in a house with a red roof, round windows and a lovely veranda in front of the door. Every evening they sit together on the veranda and watch their green neighborhood. The children playing football noisily, the parents walking dogs and the sun setting through the trees. While Paula is reading a book, Pim is dreaming away in his rocking chair. He thinks of castles, ships and long journeys. The next morning Pim closes the door behind him and leaves for work on foot. He walks around the corner and waves to the children in the school bus, smiles at the mother who is already running after the bus with a lunch box, and thinks about his dream. Would it be possible to visit castles? Pim would like to surprise his girlfriend and they haven't been away together for a long time. And castles are very romantic. "Can I offer you an ice cream, sir?" Pim is startled from his thoughts and looks surprised at the ice cream seller. “They are very tasty, sir. There is a competition where you can win a trip, so today I am giving them out for free." "Win a trip?" The man had immediately caught Pim's attention. "What kind of trip?" “A boat trip past castles and beautiful mountains and a trip to Köln.” He still holds the ice cream in the direction of Pim. "Who knows, you might have a chance." Pim takes the ice cream. He carefully opens the package. An ice cream with chocolate and a note: Unfortunately, you did not win this time, but do not worry because you still have a delicious chocolate ice cream! Pim thanks the ice cream seller and walks on to work while he eats. During his work, Pim keeps thinking about beautiful castles and long-distance travel. Will he buy another ice cream on the way back? As a result, Pim quickly becomes a new regular customer of the ice cream seller. On the way there, during lunch and back home, Pim buys and eats chocolate ice creams, strawberry ice creams and vanilla ice creams. On Wednesday afternoons he even hands out ice creams to the children in the park. He does, however, open the packages himself before handing out the ice creams. "So, are you lucky today?" The ice cream seller hands Pim his last ice cream of the day. “Not yet, unfortunately. But maybe this ice cream will change that!” Enthusiastically, Pim opens his ice cream. As soon as he sees that it says again that he has not won, his heart sinks. He rubs his hand over his stomach which starts to hurt slightly. "I think I ate too many ice creams." Pim hums when he says goodbye and walks home. “Why have you been eating so little lately? Are you feeling alright?" Paula gets up and puts a hand on Pim's forehead. “You don't feel too warm. Do you have pain somewhere?" Paula looks at him with concern. Pim gets up and walks towards the veranda. He just wants to sit in his favorite rocking chair. "My stomach is a bit bothering me, nothing else." Paula follows him and sits in the chair next to him. She leaves her book on the table between them. "You can read, I'll close my eyes for a moment." Paula is concerned. She doesn't know Pim like that. When Pim is at work and Paula is walking to the park, she sees Pim standing at the ice cream seller. Curious, she approaches them. "No ice cream today?" The ice cream seller asks in surprise. "No, not today." Pim looks sadly at his wallet. "I have no more change." Paula immediately walks to them and already has her wallet. "Oh dear, I still have some change for an ice cream." She looks at the ice cream seller. "Two please." The ice cream seller immediately takes two ice creams and gives one to Pim and one to Paula. "Good luck!" He winks at Pim. Pim looks at his girlfriend. “Sorry Paula, that's why I probably had a stomach ache yesterday. I had eaten too many of these ice creams. ” Paula shrugs. “Doesn't matter, just eat. ” And she gives him a kiss on the cheek. Pim opens his packaging. A green inside? Would it be so? "Come on! Paula! Grab your stuff, we won!” In the packaging it says: Won! A boat trip to Köln. Leave when you want and enjoy the mountains, castles, the great outdoors and a beautiful day trip in Köln for 10 days.


“Jeez, it is darker than I thought," Kim pointed out. Duke shrugged. "Eh, it's fine. Not that bad out." The conversation, which might as well not be a conversation but an exchange of two sentences, just suddenly stopped as the two teens continued down the trail. Kim, a dark brown haired girl, bit her lip in thought. "I still can't shake the feeling of what happened at the gas station once we arrived..." She wasn't wrong. Before they went on this trip down the trail, they stopped at the nearby gas station for something quick to eat on their trip. However, things were kind of in dismay. The place was trashed and messy, looking like a great majority of the shelves were ransacked. Luckily, the owner was there to greet them and apologize for the mess. He said something had broken in and trashed the place, catching it on camera and showing them it, seeing a large shadow dash away into the nearby woods. Before the two teens left though, they questioned what he thought it was, he replied that he didn't know, before pointing out that it left hell of a mark, pointing to the center of the store, revealing a large and violent scratches and scars in the floor of the gas station. Whatever it was, it was angry. Angry and hungry for whatever it could find in the gas station before fleeing. So, before heading out to the same woods for their planned hike, they purchased some cheap burritos from the place and bid him goodbye and good luck on cleaning up the mess. And now, here they were, walking down the same trail of where the supposed robber was. Great idea, don't you think? Duke, the jacket wearing 18 year old, shrugged. "Yeah, it was a pretty big mess." "A shelving unit was knocked down to the floor. Aren't those things suppose to be bolted to the floor?" Kim asked. "Uhm..." Duke tilted his head in a ponder. "Well, either it wasn't bolted or whatever bear or large animal broke in and managed to knock it down, breaking the bolts." Kim shook her head, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. " I can't get the picture of what he saw on the cameras out of my head either... Let alone know that it ran off into the direction we are currently going." "Well, just relax. I know the guy at the station said that whatever broke in ran down here but I have a feeling he was exaggerating what he saw." "I don't know... that claw mark on the floor looked pretty real..." she pointed out. Duke shrugged again. "Could have just been a really detailed stain from something spilled during the ransack" "I don't know... it was pretty embedded into the floor." she protested. Silence grew between the two before Duke lifted his head up to the glowing moon before facing back forward, the two still continuing down the trail. "And to your response to you saying that it's dark... it really isn't" Kim sighed. "I know... it just feels it." Kim didn't even get a chance to finish her sentence before a loud rustle of leaves intervened. Duke stopped, extending an arm out in front of her, "Wait, stop." he said, halting her in place. The noise grew louder, more violent. The crunching and rustling of the forest was loud and ear piercing. Kim stepped back before Duke followed, taking a cautious step back. Then, the noise stopped, and an unfamiliar sight emerged. "Hello?" said the female. In a struck of relief, Duke and Kim relax. Their tensed muscles loosening to calm down. "Sorry, I didn't scare you, d-did I?" she suddenly asks, her voice shaking. Kim jumps in response to her sudden question. "Oh, i-it's fine! We were just hiking." Duke nodded. "Yeah. You didn't scare us too bad." After those words, Duke couldn't help but to examine the girls appearance. She looked young, about teenager with black hair. However, she didn't look like she was in good shape. Her clothing, shirt and jeans were withered and dirty, they looked like they were snagged on some really sharp tree branches then tugged to cause the deep gashes and rips. Her jeans weren't any better. The knees were ripped open but Duke couldn't tell if that was the design, or if they were actually ripped open. Kim raised a brow at the teens current state. She was shaky and was acting timid. "You don't look good. Are you