Chapter 1: “I’d like to thank all of you for joining us today at this event.” Nicolas looked across the large, bright atrium. The crowd gathered was sparse. It was mostly family members of the technicians who would be working at the facility, and a couple of locals. A smattering of press. There ought to be a whole hell of a lot more of you here, if you ask me, he thought. “As many of you know, the Democratic Republic of the Congo was once one of the poorest nations on Earth. The Climate Trials of the 21st and 22nd centuries badly affected the entire world. More than half the world’s population died in the famine and wars that followed. The sea levels rose and farming became all but impossible in the intense heat and droughts. The DRC was in the worst shape to withstand it. Many people died as what was once verdant lands became dry savannah. The jungle dried up, the heat became unbearable. Food could not be grown, even as people from the coastlines poured in to escape the rising sea. Famine lead to war – not just here in Kinshasa, but around the globe.” Nicolas looked around the room. The faces that looked back at him seemed bored. They knew all this already, he thought. But it’s important to remember. “But today, I’m here at the latest Advanced Elemental Reactor facility to help usher in a new day. The power generated here, as well as the elemental output, will help bring life back to the DRC. We can begin to build greenhouses to feed the people of Africa. We can build roads to bring them to market, hospitals for the sick, schools for the children, and we can build homes. No longer will the people of the DRC have to scramble to find shelter from the heat, or food from the parched soil. With the energy from the AER, and it’s associated elemental output, we can solve these problems, and bring stability, peace, abundance, and joy back to the Democratic Republic of the Congo.” Some scattered applause. Nicolas went on to introduce the technicians who would be working at the facility, struggling with some of the names. After the technicians were introduced and a few of the managers had spoken, the event was over. Nicolas mingled with a few of the people and press, admiring the clean white facility, with a vaulted ceiling and large windows. The press were doing some interviews and taking a few pictures, but soon he noticed that a couple of the reporters had their communicators up to their ears, then they quickly left the building and got into their transports. We certainly didn’t hold their attention for very long, he thought, but then his own communicator chimed in his pocket. He held it up to see his wife’s hologram floating just above the screen. “Have you heard?” she asked. He could see that she was breathless. “No, I’m still at the reactor in Kinshasa. Is Hugh ok?” “Yes, he’s fine. They’ve found something in space. It’s sending signals to us!” Her face showed excitement and fear. “What are you talking about?” He asked, trying to remain patient. Now he could see other people in the foyer looking at their communicators, some of them talking animatedly. “There is an object in space transmitting to us, and it’s moving into our solar system!” She laughed breathlessly. “What is it? Do they know?”, he asked. “No. But I want you to come home.” She said, the fear winning over the excitement in her voice. Chapter 2: “It’s not transmitting data, just sort of pings. Like a fog horn from a ship in white-out conditions.” The Mars Global Administrator looked up from his desk to look into the camera directly. “And it’s moving quickly into our solar system.” “Why would it just send out a meaningless signal? Why wouldn’t it say something?”, said the United Earth Nations president. “Is it close enough to see it?” He squinted at one of the screens, as if trying to spot the object. He was seated at a large table, with a panel of screens behind him. Each of them showed different images – some were scientists and speculators talking to the camera, others showed pictures of the orbital satellite that picked up the signals. A stern looking man with silver hair and a black uniform sat next to him, his hands folded on the table. He was looking at the camera which connected them to the office on Mars. “We have sent signals back at the same frequency, but the probe hasn’t responded or changed behavior. And no – we don’t have any telescopes pointed at it that can show what it looks like, though we plan to move them into position as soon as we have a clear line of sight.” The MGA shook his head. “We have no way of knowing what it is or what it wants without more information.” “We need someone to get a closer look at it.” President Knowles looked down at the image displayed on his desktop monitor. The black uniformed man sitting next to him glanced at him sharply. His voice was deep. “Sir, the people best suited for a task like that would be the military, and I would not authorize such a mission until an unmanned vehicle has been sent that can determine the safety of the object.” “Its current trajectory will have it pass between Jupiter and Saturn, and Mars’ current orbit means we’re the closest to it”, said the MGA. “We have a probe that was outfitted for a trip to Jupiter. We can fit whatever sensors and camera’s you’d like on it. We should have the time to retrofit it, change its telemetry and send it before the object passes us by. Then we can determine if a manned mission is safe and needed.” “That sounds good to me. Mike?” The president looked at the man seated next to him. “The cat is already out of the bag with this.” He looked annoyed. “So there’s no point in trying to keep this quiet.” He looked up at the image of the MGA. “But David, I’d like one of my men at the controls.” “I’m sure we can arrange for your personnel to be present”, David said. “Gentlemen, I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that this is the single biggest human discovery since Dr. F invented the Advanced Elemental Reactor. Let’s be cautious.” President Knowles leaned back in his chair and crossed him arms. “Mankind survived a global climate meltdown, and we’ve only just begun to recover. Us and the planet. I want to be absolutely certain that this thing doesn’t pose a danger to Earth or the Mars colonies. David, please inform us when you’ve prepped the probe and it’s ready to launch. I’m sure any change in the objects behavior will be reported immediately to myself and General Ding. Thank you.” He turned off the link and looked at the General. “I’d like there to be an explosive on that probe. I Want to be able to blast that whatever-it-is to hell if needed. I want you to handle that.” “I will see to it,” said General Ding. Chapter 3: Francis walked quickly through the corridor that linked the reactor housing with the Elemental Output Distillation facility. He walked quickly. Not for any particular reason, he just liked to look busy to anyone who might be wanting help with something. He was not high on the organizational chart – just a distillation monitoring technician. He was responsible for monitoring the containment of elements that came out of the AER to make sure they went into the correct storage facility for cooling and storage. He knew that even if he wasn’t there, most of the elements that were expelled by the AER would proceed into their designated containers even without his intervention by virtue of their density or mass. His was mostly an ancillary position. This suited him well. Not particularly ambitious, Francis, or Frankie, as he was known to his friends and family, was a tall young man with a slight hunch in his back. People wondered if this was because he was born on Mars and moved back to Earth to work for the Institute. He didn’t know. He was lucky enough to get a job at the famous Bern AER. This was the very first AER brought online. This was where Dr. F had discovered a way to improve on nuclear fusion so that no fuel was needed, and energy was continually produced along with a steady stream of elements. The importance of the discovery, and its transformative effect on humanity was not lost on Frankie. He sometimes would marvel at the change from the near-apocalyptic state of human affairs just 90 years ago to the near-utopian society he currently lived in. But, like many people of his generation, this was a passing notion, and he often took for granted the abundance he currently experienced. He rounded the corner to one of the several control/monitoring stations. There were 5 stations with chairs in front of them in this small alcove. Each had several viewscreens with data about the temperature and velocity of the elements as they streamed into the distillation chambers in gaseous form, and more data about the capacity of the various holding tanks for the elements as they cooled. The 5 technicians were intently focused on their screens. They did not acknowledge Frankie’s presence. “What’s going on, people?” Frankie asked, glad to see all the chairs occupied. Someone would surely have time for a chat. Without looking away from her screen, one of the technicians said “For some reason the flow of elemental output has sped up. The distillation chambers are filling up too quickly and we’re running out of room.” No chat today, it seemed. “Can’t we slow down the reactor?” Frankie asked. He was now staring at data on the viewscreens as well. Warnings were being displayed on most of them. “That’s what we’re trying to do”, said the woman. Frankie looked at her. Her hands were shaking. “So this is pretty serious.” He said it mostly to himself. He heard footsteps behind him. Three executive level administrators for the facility were walking down the corridor towards the bank of monitors. One of them pointed his finger at Frankie. Frankie recognized Administrator Brevlin, the head of the facility. “Get back to your station!” He said. Frankie hurried back to his desk. When he got to his desk he could see that the information displayed on his screens was beginning to look alarming as well. He watched his screens for a while, making small adjustments to settings when he thought it would help. He saw that some of the heavier elements’ containers were filling up. The flow of elements from the reactor chamber was being disrupted, causing heat buildup. There was little he could do except watch. He glanced out the 3rd story window where his desk sat. He saw people piling into busses, and he heard the old sirens that were used during the wars. This was a massive exodus of people from Bern. “If this buildup of materials continues, there won’t be enough time to get everyone out of danger. Eventually the heat will cause a meltdown.” He murmured this as he watched the busses congest the roads. There would be enough heat built up in the reactor chamber to cause a massive explosion – enough to level Bern and a good portion of the surrounding countryside. The flow of material needed to be stopped before the buildup became critical. An idea blinked into existence. “An escape!” He lunged across his desk and grabbed his communicator. “Administrator Brevlin! I’m going to go into the distillation chamber and open the emergency relief valve. That’ll give you time to slow the reaction.” He didn’t wait for a reply, but immediately ran towards the part of the building that housed the output regulators. This was where the elements were gathered before being piped to the silos. It was a dangerous part of the building – during normal operation of the reactor, this room was off limits due to heat. The emergency vent Francis intended to open was only installed here at the Bern facility, before people understood the AER reaction to be foolproof and completely safe. Frank ran to the large steel door that housed the chamber. He entered his access code and waited for the huge steel door to unlock. It did, and as it swung open, the heat wave that hit him was tremendous. He involuntarily held his hands up to shield his face. He took a few deep breaths and walked through the door. Chapter 4: Nicolas looked out his window at the sky. From his house’s position on the side of the mountain, he was able to see quite far, when the clouds permitted. He could almost see to the edge of the city of Banff, where this portion of Canada’s AER was housed in a semi-subterranean facility. He knew it well – he had spent a good portion of time there during his initial employment with the Institute. His home, as well as much of the buildings in Banff (and the globe) were built using the elemental run-off from the AER’s around the world. He heard a thump from inside the house. Then footsteps. His wife came out of their son’s room, holding Hugh, his face full of mischief. “Go see dad.” Maria carried Hugh to the edge of the living room and put Hugh down. He stood unsteadily for a moment, then toddled up to his father. “I’ll go clean up.” She walked back down the hall. Nicolas didn’t ask what she needed to clean up. He didn’t want to know. “Hey little fellow!” Nicolas held Hugh up, then cradled him in the crook of his arm. He had been in Africa for a couple weeks, meeting with AER Institute executives and local press people. He had missed Hugh and his wife deeply. Central Africa had been among the last regions on earth to get AER’s to supply power. He had been happy to be part of the effort to bring this transformative technology to a part of the planet that so badly needed it. While the earth was healing from the Climate Trials, outdoor agriculture was still a fruitless effort. It was simply too hot to grow many of the staple diets that man relied on. Huge greenhouses were needed grow crops. Without the cooling made possible with the power from the AER, mankind could not live above ground. “Can you believe this child will grow up already knowing that there is life somewhere out in the galaxy, Maria?” He smiled at Hugh and put their faces close together. Hugh grabbed Nicolas’ beard and babbled. “Can you believe he broke another vase? I thought materials from the reactors were supposed to be flawless.” Maria came out of the room she had been in, holding pieces of glass. “Not flawless, just pure. Besides, glass isn’t an element.” The beard grip Hugh had on him was substantial. He grimaced and attempted to dislodge Hugh’s hand from his face. “Thank you for elucidating,” Maria said wryly. She glanced at the tablet on the table near the hallway. “I’m still not convinced they should bring that thing back here. I know they tested it and everything, but it seems dangerous to bring an alien piece of technology that close.” Nicolas had freed his beard from Hugh’s grip, but now was trying to avoid his son’s waving arms. “Well, the orbit of Mars isn’t too close. They say there’s pictures all over the outside of it.” “A space faring postcard. These aliens are kind of low-rent.” Maria had picked up the tablet and was scrolling through it. “I agree. Did you hear that the material the thing is made of pretty primitive? They tested some of the metal from it, and it seems to have been made using pretty primitive techniques, and lots of impurities.” “Are you going to have to go to Bern to talk about the meltdown?” Nicolas felt his stomach tighten. “Not a meltdown. They want that made clear. Thanks to that kid, Frankie is his name I think, they managed to