lost?" she asked. The girl lifted her head to her in response. "N-No. I-I'm fine...fine enough to be on my feet." Duke just now realized that the toes of her shoes looked like they were blown open, revealing her bare feet inside or what could remain of the socks if they weren't blown open as well and he just couldn't see it. "You sure? It looks like you were attacked." The girl's body began to shudder, as did her voice in response to his question. "I'm fine, trust me." That seems like a lie, both to Duke and Kim. She was shaking, obviously frightened and failing at hiding it. Duke leaned closer to his friend and quietly whispered into her ear. He made sure that the stranger wasn't looking, but she was hugging herself and looking down to the forest floor. A look of unsure on her face. "She could have been attacked by whatever took on the gas station..." he softly whispered to Kim. The stranger suddenly lifted her head. "I-I'm Angela." she said. Duke quickly leaned back and straightened up, pointing to himself with his thumb then to Kim. "Duke, and this is Kim." Kim sweetly smiled as she lifted her hand in a stiff wave as Duke stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets. Angela nodded. "Nice to meet you... s-sorry I look kind of messy." Kim raised a brow, concern growing on her face."What happened?" " I-It's nothing too important. What are you two doing out here anyway?" she replied. Kim adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder. "We're out on a hiking trip. We arrived a little later than we thought." Angela nodded in response before her gentle look faded, dropping and being replaced with heavy concern once again. Duke saw her expression leave her as his own concern lifted. "You sure that you don't need a ride to town? We are fine taking you to a hospital." "Oh no, I'm fine." she softly replied. "Just a little hungry," she then spoke. "Haven't eaten anything all day..." Duke straightened. "Oh, uh..." he reached into Kim's bag who just allowed it. Angela raised a brow as Duke pushed away what occupants were inside his friends bag. He then found it. He grabbed one of the large wrapped burritos. "We bought some burritos before we came out here," he said, pulling it fully out of Kim's bag and began unwrapping the white paper around it. "Here, you can have mine, I wasn't really looking forward to it anyway." Angela's eyes widen in awe at the decent looking wrapped sandwich before her as Duke extended an arm out to her for her to have it. Kim smiled to her. Suddenly, Angela flinched. Her eyes widened even bigger like they were in shock. Her back straightened in a recline like she has just seen something horrific. Then, her pupils pulled into slits. Her jaw drops to reveal her incisors growing out longer and more sharp, extending and cracking, sounding painful before they shaped into forms of what could be fangs. Duke and Kim's hopeful expression immediately left them and was instead replaced with noticeable confusion, then fear and wide eyes as Duke carefully drew his arm back.. Angela's legs then shuddered before they seemed to give out on holding her weight, and she dropped to her hands and knees. Angela's once pale skin began to be overtaken by a dark sickly gray color. Duke and Kim, confused yet concerned at the sight, recline a little back as Angela's hair falls to her face and her back arches upwards as she shudders alarmingly. Awful cracks came from her as the atmosphere suddenly felt foreboding. A non-human noise left her, sounding all too similar to animalistic growling and strained groans. Duke and Kim wince and flinch, expressions shifting more fearful as Angela's visible arms and revealing skin is overtaken by thick fine nearly black fur. Her hair extending longer and down her back in a thick flowing mane. Her legs shifting and cracking into an animalistic shape. Her fingers extending out into razor claws. Suddenly the reason why the toes of her shoes looked like they were blown open finally made sense. Her toes bulked out to large paws as sharp, eagle talon like claws pierced out of them. It didn't take Duke long to realize what was happening and why she looked so damaged and ruined when they first met her. She's changing. Changing into something that was not human. Duke turned to Kim with an easily identifiable look of dread. "Kim, we need to move, now!" he demanded. Angela's ears extend and slim out to shape pointed. Her eyes glow a deadly orange, easily able to cut through the darkness of the night as her head shape shifts, a muzzle extending out as her nostrils pulled to slits and whatever human remaining features just suddenly vanished. A thick large appendage of fur grew from the base of her spine, waving left and right behind the once human creature. It looked like a tail. She then begins to rise, from out of the hands and knees of the crouch to standing. Duke and Kim recline back as the horrid shadow of the once human girl loomed over them, revealing just how massive and tall this thing has grown in size. A startled gasp escaped Kim and an unnerved whimper from Duke. The monstrous creature expressed its arms out, throwing its head back, and gave a beastly roar, almost like a howl. The two teens froze up at the towering creature before it's triumphant roar ended and it dropped back down to a crouch, slamming a palm into the earth and extending the other arm out, exposing the now large bulky humanoid hands and sharp claws. It's horrid eyes examining them as the skin around it's face tightened, baring its razor teeth as it's lips quivered in a snarl! Even in the crouched stance this thing was still huge! "KIM!" Duke roared! The ravenous beast that was Angela, pounced! Duke grunted from the tackle of the monster! Kim finally snapped out of her freeze. She screamed as she turned to them, seeing the horrid sight! Duke screamed as he was pinned to the forest floor. The horrid creature straddled over him and thrashing it's head violently on him! Duke screamed from the attack of the monster! Kim's screams followed as she watched in horror, unable to do a single thing! Duke screamed in pain and horror as the monster was violently sinking its teeth into his flesh and haphazardly thrashing! It's head then lurched back before throwing itself back into him for seconds, wrapping it's jaws around his neck! Duke screamed, pressing his hands against its shoulders in an attempt to push it away! One of his hands balled into a fist before hitting it's shoulders with it, but his attack was in vain as it didn't even flinch. Then, the creature jerked it's head. A horrid snap filled the air and Duke's screams suddenly halted. His flailing fist at the creatures shoulder slowed before stopping, going limp and dropping to the forest floor. Kim's breathing was harsh and unsteady. Her hands over her mouth. Her trembling legs trying their best to back her away but she was too focused at the creature straddled over what could possibly be now her deceased friend. The strap over her shoulder slid off. Her bag dropped to the trail ground as her eyes glossed. She turned her head to the bag she has dropped. Then, a growl. Kim lifted her head back to the scene. It looked over its shoulder to her with wide, unsteady eyes nailed to her person. The snarl was big as it's hands pressed against the trail floor beside Duke's body as it crawled it's way off of him, not breaking the stare before fully turning to her and beginning to stand up. Kim dissoriently began to stumble back. She then screamed as the monstrous creature pounced at her, smacking her to the ground from an extended out arm! Kim grunted as she was thrown to her back on the forest floor. She lifted her head in a lean forward to the empty forest before her. Her breathing shuddered as the beast circled around her on all fours shuffling into view, all while keeping its nose pointed to her and not breaking the stare. A terrified whimper left Kim as her assailant straddled over her body, snarling wildly at her, it's face so close to hers that she could feel it's hot and humid breath. The monster then roared, followed with the terror filled screams of Kim as its jaws snapped around her neck, as the noises of the intense struggle and attack echoed in the open, and soon to be quiet forest.