vent the discharge underground. And no, I don’t think they’ll need me there. They have a public relations staff there. They’ll all gather under that statue of Dr F and talk about how safe the AER technology is. Which it is. This was just a one-off anomaly.” “I’m sure you’re right.” Maria had put down the tablet and now stood in front of Nicolas, who was still holding Hugh. She leaned in and said “Sandwich hug!” and squeezed Hugh until all three of them were laughing. Chapter 5 “Of course we can’t be sure what any of it means. But it seems to be a reasonable guess that the pictograms are depicting a civilization’s technological advance.” Jerome indicated a section of images projected onto the large screen at the head of the room. “So nothing your team of linguists have discovered indicates that this object is a weapon, or is intended as a threat?” General Ding’s voice filled the large conference room. “Not at all. Judging by the radio transmission the object was emitting, and the amount of wear we have seen on the exterior of the object, it seems to have been floating in space for quite some time.” Dava, the Global Space Exploration Organization’s director, ran her fingers through her hair. “Also, the object seems to have been made with what I would describe as primitive techniques. There are many impurities in the metal, and its propulsion is a very early version of ion drive technology. We could build something more advanced than this.” The room was crowded with scientists and government officials from both Earth and Mars. There was a large conference table arranged in a U shape with images of the object projected on the adjacent wall. It looked like a grey-black pentagonal pyramid. There was no obvious front or back to it; no outstanding features at all. It spun silently, the small white colonies of Mars visible as the planet rotated in the background. Occasionally the screen would show a close up of the symbols etched into the entire surface of the object. “Any ideas about where this thing came from?” David, the Mars Global Administrator was slouching in his chair. The extra gravity on Earth was a strain on him, but his voice was steady. “All we can do is plot backwards from its trajectory when we first noticed it. There’s nothing of interest in that direction that we have detected yet, although we have telescopes pointed in the direction it came from to see if can pick anything up”, Dava said. “You said it seemed it seemed to have been out in space for a while. Any estimates as to how long?” General Ding asked. “Judging by the amount of power left in the plutonium fuel cell, and the amount of pitting from micrometeroid impacts, our best guess is three thousand to six thousand years.” Dava couldn’t keep the awe from her voice. There were whispers in the crowded conference hall. President Knowles looked up at the image displayed on the wall. “So what else can you tell us about the symbols on the object, Jerome?” “Yes sir. As I said, it seems that the images depict the development of their society. They start with an image of what we assume to a member of their species. It shows their numbers growing, then the development of gatherings, or cities.” He hesitated. “Sir, some of the people on the team think that a few of the pictograms show AER type technology.” More whispering erupted in the room. President Knowles raised his eyebrows. “How could that be?” He looked down the table at the officials gathered in the room. “We only just discovered its use recently.” Dava spoke up: “Sir I might be able to answer that. I think we can assume that, like prime numbers and other mathematical principles, physics has certain rules and constants that can any sufficiently advanced civilization will eventually come across. It’s only a matter of time, once the basics of chemistry and physics are understood, that the AER technology will be uncovered.” She looked at the other attendees before focusing again on the president. “I think we have a more interesting question. If the pictogram does indeed show AER technology, then why wasn’t the probe itself built with it? The object was not powered by an AER reactor, even though it wouldn’t have needed to be much larger to accommodate one. The materials used to build it are impure, which is why it shows the amount of damage to its surface that it does. If it had been built with AER generate elements, it would be almost impervious to the type of micrometeroid damage we see on the object.” “Why show what we consider to be the pinnacle of technology on your spacecraft and not make your interstellar spacecraft using that technology?” General Ding looked at Jerome. “What do the rest of the symbols show?” Jerome looked uncomfortable. “Well General, the symbols get more difficult to interpret after the pictures of an AER reactor. There are no images of what we thought were the aliens themselves, or any other images we saw elsewhere in the pictograms. Most of the room left on the craft’s surface was taken up by the pictograms showing the civilization before the pictograms showing the AER.” President Knowles stood up. Everyone in the room stood as well. “It seems to me that what we have here is a message in a bottle. I’d like everyone to continue their hard work to determine what they are trying to tell us. Thank you all for coming.” He headed out the conference room double doors, followed by a cadre of advisors. Chapter 6: Frankie and Doctor Brevlin stood at the foot of the statue of Dr F, in the courtyard of the campus for the Bern AER reactor facility and looked out at the people gathered there. The mayor of Bern was speaking to the assembled people, praising Doctor Brevlin and Frankie for their tremendous bravery and hard work that saved the city from a complete shutdown of the reactor. Frankie felt as though if there were any hero here, it was him. After all, he was the one with bandages on his hand. Plus, he noted that the mayor only talked about the danger of a reactor shutdown, not a meltdown. He thought this was an odd omission. He remembered the heat and the light when he had stepped into the distillation chamber. He had had the good sense to grab some safety gear from the closet near the reinforced door, but he had only grabbed a mask and coat, not gloves. He looked down at his bandaged hands and attempted to flex them. The doctors at the Bern hospital had said he could have them off in a few weeks. The 2nd degree burns would have healed by then. The mayor was wrapping up his speech. The statue provided some shade for Frankie. They were under a massive dome that covered the entire campus. Much of the city, and most cities in the world, were mostly covered with similar transparent domes, as the heat was much too intense. But the sunlight still streamed in. Frankie felt uncomfortably warm, and was glad to have the shade from the statue. Doctor Brevlin was talking about the safety of all AER reactors, and how they saved the world. Frankie resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He talked about how this very statue was built using the first elements to be discharged when the great Dr F brought the reactor online. Frankie definitely felt worse. He was getting hotter and hotter, and now he felt dizzy too. He felt as though the ground was spinning, and the felt like the statue loomed over him, Dr F’s coppery gaze like a malevolent force. He reached out a hand toward the statue to steady himself. When his bandaged hand made contact with the metal, he could feel the heat right through the wrapping. He pulled his hand back and felt someone grab him under his arms and his knees buckled. He started