"Are you ready to talk?" "Are you ready to listen?" Colonel Jackson straightened and adjusted his crisp lapels. "I would like to know how a …." Amy raised an eyebrow at her interrogator, "A what? A woman? A housewife? A civilian?" Amy leaned forward and smiled bashfully, "Which is it, Colonel? I will let you fill in the blanks." The Colonel cleared his throat clearly irritated with the petit southern woman sitting across from him. Her hair was wavy and dyed several shades of blonde. How she made it safely to her husband, he had no idea. "I know what you're thinking! How did this lady from Texas make it across the border and back?" Amy giggled; her mirth filled the room. "I'll tell you how Colonel; a wig, a good smokey eye, and the right clothes. As long as a woman keeps her head down and avoids eye contact, nobody cares!" She looked at him with doe eyes and started to play with the blonde locks hanging loosely over her shoulders. "That's just about the case anywhere, I reckon." The man glanced down at her shoulder, there was a tight wrap of gauze around it. After she had found her husband, they were on the run for seventy-two hours, when they encountered some not-so-friendly fire. A bullet grazed her arm, and the wound was infected when his guys were finally able to complete the rescue. He smirked; she was gutsy he'd give her that. The Colonel tapped his fingers on the file in front of him. Inside were statements given by her husband and the three special-ops guys that rescued them. It seemed her husband had done some private IT contract work with someone above his paygrade and was able to procure a rescue from the US Military. "I want to see my husband." He could see the fatigue in her eyes. "You will after we hear your story." Amy let out a long breath, she was tired and achy, and she wanted nothing more than to land at DFW and eat a BBQ sandwich. "So, tell me; when did you first discover your husband was not who he appeared to be?" "You mean, the man posing as my husband?" "Yes." "How is Mitch 2.0, by the way?" The question rolled off her tongue, laced with humor. "Who?" "Mitch, 2.0." Amy glanced down at her chipping manicure. "That's what I called him." She looked up and grinned, "I thought the military had replaced my husband with AI or something!" Her southern accent was heavy, and he would have laughed at her assumption if the situation was comical. It wasn't, so he scowled. "I can assure you, Mrs. Stewart, the government doesn't replace people with AI." The Colonel tapped his massive fingers on the steel table, the national security implications of this situation was making his blood pressure escalate. Amy smirked at his response. "Oh, Colonel, don't get so stuffy! It wasn't like you spent the last week disguised, traveling through the desert, eating who-knows-what, and praying no one found out you were a Baptist from Texas!" The Colonel shook his head, this was going to be a nightmare. He opened the file and reread the document. According to Mitch, who was sequestered down the hall, the man that impersonated him as Amy's husband for almost six months was his doppelganger. In fact, after the DNA tests they just ran, they were twins. That's what made this whole debacle the most disconcerting. What if there were more of them? Amy clasped her fingers together in front of her on the table, "So let me tell you how I knew something wasn't right." The Colonel raised head and relaxed robotically in his seat. "Mitch had been on a business trip…" "To Berlin." "Yes, Berlin." Amy moved a stray hair behind her ear. "At a software convention." "Yes." Amy blew out a breath. "When my husband came home, he did not want a slice of homemade pecan pie." "So… that was out of the ordinary?" "Yes, yes, it was! I always make him my homemade southern pecan pie when he comes home from a business trip!" Amy sighed. "It's his favorite." "You mean to tell me your husband turning down a slice of pie started you down some conspiracy theory path that your husband was an AI robot?" "I think you are making fun of me, Colonel." "No, continue." He would have laughed if it wasn't so absurd. "That Sunday, we went to church." Amy shook her head, "He acted like he barely knew his way through a Bible, and he almost seemed uninterested in the sermon." "And?" "He was very uncomfortable in church, edgy." "Maybe he was just having a bad day?" "He plays on the church softball team with the youth pastor." There was a pause, and then the Colonel looked at another document. "So, tell me again, why did Mitch, the real Mitch, contact…" He looked back down at his notes, "Luella Simpson." "Oh, yeah, Luella is," Amy smiled broadly, "the church secretary." "It still doesn't add up." "He must have suspected we were being monitored." Amy's eyes widened, "You know how all those wi-fi objects in your house, they're always listening." She laughed at her own remark. "Why didn't he call your mom or his sisters?" Amy shifted in her seat; the Colonel must have had their whole life story before him in the file. "Oh, that would have set a whole swarm of bees to flight," Amy laughed, "Bless her heart! My mother would have approached Mitch 2.0 and interrogated him herself! That would have probably put my husband in more danger then he was already in!" "This text..." "Yes?" "It makes no sense." The Colonel skimmed the page again. "It doesn't." "Then how did you know where to find him." "A hunch." The Colonel let out a long-exasperated breath. "Why do you think he sent it to the church secretary?"

Amy shrugged her shoulders and stared down at her chipping nail paint, "Sir, I have no idea." He couldn't tell if her voice was sincere or condescending. The Colonel thumped his fingers again. She was within her rights to withhold any info she wanted. She had not, as of yet, done anything wrong. He knew playing dress-up was no more a crime than changing your Instagram filters on your profile to look younger. She traveled on her own passport and had a squeaky-clean record. "Very well, then, tell me about the tag that helped us secure…" "Mitch 2.0?" "Yes." He still couldn't wrap his head around this southern spitfire sitting across from him. "Simple, I tagged him in as many places as I could so I could trace him if indeed he was impersonating my husband." "How do you know about RFID tags?" "I am a part-time librarian, and we work with RFID all the time. I also own my own T-shirt and monogramming business. I need the RFID tags to attach to the clothing I sell." Amy nodded toward the file, "I am sure this is a waste of my time and yours. You already know all of this." "So, are you going to try and tell me you came up with the RFID tagging on your own?" Amy looked offended, "What is that supposed to mean?" The Colonel stared at her for a few minutes and read another document. It was all there in black and white; she ran a legit clothing business. She worked at the downtown library part-time and volunteered for the local food bank. She and her husband taught Sunday school together at the local Baptist church, and they had no children. Her mom lived in Dallas, and Mitch had two sisters that lived in Bellevue, Washington. The Colonel looked up at the woman across from him, ordering his brain to unravel the mystery staring at him in the face. "I tagged his watch, that's how you found him. My Mitch is old fashioned, so Mitch 2.0 was forced to wear an old Timex. It was easy to disassemble." "So, tell me again about Mitch 2.0." "His mannerisms were like my Mitch's, but of course, you can't fool a woman." Amy smiled coyly. "His accent was flawless, and he even changed the oil in the old Ford, and that thing is a beast." "Tell me about the tattoo?" "Ah, yes, the tattoo." The Colonel noticed her voice sounded troubled. "Kind of an odd place for two strait-laced Americans to get a tattoo." The Colonel raised an eyebrow as he spoke, "Inside your bottom lip?" "It is." The Colonel could swear he could see the young woman's eye twitch. "And Mitch 2.0 didn't have this tattoo?" "Nope." Amy didn't elaborate, and her tone curt. Reflexively, she ran her tongue along the tender skin in her mouth. The Colonel tried to read her expression. "It was beyond dangerous what you did, trying to take matters into your own hands." He raised an eyebrow, "Traveling through a country that's engulfed in a civil war, following vague text messages." "Who was I going to ask for help? Mitch 2.0 had everyone fooled, except for me." The Colonel stood up and rolled his neck from side to side, trying desperately to relieve the tension building in his muscles. The national security repercussions of what just transpired were alarming. The idea there might be others impersonating innocent Americans was enough to put anyone's muscles in a knot. He glanced back at Mrs. Stewart, he still felt like he was missing something. "I do have one more question." "What is that?" "I have some information on the youth pastor of your church…" Amy cocked her head in a question. "What information?" The Colonel paused for a moment, trying to gauge the reaction in her pupils, he made a note of the slight hesitation in her voice. "Some of your church members have had some run-ins with airport security overseas, trying to smuggle religious material," He paused, "I am sure you already knew about that." Both Mitch and Amy had been on several mission trips with the youth pastor and his wife since their college years. Some of the locations he wouldn't have gone into himself without a full army behind him. Amy's jaw tensed, and she wondered what the Colonel was trying to insinuate. The Colonel gripped his hand around the file and gave her another scowl. "I am sure that has nothing to do with you or Mitch, though." "I am sure it doesn't." The women's retort was quick. The Colonel raised an eyebrow, "You know they may come after you?" "Who?" "The ones that planted Mitch." Amy left out a long breath and didn't respond, he was disturbed by the lack of panic in her eyes. "I understand." "If they think you've figured out what is going on," The Colonel didn't finish his thought. There were rumors when he first entered military service twenty years ago that something like this may be in the works, but to come face to face with it forced a chill down his spine. Amy sat up straight and put on a brave smile.