to fall forward, then vomited. He worried briefly if it would get on whomever was holding him. He looked up blearily, and could have sworn the statue was glowing. Chapter 7: Nicolas wasn’t panicking. He read the statements in the press about the statue of Dr F melting into a glowing hot mass of radiation, emitting a dose strong enough to kill Dr Brevlin, Frankie, and many of the bystanders. He, being an employee of the AER Institute, was privy to the internal memo’s showing that the materials harvested from the reactors were all becoming unstable, and would soon all melt into highly radiative isotopes, shooting high doses of radiation out in all directions. He knew that soon enough, the very walls of his house would start to do the same. Nicolas wasn’t panicking. He read with detached interest that the linguistic team had determined, to the best of their ability, that the markings on the outside of the object depicted a society that had become reliant on the AER technology. Whether they were forced into reliance on it, as humanity was, or whether it was simply too good of a resource to pass up was unclear. That they had discovered, utilized, and ultimately were destroyed by it was evident in the etchings. The objects purpose was to be a warning. A species soon to perish had used ancient technology in a last-ditch effort to warn anyone who might find the object not to do what Earth had been doing for almost a hundred years. The AER technology had saved mankind from a self-made disaster. It had held the frayed society back from the edge. Now it was going to destroy them all. An image appeared on his tablet. A mushroom cloud where the city of Bern had been. Reports of imminent meltdowns at reactors, in the order in which they were brought online. Soon the tablet lost all external feeds. Nicolas knew his wife was in their bedroom with Hugh. He walked slowly to them and laid on the bed, Hugh between himself and Marie. He held them both tightly. The window blinds stopped their slow waving in the breeze from the air conditioner. Nicolas didn’t panic. He knew that the power from Banff’s AER had stopped flowing, which is why the blinds no longer moved. He knew that power only stopped flowing in dire circumstances. He waited. His wife was crying. He reached out a hand and rubbed her shoulder. He thanked god that Hugh was asleep. When the intensely bright flash lit up their home, he covered his son’s eyes.


Ever since my mum lost her dad, my grandpa, because of cancer, she has always felt empty. Not completely downhearted Perse, but that usual glow in her eyes whenever she woke up in the morning, her bright and charming smile she always flashed at me and my Dad whenever she was making breakfast had sadness and pain written all over it, and it hurt me more than anything. My mum loved Grandad, and so did I. He was without a doubt the most energetic and most loving man I have ever met. He acted quite young even though he's strength had slowly faded because of his old age. He was always working and always wanted to work even when my mum and dad would tell him to get some rest, he would brush all our comments aside and keep doing whatever he was doing while saying "I'm not gonna live forever, just let me live a bit would ya?" Just thinking about him saying those words now really hurt me. Everyone living in our estate loved my grandad, they loved his optimism and his company; they loved how he was always so hearty and smiling at every point in time, but one thing that people loved the most and admired was my grandad's signature chocolate muffins. Damn, were those things delicious. Every Saturday afternoon, when my mum would go out to get groceries and my dad would work on his greenhouse, and I'd either be studying or playing a video game. My grandad would sneak into the kitchen and whip up a large batch of chocolate muffins and hand them over to us after we were all around and less busy. He's smile as we took bites of his muffins and moaned in satisfaction was priceless. He'd usually make large batches, so, my mum (Being the kind-hearted person she has always been) would package the remaining muffins and share them with our neighbors who always asked the same question we asked grandad all the time. "What is your secret?" "I'm just good at baking, I guess" He would reply with a bright smile and a shrug. My mum told me he started making muffins for her when she was little after her mum (his wife) died in a car accident. Even though I never met my grandma, I could tell by how he talked about her and how my mum talked about her too that she was a good person. She told me how became depressed but eventually started using baking to heal his wounds, she also told me he would only do it on Saturday's because that's when he lost her, and ironically, probably because of some cosmic shit of the universe and probably a ton of other crap I don't understand my grandad died on Saturday as well. And now, it's also his birthday. Today. And I want to honor his memory just like he did for grandma. Ever since grandad died, my mum stopped taking muffins. She told me how she hated the fact that it reminded her of losing him and she honestly would prefer to stay without muffins than eat anyone other than his own, so; I decided to change that. By making his signature chocolate muffins. But that's the problem, it

he's signature muffins.  Not mine. I thought I could replicate it, I honestly thought it would be easy after watching a bunch of YouTube videos on baking chocolate muffins but each time I taste the batter repeatedly and I can't help but groan and realize how stupid it was for me to try to replicate something even his daughter didn't know how to make. " I'm just good at baking I guess"

I remember his words and stare at the muffin batter with calculating but very annoyed eyes. Guess I just suck at doing this huh? I look at the clock in my kitchen and sigh. Mum and dad are going to be back home any minute. I groan again before I push the small bowl of cake batter aside and carry another small bowl, while staring at the ingredients on the table, silently praying they could all just calm together and form my grandad's beautiful mixture. But unfortunately, it's just a prayer. My mum wanted to spend my grandad's birthday in the mortuary, paying respects to him and lying close to his grave. And my dad, well he didn't want to let my mum stay there all alone, so he tagged along, even though he felt like it was a pretty depressing way to celebrate her dad's day of birth, which I agree on, but she loved him, and the grieve of losing him still hangs around her. My dad told me if this is what it takes to ensure she comes back to her old self, he'd let her keep doing it until all shattered pieces of her some back together. They left me alone in the afternoon and told me they'd be back by 8:00 pm, knowing I was done with all my schoolwork and had nothing to do until their time of arrival, I decided to just use that as an opportunity to make some decent progress in The Last Of Us 2. While playing my video game, a glimpse of my mum's sad face and her rejecting the muffins miss Connor, our neighbor brought for her, along with all her breakdowns and everything flash before my eyes and suddenly, I just thought of what to do. Losing grandad was a bummer, a huge bummer, true, but the only way to heal from the grief of losing someone, the only way to attach the pieces of yourself you lost while grieving is to move on and that's what I wanted for my mum today. It wasn't just about celebrating grandad's birthday anymore; it was about letting him rest for good. After I had planned the idea out and did all the necessary preparations, I called my mum and dad and told them I had a surprise for them, my mum didn't want to leave of course but my dad insisted that they both check out what I have planned. She refused continuously, but after a ton of persuasion agreed and decided to come over. I was excited and decided that the only way to make this even more special was by preparing grandad's signature muffins, but after a ton of failed attempts, I kinda regret calling them before it was ready. Now, I have just 1 hour before they get back. Luckily, it's a 3-hour drive from the mortuary. What if this doesn't work? Hell, mum would be even more hurt that I tried to bring memories of him and I didn't even do it properly. A picture of my mum's face smiling happily flashes through my mind and I shake my head. No, no, no, I got this. I psych myself up before I put all the ingredients again, my thoughts going back to my mum now and then. I'll make her happy, I'll make sure this is the day she heals from the trauma, I'll make sure this is the day she becomes happier, I'll make sure this is the day she moves on. Grandad wouldn't have wanted her to be this way, and she needs to know that. After I finish, I stuff my hand inside the batter and stuff it in my mouth. My eyes immediately widen. OH. MY. GOD ______ "Dennis, we're home," My dad says and I hear the door close making my lip tug upward. "In the dining room," I shout back in response and fold my hands behind my back while waiting for them to enter. As soon as the door opens, my mum and dad both stare around the dining room, both of them completely flabbergasted. My mum's eyes move from a picture of grandad on the wall to the dining table filled with different food items, drinks, candles, plates, and glass cups. "Lady and gentleman, dinner is served," I say as I lead both of them to a chair. "What's all this?" My mum asks while sitting down and I sigh while tugging at my apron. "You've been so down about grandad for a while, and I wanted to arrange something that'll help you cherish his departure instead of being depressed about it. So, I did this," I say waving my hand around the table and her eyes become a bit glossy before she holds my hand and mutters a thank you. My dad nods at me with a proud smile. "I cooked up all of grandad's favorite along with yours as well mum," I say and she smiles brightly while I walk around the table pointing at different food items. "We got rice pudding, mashed potatoes, lasagna, stir-fry, bread, and a ton of other stuff I knew nothing about and had to check google for information," I say, and everyone laughs while I only smile lightly. "Well, let's dig in, I'm starving," My dad says before he rubs his hands together and we dig in. After dinner, we all go to the living room and go through a reel of my grandad's album that he brought when he was staying with us, a ton of photos making us laugh our hearts out. I had to search around the house severally but in the end, I found it. "And this, this is when he bought me a cat. Unfortunately, the cat didn't stick around and left me and dad" She says while pointing to an old picture showing her standing with a cat in her hand by grandad's side, we all stare at the picture for a while smiling until I get up and turn the reel off, and I hear my mum yawn from behind me. I walk back to my mum and dad and sit down on the couch and my mum grabs my hand and squeezes it lightly. A bright smile spread across her lips. "You don't know how much this means to me Dennis, thank you," She says with glossy eyes and I smile sadly before hugging her while my dad watches with a small smile. I let her go and stare at her before I remember something. "Wait here" Is all I tell her before I run to the kitchen. She stares at me in confusion and shrugs before she talks with dad. After a ton of plate rattling and looking for particular items, I come back into the living room with a tray filled with chocolate muffins. My mum stares at me and her eyes widen with a pained look in each pupil as her hand looks down on the muffins in my hand. I sit them down on the table and smile sadly at my mum and my dad just keeps staring at the muffins then back at me with a shocked expression. She stretches her hand and first picks up the paper on the tray and opens it up and reads it while tears fall freely from her eyes. When people die, the only gift we can grant to them, is our happiness- Grandad. I remember my mum telling me that was grandad's favorite quote after he lost his wife, and now I feel like she needed it to because if it kept grandad going even after going through so much, it was sure to keep her on her feet too. "You've been through a lot since grandad died. But, I just wanted to let you know that holding onto this pain will break you. You need to move on. I don't mean you should forget grandad but I want you to cherish his memories instead and believe he's in a better place and give him the one thing he always yearned for when he was alive, your smile" I say and my mum stretches her hand and picks up a muffin and bites out of it before she drops it back and starts crying, she stands up and walks up to me and pulls me in a tight embrace while crying into my shoulders. My dad stares at her confused before he picks a muffin and takes a bite out of it and his eyes widen before he raises his head from staring at the muffin to me. "It tastes just like..." "Dad's. It tastes so much like dad's" My mum says while still crying into my shoulders and I raise my hand hug her tight and she does the same, tighter than before. "Thank you so much, Dennis. Thank you so, so much. I can't explain how much what you did means to me. Thank you" She says while still crying and clean my eyes before my dad stands up and hugs both of us. "Thanks a lot, kiddo," My dad says while hugging us both. "I love you," She says while still crying and I nod while trying to hold my tears back but of course fail woefully. "I love you too, mum," I say while all of us remain in that position. How was I able to replicate his recipe? Even I don't still understand it. Something in me just clicked and everything just went well after I tried it again, I don't really know what ingredients he might have used to make his own so special but I know one emotion was always active whenever he made those muffins. Pain. The pain of losing his wife, and the pain of having to raise his daughter alone. Just like I equally felt the pain of having to see my mum keep going through this grief repeatedly. Is that what the secret in the recipe is? I don't know. It could be or it could be the 2 extra eggs I added this time, whatever it is, I sure hope I get it again, for next time, for mum. My mum and dad let go of me and she leaves her hands on my shoulder while staring at me with teary eyes but a bright smile before she asks me. "How did you do it?" She asks and I'm about to give her an answer before I smile and say something different. "I'm just good at baking, I guess," I say with a bright smile, making my mum and dad laugh. She keeps smiling at me before she turns back and looks at the muffins and then back at me with a grin. "Come on, let's devour those before they get cold," She says and we all walk back to the chair before we eat the muffins and make jokes about times with grandad. Eating these muffins now, it feels like he's here like he has been this whole evening and I know for a fact that my mum feels that way too. She surprises me by stuffing a muffin in my empty mouth and laughing loudly when I stare at her, shocked. She's happy for real again. And I'm glad that she is.