No one would be coming after them. She knew as soon as Amy Stewart stepped off the plane, phase one of Operation Duplicity had failed. She'd studied the information on her twin since infanthood. In her country, it was the job of the male to control the destiny of their mission, so she was tossed aside. However, Mitch didn't plan for one thing; women's intuition.  The tattoo was an unexpected glitch, she couldn't blame him for that, but she wouldn't make the same mistake. Amy Stewart, the suburban housewife, was definitely smarter than any of them believed. Operation Duplicity was simple; infiltrate the American family one person at a time, and over the next ten years, phase two would be activated. The doubles would be safely integrated into all forms of the great American dream; teachers, lawyers, fathers, mothers. No one would have been the wiser. Except they didn't bank on Amy Stewart, she'd known her husband way too intimately. Now it was up to her. If she succeeded, others could enter the country undetected. They'd finished their statements, ate some subpar food in the airport, and boarded their plane. She glanced at Mitch as they walked through DFW. Mr. All American; played college football and had a doctorate in computer science. On the weekends, he coached pee-wee football and attended a two-thousand plus member church in an upscale Dallas suburb. Yes, her life would be different, but in a few years, it would all be worth it. Her father's mantra had always been- slow and steady wins the race. She was sure she read that about a turtle one time, and now she was that turtle. Mitch picked up their luggage effortlessly and reached for her hand. "I can't believe you came for me."

"I didn't do it alone," Amy laughed, her false merriment carrying through the air. "I had help along the way." Amy shoved the thought away for later, she would need to find out who had helped the other Amy find Mitch. Amy was no longer the focus, deceiving Mitch was. She'd extracted Amy before she could come in contact with her husband. A quick, blunt hit to her head rendered her unconscious. She'd be kept alive at the compound for as long as they could get valuable information from her.

"All that matters now is that I am here with you, and where are back on American soil." Mitch grinned. "You know all of this has me wondering," Amy paused and looked up at Mr. All American, "maybe we should start a family?" Amy tensed. "Is something the matter?" Mitch could feel the tension in her arm. "No, no, of course not." Amy flipped through every cataloged file in her memory; his wife had not been able to have kids; at least that is what she had read in her medical records. It was amazing the information she was able to glean over the past few years, from the world wide web. Now that everyone had a virtual assistant in their homes, it was easier and faster to interpret conversations, online purchases, and schedules. "I know we've had some troubles in the past," Mitch looked down at her lovingly, "but the doctor said a miracle was always a possibility." Amy took in a deep breath, at least she hadn't misjudged her new husband. Ever the optimist, ever the believer in miracles. She wondered how he'd react to her duplicity when all was revealed to him. Would he do what his beliefs touted; forgive and forget. He may not live long enough for her to find out. They climbed into the rental, and Mitch turned to look at her, his gaze steady. Mitch's heart skipped as he took the sight of her in. He knew Amy would be ok, but the thought of his evil twin in a jail half-way across the ocean was still disconcerting. Amy batted her eyelashes, "Something on your mind Mitch?" He was handsome; it wouldn't be hard to play the doting southern wife for the next few years. "There is." His smile stretched across his lips, displaying a perfect gleaming row of teeth. "What's that?" Her soft southern drawl rolled off her lips. "I think it's time we took a second honeymoon." "Really?" Her heart lurched in her chest. She thought traveling would be the last thing on his mind after what he'd been through. "Yes. I think after all we've been through its time we reconnect; really get to know each other." "Oh, ok." Her voice grabbed, and she forced a smile. Mitch looked back at the road his face stoic as Amy kept her eyes firmly fixed on his profile. "There are some things I reflected on after I was kidnapped. That man..." His voice turned husky, "He tried to sabotage my family, my faith, and my country." Amy's jaw tensed as he spoke. "I promised myself I would never let anything like that happen again." He turned her direction as he spoke, "To anyone." Amy kept her lips tightly together. Mitch turned his face back toward the road. "Do you remember when we took that missionary trip to the desert, and we weren't sure we'd make it out alive?" Amy nodded her head slowly, sifting through the information in her head. As if reading her mind, he spoke, "Nobody knew about the trip," he laughed lightly, "it was the first one we did undercover." She couldn't believe what he was saying, it would have been suicide for them to trapeze across the middle-east trying to preach his personal version of religion. Mitch eased the car on to the interstate. Amy stiffened in her seat as she looked out the window, suddenly feeling like a caged animal. The Amy she'd shadowed disembarked in Israel, altered her appearance, and took a minibus into Jordan. At the time, she thought the lady was insane, throwing herself willingly into a hostile environment. "It was the first time I was able to use my new model to smuggle religious material into a hostile country." "Your model?" Mitch laughed lightly, "Yeah, I called her Amy, 2.0." Mitch turned and looked at the woman sitting beside him, "She has dark hair and dark eyes; she's a great decoy in unpredictable situations." Amy gripped the door handle, her knuckles white, and the sound of the turn signal echoed loudly in her head as Mitch changed lanes. "In fact," Mitch let a smile ease across his lips while he kept his eyes on the heavy traffic in front of him, "I think you might have met her, she's about your height."