This was supposed to be the happiest day of their lives. ‘Congratulations!’ said the nurse, as she was holding an eight and a half pound baby girl wrapped in a linen cloth, extending a warm smile to the mom, Prerna. ‘You have given birth to a beautiful baby girl!’ Prerna who was still lying on the maternity bed, and was struggling to somehow sit up, couldn’t believe the nurse’s words, but managed to extend her arms toward the baby and her eyes fixed on the baby’s face as that was the only part she could see. Taking the baby within her arms, Prerna struggled to lower her head so that she could greet her princess with a kiss. She could barely move her eyes from the baby’s face which looked so pure and fresh like the morning sunrise. Or was it like her neighborhood pond bathed by a full moon? Perhaps, the most recently bloomed rose matched her princess’ face. Prerna was at her wits’ end to decide on what exactly would match her baby girl’s beauty. ‘Oh!’ Prerna remembered about her husband, Amar. ‘Has someone called my husband?’ Prerna quickly asked the nurse. ‘Off course!’ said the nurse, ‘In fact, he was waiting here all night yesterday. Unfortunately, owing to the pandemic we’re trying to minimize visitors, including our maternity ward. So he had to leave. But we have informed him, and we’re expecting him shortly.’ Taking a deep breath, Prerna looked at the clock and then at her newborn baby. ‘It is 12 o’ clock.’ The nurse went on, adding, ‘So I assume you must be hungry and super ready for lunch.’ Prerna smiled as she nodded her head. ‘Hello!’ a deep masculine voice pervaded the silence that seemed to fill the serene atmosphere so long. ‘Hello, Princess!’ Amar just made his entrance as he put on his gloves and booties, and all the protection equipments prior to entering the room. ‘Congratulations, Daddy!’ The nurse remembered to congratulate Amar, as she turned to the couple, adding, ‘I’ll be bringing your lunch once you guys are done chatting, and then selecting from the menu options on the tablet.’ ‘I totally understand that this is a very special day in your life. However, please let’s keep the meeting to no more 30 minutes for now as we’re trying to minimize visitors so as to fight the pandemic.’ The nurse reminded of the regulations, as she gave a tablet to Prerna along with a congratulatory message card, and exited. ‘Are you happy now?’ Prerna asked Amar, as she reminded him, ‘So now can our princess inaugurate our new palace?’ Amar was busy explaining Abhay, their son and first child, who accompanied him to the hospital, the responsibilities of being an elder brother. ‘She has a new pillow, mummy!’ an excited big brother, Abhay shared as he grabbed the phone from his dad’s pockets, and quickly pulled up a few pictures of what the new touch up to the baby’s room looks like. ‘Wow!’ Prerna’s eyes glittered, as she scrolled through all the pictures. ‘I remember we were talking about the house on the lakeside.’ Amar said, fixing the linen cloth around his daughter and loosened the wrap a little bit. ‘Yes!’ Prerna could hardly wait to hear more about the house, ‘What about that? Please don’t…’ Amar looked at Prerna, assuring, ‘It’s still there. Your husband hasn’t forgotten about how much the house means to you. I also remember my promise about bringing our princess to her well deserved palace and not this house that we have been staying in for the last five years.’ A satisfying smile lit Prerna’s face, as she put her right hand on Amar’s upper arm and her eyes were fixed on the newborn, as Abhay asked, ‘Do I still get to have my stuff, mummy? My toys, my study table and books?’ ‘How can I forget my helper?’ Prerna responded to her son, reminding, ‘You are the King of the house. Everything is yours darling!’ ‘I am not the King.’ Abhay clarified, as he corrected, ‘I am the Super Man. Remember!’ The family of four even including the newly arrived filled the room with their laughter, as Amar checked his watch, saying, ‘Oh! It’s 12:30! I have a meeting in ten minutes.’ Amar gave a tap on his son’s back as he was about to leave, while also doing his duty as a responsible husband by reminding Prerna to eat on time and take care. ‘Both are doctor and the nurse is happy about the healthy delivery of our baby.’ Prerna smiled as she reminded Amar, ‘Hope we bring our princess to the home we both have been eyeing on.’ ‘Yes…ah! Thanks for reminding.’ Amar replied pursing his lips, as he made a note on his phone notepad to call the realtor soon after reaching home that very night. The son and dad duo made their way out as Prerna kept looking at the door even after they had left. Soon she remembered that she was yet to place her order for lunch. As she was holding the baby, she struggled to gradually move her other hand very slowly and grabbed the tablet from the bedside table, and picked from the options. Food arrived an hour later. The nurse offered to get her baby so that she could eat. Soon the baby was taken to her crib, and laid down gently on her bed. ‘I’m so full!’ Prerna said to herself as she put the food tray on the table. A minute later she put her head back on the bed cushion, took a deep breath and closed her eyes praying that everything gets back to normal soon. Everything has been nothing but death since April, 2020. Being an expectant mom, she had been scared about herself and her baby. A tired mom, Prerna decided to doze off early that night after dinner, as she picked up a book from the table, and continued reading from where she left a couple days before. In a few minutes, she could barely keep her eyes open and gradually slithered inside the comforter and fell asleep. Next morning, Prerna was prioritizing her to-dos. Grabbing her phone, she scrolled through her contacts as she happened to have some well versed interior designers in her acquaintance circle. ‘Should I call Shreya and ask for an appointment at her office?’ Prerna asked herself, as she reflected, ‘She is a legend for designing kitchens! How can I think of someone else?’ A few minutes later, the doctor and nurse arrived announcing that Prerna and her baby are ready to go home that evening. ‘Awesome!’ Prerna could hardly hold her excitement as she called Amar to share the news. Finally, the moment arrived. Prerna was done packing her bag, as she was holding her girl, and remembered to do a final check before the mirror, fixed her hair, adding a fresh touch of lipstick to her lips and pursed her lips. ‘Come on. Let’s go.’ said an exhausted Amar, who arrived straight from work. ‘How was work?’ asked Prerna, as she boarded the car while fastening the seat belt, announcing, ‘I am appointing Shreya for doing our new kitchen.’ A sudden loud noise approaching from behind made Amar who had just started driving, check the rearview mirror. Soon he moved to a side as it was an emergency vehicle coming from behind. ‘Let us first get the house.’ responded Amar as he resumed driving, while he checked the kids sitting in the backseat. Prerna preferred to remain silent and looked outside the window moving her fingers up and down her seat belt as if she was playing the sitar . Even after reaching home, the couple barely spoke except for checking with food and water. Next morning, Prerna wanted to call all her interior designer friends as she wanted to leave no stone unturned to ‘build’ her dream home. ‘I really don’t understand Amar sometimes.’ expressed an anxious Prerna, as she called her childhood friend Sheryl, the owner of Dream Palace Decors, a huge brand in interior designing. ‘Let me share my latest catalogue for patio and outdoor design.’ Sheryl responded as she adviced, ‘Share these with your guy tonight while enjoying a glass of wine. I bet he can’t say no.’ Sheryl’s words seemed to help Prerna as she shared, ‘But, Sheryl, we are yet to buy the house.’ ‘I totally understand, Prerna. There’s no harm in sharing some good pictures. What else can you do these lockdown days?’ ‘Amar Calling.’ Prerna saw the call waiting message on her phone, and concluded her conversation with Sheryl by promising to call back later. ‘Yes, tell me.’ Prerna responded to Amar’s call, as she heard her baby crying from another room. After checking with the kids and Prerna, Amar shared, ‘I have some good news and bad news for us.’ ‘Share the bad news first.’ ‘Are you ready?’ ‘Do I have a choice?’ ‘The promotion I was expecting, which could have let us purchase our dream home, has been put on hold. So that means, we have to wait a little more to buy the home.’ ‘So you mean we can’t take our princess to her palace? Oh my! She won’t get to celebrate her first birthday beside the lake?’ ‘It’s not that. It’s just a mat…’ ‘I need no explanation. You could have told me this before.’ Prerna could not hold her emotions any more, and burst into tears shouting, ‘How will I ever show my face to my friends, now?’ ‘Honey,’ Amar was trying his best to calm things down over the phone as he has to go for a safety measures training in the next few minutes. As moving to a bigger home was a priority for him, he went on, ‘We’re still getting the house. I just checked with our realtor, and he said it’s going to stay in the market, and he’ll make sure it does. It’s all yours, sweetie.’ Having received no response from the other end, Amar said, ‘Hello! You there! Prerna, you’re listening?’ Soon he realized that Prerna had hung up on him. Covering his head and face in his two hands, Amar was struggling to decide on his next steps, tried to imagine what has been going on in Prerna’s minds, and wished he could leave that very second. Somehow he managed to get up from his chair, and poured a glass of water to drink. ‘Hopefully things calm down in the evening.’ Amar said to himself as he noticed a text that flashed on the screen, ‘I’m going to my eternal home. No worries about buying any home any more. I’m relieving you of all liabilities. Be happy! J’ The text was from Prerna who rushed to open the backyard door, soon after typing the text. Even the loud cry of her newborn baby from the other room or the repeated pleading for peanut butter sandwich from her son didn’t bother her in any way. ‘There it is’ Prerna said to herself as she found the oil jar that seemed to be waiting just for her. Being health conscious, a one gallon jar of oil could last for months. She would be calculative about how much of oil to use for cooking, which was something that Amar could never really agree with as he loved fried chicken and fish. It took less than five minutes to empty the one gallon jar which was a few ounces less than a gallon. She seemed to have a bath, as she poured the entire jar on herself ensuring not even a drop falls on the ground. Soon she grabbed the lighter which was lying on the patio table. In a few minutes, she was standing on the patio ablaze. Black smoke engulfed the surrounding, which again informed Abhay about something terrible. ‘Mummy!’ Abhay was screaming as he rushed to call his dad. ‘Dada, mummy is burning!’ Abhay was crying over the phone as he was trying to inform dad over the phone, which actually went on voicemail. Amar received the voicemail at lunch, and unable to believe his eyes, called back at the number. He couldn’t get any response. He was trying to think what actually had happened. Soon he saw his boss walking in the lounge, and immediately approached to see if he could leave on emergency grounds. ‘Do we have a meeting scheduled today?’ his boss checked with him. ‘I don’t think so.’ ‘Ok then. Not a problem. Hope everything is ok.’ Amar immediately rushed to leave thanking his boss. Grabbing his backpack from his work desk, he ran to his car, struggling to start and disappeared from the parking lot within a few seconds. Taking his usual right turn, he seemed to have been ‘trapped’ in the traffic signal at the intersection. Looking at the red signal like a captive, he was tapping his fingers on his lap. ‘Why is it taking so long to be green today?’ Amar was unable to hold on his patience. ‘Ah!’Amar breathed some relief, as the light turned green. He was trying to drive at the speed limit but at times ended up in going above, and then succeeded in bringing it down and monitoring every minute. After driving for about a mile, he found that the road was closed owing to roadwork. Taking a U-turn, he followed another route which finally helped him reach his destination, his home. By then it was too late.


“What do you think about marriage?” I think about my 18-year-old sister, with that veil over her smiling face. I think about the silence, the void of life that followed. I think about her with tears on her face 18 months later, as she asked my grandmother if she could stay for the night. I think how great that was. I think about my parents, how they’ve enjoyed wedded bliss for 30 years. I think about my dad, his hands around my mom’s throat, as he banged small, round dents into the sheetrock with her head. I think about how I walked away. I think how beautiful that is. I think about my grandparents, fidelity for over 50 years. I think about listening to my grandmother talk about her ex-boyfriends, how she wishes, how she misses. I think about hearing her describe all the places she would have visited if it weren’t for Grandpa. She didn’t miss that bastard until she found him facedown on the floor for the last time, no pulse, no life. Finally? I think how fantastic that is. I think about my best friends, both good-looking kids, in love for five years. I think about how she left graduate school when she became pregnant with twins. I think about how he decided he would rather love a stripper. I think about her voice on the phone, when she snuck back into her own house and found the baby cribs full of empty beer cans. Her clothes were on the garage floor. I think how jealous I am. I think about my uncle, with his beautiful wife and daughters. I think about their perfect life, minivans and vacations. I think about my uncle looking over at me at the stoplight, and saying that he would be happy if the plane carrying his wife home crashed tonight. I think about what to say. I think… I think about the preachers that get rich declaring the genesis of such eternal beauty. You may now fuck the bride, your life. I think about the lawyers that get rich eternally ending this beauty. Till death do those guys part your savings account. I think about the children that are destroyed in between. Domestic violence and cable television is the least common denominator for these brats. They are doomed to the same fate, and can’t wait for it. I’m sorry, what were you asking? Oh, I think it’s great.