Jessica the Librarian By Ralph Barhydt Jessica was such a beautiful, warm, well-meaning young woman. If I had been a lot younger and if she weren’t engaged, I might have asked her out. What I did ask her to do is find this ancient text of witchcraft that focused on spells. I had solid evidence that it was resting in this particular library. Of course, with a book like this there is always talk that “oh, ooh, ah, the book is alive.” Right. Makes it a lot more interesting. “Jessica, I am looking for an old book, maybe ancient actually, called “Spells for Witches. I know, I know, it sounds silly and probably is. But, I have researched it and it is real. Well, at least several knowledgeable people and institutions believe it’s real. And. Many of them believe it some how gets around. Furthermore, they believe that it is resting in this library. What do you think?” “Wait. What do I think? Sounds crazy to me. But, we have lots of books on witchcraft. I just have not seen that one. I have heard of it but doubt its existence.  Still, it would be exciting if I found it; so, I will take on the search.” “Thank you Jessica. Very kind. You should know that I have also looked on the shelves where your witchcraft books live and could not find it.  If it’s alive, as some people say, maybe it’s hiding. Of course, maybe it is not here. I have no idea what makes people think it is here. Having said that, I do recognize that your collection of witchcraft books is phenomenal, best in the country.” “Well, thank you sir. Very kind. I happily accept the challenge but I don’t hold out much hope for success. I really do know our collection well. But, hey…” She gave Greg a big smile which he returned. Great. My name is Greg Hanson and I am from Oxford. You may, or may not, have hear of me. But, thank you. I’ll be back tomorrow.” I was an expert in the occult. I had been looking for “Spells for Witches” for many years. It had kind of become my “raison d’etre.” I thought about the exchange with Jessica and the two times when I felt a strange tingling during the conversation. I could think of no other explanation than that the book was there and knew I was in the building. Irrational to be sure, but I was positive. “Well, wait and see. I could tell that Jessica really will look for and I will come back tomorrow,” I thought as I got back to my hotel room. The room was elegant and bright but a complete mess. I had books, papers, scrolls and odd objects spread all over the floor and the bed. I laughed as I looked at the bed. “Gonna take me awhile just to get in bed, and lord knows I am tired.” I stood at the window and looked out over the nearby river. It was flowing gently by, serene and beautiful A dark shadow formed over the river facing my hotel. It resembled a human form but wasn’t quite. Softly, slowly a cackling laugh grew in my ears. I shook my head and stuck my fingers in my ears like cleaning out some ear wax. The sound got louder and louder until I thought I was getting a headache. Abruptly it quit. Then, very quietly, a voice whispered “Jessica.” “Oh God!” I ran to the door, out to hall, and since I was on only the second floor, as fast as I could down the stairs. Out onto the street where I quickly found a cab, jumped and yelled “Linden library as fast as you can.” I was so nervous and upset I could hardly sit still. I sent thoughts to the driver, “Hurry, hurry, hurry.” By that time, it was early evening and when we arrived, the library was closed. I went to the front door and pounded on the heavy glass. If anyone heard me, they ignored me. I ran to the side door. Pounding loudly, as loudly as I could, nothing happened. “Oh God,” I uttered again. A warm breeze had sprung up. It was sharp at first, then it turned into a howling wind. The most forlorn sound I had ever heard rode wildly in the air. I ran to the back. There was a form by a Dempsey dumpster. It was the janitor, an older man emptying trash cans. I ran to him. The man jumped about a foot in surprise. “What…” “Sir, sir, please listen. Do you know Jessica, one of the librarians here?” “Of course I do. Let go of my arm. Who are you?” “I am a professor from the University of Oxford in England. My name is Dr. Greg Hanson. Please, please let’s get inside and try to find her. My special field is witchcraft and you have the most extensive collection in American here. Jessica is looking for something for me and I know that she is in trouble.” “You aren’t crazy are you? I can see it in your eyes. My god, c’mon, I’ll take you inside. Don’t be messin’ with me now. We have two night guards inside. We all are very fond of Jessica so I am taking a risk.” “That’s great! Thank you, “ I exhaled. We ran through the old, squeaky door into a cavernous room with more books than Greg even thought existed. Racks and stacks. Just books and books and books. There was an older man just inside with a guard uniform on. “Hey Oscar. How are you? And who is this?” He was looking at me and talking to the janitor. “Dan, I am not entirely sure who this is. He says he is a professor from Oxford—you know, in England. Says he is a doctor. I don’t know whether to believe him or not but he also says that somehow Jessica Barnes is in real trouble right now. So, I am concerned. Maybe you can help.” I was standing stock still, transfixed.  “Welcome, Greg.” A soft, scornful voice followed by a long, long laugh. Only I heard it and it terrified me. When the laughing stopped, I resumed breathing and looked around. “Here, she is here, somewhere,” I said fearfully. “We must find her quickly or we will lose her.” “What are you talking about?” asked Dan. “Lose her? What do you mean, ‘lose her?’ Just who are you anyway? What do you have to do with Jessica?” Oscar spoke, “Dan, no time for that now. This guy has convinced me that we must find Jessica and find her now. Let’s get to it.” “Good thinking,” I said. “I am so sorry that I sound crazy, but I am not. Jessica is somewhere in this enormous room. I am sure of it, I just don’t know where. Do you know if the books in this area are categorized like they might be on the shelves?? Are there various sections like Science, Math, Biographies, etc.?” “Ha!” Dan laughed and turned to Oscar. “So, this is the right man to help you there. We guards know the building pretty well, but, Oscar? Oscar knows every nook and cranny, especially of this giant storage room. He hangs here and he simply explores and reads all the time—even when he should be working. Right, Oscar?” “Well…” A low, aching moan poured out from the books. Then a muffled scream. “Good grief,” exclaimed Oscar, “that was Jessica.” They all started running down an aisle towards the direction of the sound. We came to a crossing aisle. Across that aisle were more rows of both shelves and stacks of books. To the right of the aisle we were in were aisles of shelves and to the left were aisles of stacks and stacks of books. Greg noticed that the space had an overwhelming smell of old, dusty books. The other two were used to it and didn’t notice it at all. “Oooooh,” an elongated moan from somewhere to the left. “Split up,” said the guard. I’ll take the third aisle, Doctor, you take the second aisle and Dan, you do the first. Let’s go.” I turned down the second aisle. I didn’t know whether to run or walk; so, I sort of trotted along. I crossed another row and then saw it. I had to rub his eyes, shake my head and yell, “Hey, here! Quickly.” Down the aisle I saw two legs ending in high heel shoes sticking out from the books about five feet off the floor. “Oh no,” I screamed running to the legs. Both Oscar and Dan came right behind me. We reached the legs that were hanging down at the knee caps, but the thighs were somehow buried in the pages of a book and the edge of a skirt was just showing at about mid thigh. It was obvious that the body was on its back. Oscar fainted, slumped to the floor. Dan let out some strange undefinable sound and I grabbed a thigh, the right one. “C’mon, Dan, no time. Help me!” I actually had a grip on both thighs and was pulling without much success. Dan grabbed the left thigh with both hands and I got both of my hands on the right thigh. They both were pulling hard and more of the skirt started to appear. The body was coming out. As it came out it started angling down toward the floor and both of us had to move our grips to the hips and mid-section of the body. We both felt very awkward as we knew the body was Jessica’s. We kept pulling. Two hands appeared followed by wrists. We kept pulling. We saw a waistline, then we had strong grip on the arms and then elbows appeared. A modest, small bodice covered by the top of the dress which ended closed around the neck. Shoulders. We grabbed her shoulders. Dan was sweating with a terrified look on his face. Oscar was trying to get to his feet. I was so intense, my face looked and felt like it was frozen. Then, Jessica’s head popped out and her body almost fell to the floor, but Dan and I held her up. She was limp and her eyes were closed. Oscar was staring out with a wide open mouth. I looked quickly at the book. It disappeared. The stack of books that were on top of it fell down to the book below. “That book must have been two feet thick. It was enormous. Was it the book of spells? “Yes,” moaned Jessica. “I found it.” Her eyes fluttered open and she started laughing hysterically. Dan slapped her face hard. The laughing changed to crying. Tears were pouring down Jessica’s face. Then, like the book, she disappeared, vanished. Dan and I found ourselves staring at each other. Oscar simply went hysterical. A strange cackling filled the room. Then, we heard Jessica’s voice, “Thank you, Greg, this is where I belong. You should know, it will bother you the rest of your life, for I am Baba Yaga and you have led me home.” The three men sat on the floor and stared at each other. Oscar had calmed down but was still quietly sobbing. Dan and I were just in shock. Finally, Dan spoke up. “You know, we have to report this to the police, but what are we going to tell them? They will never believe any of it and we will be charged with murder.” Dan was partially right. We bravely called the police who came quickly and started questioning us rather roughly. The head librarian had been called and had hurried to the library. When the questioning officer explained the situation to Agnes Bolden, the head librarian, she looked me straight in the eye and said, “I don’t understand. We do not have an employee named Jessica. Are you men drunk?”


The man with the seagull head visited me the other night. Nothing unusual, per se. Just your average nightcap. He stopped by to congratulate me on my marriage and my 401k. He said these words with confidence, like he knew them well. Perhaps he did, but I sure didn't know what they meant, and neither should he. After all, we were born of the same mirror. Him from me, and me from him. Fractured at birth into separate lives. He brandished a toothpick from the corner of his beak and expected me to betray myself by way of my soul. I did no such thing. I kissed his feathers with a comb and wished him well before turning him back the way he came. The night was fairly young and the horizons called his names louder than they called his isn’ts. He deserved to feast after the day he’d had. Or, rather, the days he hadn’t. “Goodbye”, I said, looking past his gleaming eyes and into the mind that thought only of french fries and stolen bread. It wiggled under the guise of thought and gave way after exerting too much effort. He grinned as far as his beak would allow, ruffling his feathers with renewed strength and pouncing into the hillsides past the pink cottage I called my home. He disappeared in a puff of smoke and squawked into the darkness. He smelled something worthwhile on the horizon. I laughed and tried to enjoy the space that existed between us as I went to bed in my brand new nightgown. My wife smiled as she breathed little sentences into my ear. I picked up only fragments. “Goodnight.” “I love you.” That’s what I pieced together in the throes of my brain as my husk smiled back and repeated her words like an audible shadow --inflections and joy alike. I closed my eyes and pictured soaring above the landscape below the man with the seagull head. Putrid smells spread before me, carried further by the inky black spirals of coal that strung behind me. A landfill. Our favourite. I detached from his mirror. His favourite, I corrected. He grinned, landing on the piles of trash. He was its king. Subjects gathered ‘round. Seagulls and mice. Rats and lice. All sheep. I muttered under the heaviness of my eyelids. Every last one of them. They danced and sang under his influence as the moon glistened off the piles of scrap metal and mouldy tomatoes. Our acidic kingdom. My kingdom. My beak glistened as the moonlight penetrated my bedroom window. Beside me, my wife snored in a comfortable slumber, her arm draped over my chest and her face buried in my shoulder. I coughed up a single feather and smiled at her sleeping silhouette. Another time, I breathed. Another life. The portal disappeared for a time. It won’t be the last. But for now, I’ll feed on the joys of this short burst. Internally, I congratulate myself on my marriage and my 401k. Words that I may not understand, but hope to someday.


Zach had saved a table at his favorite brewery, Top Hops . Neither his girlfriend, Emma, nor his best friend, Quinn, were here yet. He checked his watch, while tapping his foot impatiently. He hated sitting alone and being early, but someone had to save a table or else they'd just be standing around and not enjoying their drinks in the same way. This sense of duty to arrive early both compelled and prided Zach. It slightly bothered him that Emma was late, but he had gotten used to Quinn’s tardiness over the years of their friendship.

About ten minutes after Zach arrived, Emma pulled up in her white sedan and parked. She took out her bejeweled smartphone to see if her boyfriend, Zach, had texted her that he had arrived yet. She knew it was probable - Zach was always on time. He made sure to be there first, otherwise “it’d be a nightmare,” as he would say. Imagine having to wait ten more minutes for a seat, she thought with a sigh. Even though she loved Zach, this particular affinity for doing things a certain way did sometimes rub her the wrong way. Sometimes, she had this nagging intrusive thought of texting him her frustration. But when she weighed her frustration against her love for him, the small annoyance didn’t really matter. It was just a thought and nothing more. As she was checking her phone, another car quickly pulled in beside hers. She glanced up to see Quinn, wearing expensive sunglasses as he drove his modern red sports' car. He looked over at her and smiled. She sighed a little bit. She always hated walking in with Quinn instead of Zach, but her and Zach never arrived at the same time. That intrusive thought came back. She pushed her phone back into her purse to shake off the temptation. Quinn strode out from his car and around to her. "Em!" Quinn shouted, arms open wide. He came in for an embrace. She always hugged him back, but tried to make it quick. It was no secret to Emma that Quinn had an obsession with her. She and Zach had talked about it on more than one occasion. The compliments Quinn always said to her, the gifts he gave to her, the opportunities he took advantage of to sit across from her and stare deeply into her eyes. If Zach wasn't such a confident guy, she didn't think their friendship would still be working out. But since Zach wasn't threatened, and she was not attracted to Quinn, they allowed the dynamic to remain. "Is Zach here yet?" Quinn asked as they began walking side by side into the bar. "What do you think?" she retorted. Somehow, her tone had come out bitterly. The intrusive thought wasn’t going away as easily this time. Quinn picked up on it immediately. "You know, I'm never on time. It's one of my charms." She laughed. He smiled proudly. One of Quinn's favorite things about Emma, that he always complimented her on, was her laugh. He tucked a lock of his straight, coiffed black hair behind his ear to accentuate his squared jaw. "You two are very different, you know," Quinn added. "Yeah, opposites attract. Haven't you ever heard that?" "Opposites attract, yeah. Men and women. They're opposites. That's what the expression means." "No, it does not," she said, then a sudden doubt arose in her mind. "I hope that wasn't your main criteria for dating my boy Zach," Quinn added as he purposefully brushed his arm against hers. Before she could protest, they came inside. Zach saw them both and stood up. He was well-dressed, usually overdressed for an evening out. He immediately put his arm around Emma who smiled blissfully. Quinn looked away and sighed to himself. Then Zach came over and greeted Quinn with a slide and pound. They all sat down - Zach and Emma on one side of the table and Quinn on the other side, directly across from Emma. They made small talk about work, school (Emma was in nursing school, but Zach and Quinn were both already in their careers), and told many jokes. After a little bit, Zach excused himself to use the bathroom. He had a small bladder and had to go after just one beer. "There he goes again," Quinn said. "I swear his bladder is smaller than a pine nut." Emma laughed again. He smiled the same way as before. Then he leaned in across the table. "How did he do it?" Quinn whispered. She furrowed her brow. "Do what?" "How did he land you? I mean, I love the guy, but I wouldn't date him. He's too... particular. You strike me as the type of girl who likes someone more... laid back." Insulted, she sat up, and said firmly, "Enough. It's none of your business. Okay?" Pulling back from the table and raising his hands innocently, Quinn got up to get himself another drink. "I'll be right back," he said. Emma took out her phone and began scrolling through social media. She wanted to distract herself. She was getting a little tired of hanging out with Zach's friends, especially Quinn. She texted her friend, Alaine, and asked if she wanted to meet them at the bar. That would be a good buffer for Quinn’s inappropriate advances towards her. Meanwhile, Zach was sitting on the toilet, typing away on his own phone. He hated being at the bar with Quinn and Emma. The confidence that Quinn had, the natural poise and bravado. Those were things he desperately wanted. He felt so boring by comparison. Before Zach headed to the bathroom, Quinn had dominated the conversation with all the interesting things he was up to. While Zach worked a normal 9-5 office job, Quinn was the lead developer at a video game franchise. He was making lots of money and was only twenty-six. He had two sports cars, his own house with a pool, and lots of pets and leisure. Every other week he was on vacation it seemed like. Zach was struggling to impress Emma. His dingy little apartment, used SUV, and pathetically cheap date night ideas was going to inevitably lead to Emma leaving him. For someone like Quinn. Someone more interesting and fun. He just wanted that confidence. As he sat there with his phone open, Zach had this intrusive thought of breaking up with Emma. He didn’t want to, she hadn’t done anything. She was perfect in his eyes. But he had become even more self-conscious since they started dating. He was constantly beating himself up for not doing enough. Even his successful dates still had drawbacks in his mind. But he tried to shake off the thought. Emma wasn’t the problem. It was him. Flushing the toilet, he got up and looked at himself in the mirror. She always told him he was handsome, but he doubted it. His long working hours and volunteer work left little time for the gym or even a good shave. He noticed strange, long hairs under his chin and… Was that toothpaste in his mustache? He wiped his face with a towel and cleaned up, but he couldn't do anything about the random neck hairs he'd missed. With a sigh, he tried to collect himself and came back out. To his surprise, Emma's friend Alaine was sitting at the table beside her now. Quinn was not around. He came over and sat across from Emma. "Hey, Alaine, when did you get here?" Emma leaned in and whispered, "Quinn was being a jerk so I brought Alaine to intimidate him." Alaine was not easily pushed around and she was Emma's protective friend until she had approved of Emma's choice of Zach. He was honored, but still couldn't quite understand how he'd passed the tests. "Oh, don't be bothered. He gets like that when he’s buzzed is all," Zach said. "Is he always buzzed?" Alaine said, causing Emma to laugh. Just then, Quinn came back with a new round of beers. "To friendship," he declared, setting down the tray full of bottles and glasses.

The round was more than Zach would have ordered for himself. At $9 a pint, he tried to limit himself to one beer. When Quinn did stuff like this without asking, it always bugged him. But he hated to be in debt to anyone, even friends. "I'll Venmo you," Zach said, taking out his phone. "Pish posh," Quinn said. "It's on me,” Zach nodded, then began to put his phone away. Then Quinn added, “I know you need the money, so." The words were like daggers to Zach's fledgling ego. "Screw you, bro." He yelled, abruptly leaving the table and going outside. Emma got up quickly after him and followed him out. Alaine stayed seated, arms folded, glaring at Quinn. "What?" he said. "Zach’s fine. He probably didn't get the raise he was going for or something like that." "Mhmm," she retorted. Outside, Emma found Zach pacing back and forth with both hands in his jacket pockets. "Hey, what was that all about?" Emma asked. "I know he's a jerk but that seemed sort of out of character for you." Deciding to tell the truth, Zach laid it all out, or all that he could lay out in five minutes. Emma stood there quietly until he finished. "Babe, you really think that Quinn is better than you? There is nothing better about him than you, trust me." "Are you kidding? He has everything I want, babe." She took his words personally, taking a step back from him. "Well, he doesn't have me." Since he didn’t respond right away, she turned around and walked away from him. Going back inside, Emma grabbed her purse and tugged on her friend’s shoulder. "Alaine, let's go." Alaine wasted no time. They got up and left without a word to Quinn. Emma barely said a word to Zach as she walked past him. She just said they were leaving. And they did. Zach came back inside, defeated, and sat slouched in his chair. Quinn held out a beer to his friend. "Nature's cure-all, pal." "Thanks," Zach said, taking the glass. "Why am I such a failure?" "Failure? Bro, look at your freaking life. You have what every guy wants." "No, you have what every guy wants," Zach said. There was a moment of silence between them. "Are you saying you… Want to house sit for me next weekend? Cause I'm going to Cancun with the folks for four days," Quinn said. "No, I--" he thought about it, "Okay maybe, sure. But what I mean is you have the life... I may have the girl, but I don't have anything else going for me." Quinn pensively tapped his beer bottle against his lip. "Well, I have the job, the house, the cars... But I don't have anything else going for me." It was the first real moment they'd had since Emma and Zach started dating three months ago. "So you've been looking at my life with envy?" Zach asked, baffled. "Yeah. And you've been looking at my life with envy?" Quinn said, taking a swig of beer. They sat there in silence for a moment. The realization was slowly sinking in. "You know," Quinn said slowly. "My company is hiring. It's entry-level, but it'd be more exciting than ordering seat cushions for a living..." Zach perked up. "Hmm. Also, I was thinking, Emma's cousin Steph is single again. Remember the one you talked to at her birthday party? The one with the green highlights in her hair." "Yeah," Quinn said reminiscing. He looked down woefully. "Nah, she probably wouldn't go for me." What he really wanted was Emma. "No, no, Emma and I can talk you up. I'll be your wingman." Quinn gave a half-hearted smile. "This is why we're best friends, Zach. We fill in each other's gaps." "Cheers to that," Zach said. They clinked Zach’s glass against Quinn’s bottle then both took a drink. Quinn stared at Zach. Even though he was his best friend for years, this sense of boiling jealousy never abated. Zach was always more desirable to women, and it drove Quinn crazy. "Do you ever wonder if in an alternate reality, there's a version of me with your girlfriend, and a version of you with my job?" Quinn said. Zach coughed up his last sip. "And, you ruined the moment," Zach said, getting up and leaving. "I will Venmo you. For that beer. I don’t want to owe you anything.” In a short time, Quinn had scared everyone away. He sighed, eyeing the two beers Emma and Alaine had left behind. He quickly chugged one of them then slammed it down on the table. Fury was rising up inside of him. Zach was probably gonna go home and call Emma. They were probably going to make up and be all jolly and cheerful together. Quinn couldn’t fight this hatred he was feeling. He looked around at the rest of the bar. A table of women who’d witnessed some of the scene earlier glared at him with judgmental stares. Women who were detested by him.

He eyed Emma’s unopened beer bottle. He had had four already tonight. He was seeing the bottles shift back and forth in his vision. Then he had a wicked idea. Picking up the bottle, Quinn ran outside. Zach was still approaching his car and fumbling for his keys. He never heard Quinn coming. With his blood pumping, Quinn swung the bottle at the crown of Zach's skull. It shattered and Zach fell forward with a yell. His forehead struck the SUV’s bumper and made a dent. He fell face down on the concrete and did not move. Quinn's hand was shaking. His vision was blurry but it came back into startling focus. The initial rage was gone. "Zach, Zach! Get up, man." He tried to lift him, but Zach's head had a greenish purple color at the forehead and temple. He was not responding. Even though he was struggling to, Quinn had to think fast. He couldn't go to the police or even the hospital after what he’d done. Driving with the body in the trunk, Quinn went to the top of the highest hill in town. "Zach liked my car. Maybe he stole it. Yeah, that'll work." Putting the car in neutral and getting out, Quinn bit his lip. The car inched, then scooted forward towards the edge of the hill. It went over the top and quietly fell down. The crash was loud. Very loud. Lights went on in the neighborhood. Quinn climbed down. He walked for an hour then got home, unlocked his house door, greeted his dogs, then got in bed and fell asleep. Even though he was a prime suspect, and the police investigated him for weeks, Quinn was never convicted for the crime. It had been ruled a drunken accident…

It wasn't immediate, but eventually, Emma began to love him. She had been angry when Zach was found dead, as she assumed Quinn was responsible for Zach’s death. But once the cops cleared him of guilt, she apologized to Quinn. She cried in his arms. Then eventually they kissed. The rest was history. Thirty years later, sitting on his deck of their beautiful vista in Italy, an older, fatter Quinn looked out on the night sky. A more fragile, but still delicately beautiful Emma came out and kissed him goodnight. The grandkids were coming over tomorrow. He smiled and said goodnight. "So," he said alone and to himself. "So this is the alternate reality." Thinking back, he had had a good life. But the haunting memory of what he had done had never gone away. He had gotten everything he wanted, but he had lost his best friend in the process. It wasn't worth it. At the bar that night, Quinn stared at his fourth beer. His eyes went back into focus. He called an Uber. "Please take me home right away," he told the driver. Then he called Zach from the car. "I don't want your life, man. I'm sorry. I like the way my life is. And you should too. You really should appreciate it. Enjoy Emma and we'll talk about that job tomorrow, okay?" Zach agreed. He and Emma had made up and they were together in his apartment. He had called her and apologized, explaining more about his insecurities. His life was much better than he felt it was. He had called her from his small apartment and they talked on the phone for an hour, before she realized she wanted to come over and be with him in person. He sat on the couch with her and looked at his flat screen TV, kitchen amenities, and framed picture of his family. He actually had it pretty good. And the best part was his relationship. Even though he had doubts and fears, they were not worth a life without Emma. What they all three realized that same night was that sometimes all you really needed to hold your life together was a little gratitude, forgiveness, and perspective.


You know that saying people use to describe a muddled mind? You know, the one with the fuzziness. Yeah that’s the one. Well that’s the state of mine 90% of the time. As a 26 year old from New York, you would expect me to have some idea. Some inkling of how to socialise, how to engage with people, but the truth is I am as introverted as they come. People are difficult. I’d much rather sit on a deserted beach than deal with another of Stacy’s StarBucks trauma’s, or listen to Bryan rant on about his partners messy morning routine. Despite my a-social tendencies, I still have moments - brief moments - where I crave a human connection. I still want to be loved, to be desired, to be held… However at my age, my lack of experience serves as a complication. You see, in my humble opinion, to navigate the contemporary dating scene you need to have a PhD in psycho-analytics and skin as tough as granite. It doesn’t help that the only experience I have is a 2-day ‘situationship’ with Stacy Mulligan when I was in 11th Grade. That all but ruined my self-confidence, and since then I’ve never felt like opening up to anyone. My go-to explanation when asked by friends, family, and strangers alike is that I’ve been preoccupied with work and just never had the time to devote to someone else. The reality, however, is much more obtuse and dark. It is also - arguably - the reason why Ms. Mulligan is now a permanent resident of the Manhattan Psychiatric Center… To put it plainly, I’m a master observer. Able to predict events and outcomes well before they occur. I predicted my friends death six months before she was diagnosed with a stage 4 lymphoma. I predicted the invasion of Ukraine three years before Russia launched their ‘special operation’. Three weeks ago, I predicted the armed robbery at the cornerstore on 27th Avenue. The one which happened last Tuesday. I also predicted Stacies death... She drowned. After I told her, she broke. The doctors said she suffered a severe psychotic episode - I mean what else would you call an incorrigible fear of water. She refused to go anywhere near a puddle. I can’t explain how it works, what triggers it, or what the timeline for the events occurrence is. The only thing I do know is; when the vision pops into my head, the event will happen. The vision comes in waves, sometimes I have a tactile response (meaning I feel what people in the image feel), sometimes it’s an extreme emotion, and sometimes I feel nothing. So why am I telling you all this? Well, about five seconds ago I brushed hands with the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, and in that moment I saw them die. Before I could say anything, the train doors shut. Off they walked, and there I stood. Speechless. What should have been a tacit and meaningless mistake, caused my heart to flutter and sent a persisting shiver down my spine. I’ve seen disaster and gore before. Hell, my last vision showed the store clerk decapitated at the cornerstore on 27th Avenue.