I hop over the 20 dot kolam and open the gate. I know I will be sent to Mayura Bakery and Sweets within minutes. I look back at the four swans with cherries in their beaks, encircling a sharp leafed twig. They float on the street outside the gate only when special guests visit us. The guests who could potentially become family. I remove my school shoes and carry them inside. The shoe rack has been shifted from the front door to the back door in honour of visitors. I walk into the living room. A new diwan cover set with red elephants parading on them greets me. The diwan is strategically placed to catch the best natural light on its occupant. Notes of elaichi tea float from the kitchen as I make my way to the back corridor. As soon as I place the shoes on the rack, Amma peeps out of the kitchen, and launches a barrage of words, “Usha…so late! Change clothes. Drink milk. Go get the sweets.” Then rotates the strainer in her hand and adds, “quick…quick.” Yes. Guests are coming. I change. Dip two Parle-G biscuits in the milk and shove them in my mouth. Gulp down the milk and pick up the green and cream wire basket. “Same?” I enquire. “Yes.” Amma sighs. And scoots to Akka’s room to check on her. Her silk blouse has already formed two sweaty circles at her armpits. I catch a glimpse of Akka on my way out. An aunt is helping her drape the saree. I overhear her admonishing Amma, “Meera, what is this? you have given her a green saree! Do you want her to look like a snake? A mustard saree would have brightened up her complexion.” I see Akka’s face, aglow. Her eyes, ablaze. My stomach knots. Would Appa have let this happen ? I grip the handle of the bag and step out onto the narrow alley. A neighbour from the opposite house gives a knowing smile and asks, “Guests?” I nod and quicken my pace. I dodge a cricket ball sent for a sixer by Sachin of the mahalla , and pat a country dog with a collar before reaching the main road. I weave my way through a ravenous crowd gobbling chat , samosas, jalebi and pastries on the pavement outside the bakery. I sense a few eyes that scrutinize my body and elbows that are ready to brush against it. I clutch the bag to my chest and reach the counter. “Uncle, 12 samosas and half kg jalebi, parcel,” I shout. Over the din of the clattering cutlery and honking traffic. I look at the items of sweet and savoury on display in a glass cabinet. An odd fly in the middle of it looks drunk with the sugary syrup and drags itself slowly through the traces of sold pastries. “Here,” a shop assistant with callused hands plonks my parcel on the counter. I pay and pick up the plastic cover that has two packets. Two packets, one sweet and another savoury. For the everchanging guests. Who have been visiting us for the past four years. In these four years, my school uniform has turned from skirt to salwar kameez, Amma’s hair has turned from black to salt and pepper and Akka’s heart has turned from a swan to a stone. I pray she transforms it. *** Back then, when I could see through the window by climbing up on a cane chair, Appa used to fill the window box with seasonal flower plants. I remember him listening to M.S. Subbulakshmi on his Philips two-in-one every morning. The dew drops on shankhapushi wobbled with violet glee as the silken melody filled our home. Akka had already started school. Once she came back, we would play in the backyard. We would check if the bananas were yellow or the papaya was orange enough to be eaten. We would pull down the lanky stalks of papaya, snap them, and turn their hollow bodies into floodgates of the dam we had made by digging the soil. The muddy water would whoosh out to the other side through the bits of the stalk when Akka poured mugfuls of water on one side. “Brown! Brown!” I remember gushing and clapping. I had just started naming the colours. Years later, I understood it was not a colour. It was an axe that threatened to sever the bond that held us together. An odd relative would smirk, “Such nice features, if only she was a bit fair, like Usha.” An ever-observant neighbour would advise Amma, “Two daughters, so different” tch…tch… “Why don’t you try Fair and Oily?” A random motley group on the road would whistle and snigger, “Vanilla and dark chocolate!” Every Sunday morning Amma sat us down with a bowl of warm coconut oil. She would dip her fingers in it and run them through Akka’s headful of luxurious hair. And then through mine. Afterwards, she would meticulously apply a face pack made with gram flour, rose water and turmeric powder on Akka’s face and just massage mine with rose water. I would scoop the leftover face pack and dab it on my face in patches. I was scared to leave Akka alone with that mask. I didn’t want us to fall apart like the dried face pack. Bit by bit. I wanted to round up all the advising aunts, pesky strangers, and Fair and Oilys of the world. Tie them to a boulder and toss them into the Arabian Sea. But the only thing I got to scatter in the sea was Appa’s ashes. *** “Hey, boy cut! please throw the ball”. The boy with shining eyes and a thin frame, who is new to the neighbourhood calls out. He too has joined the street cricket gang. I fume, wedge my basket in the crook of my left arm and throw the ball. The ball hits him hard and he makes a mock display of being hurt in his chest and then smiles. Something turns in my chest. I move past without giving a second look. There’s a red and black Hero Splendour parked outside the gate. My father’s brother is here. To fulfil his role as the male head of the family. I find him sitting on the sofa, in his cream-coloured silk shirt and dhoti with a maroon border. He is scrolling through the newsfeed on his mobile. I smile and say dutifully, “Namaste, chikkappa.” He waves his bejewelled right hand at me and grunts, “Why so late, Ma? Hurry up. Guests would be arriving soon.” I nod and mumble, “Okay chikkappa”. Amma dashes out of Akka’s room, snatches the bag from my hand and heads to the kitchen. She is a woman on a mission. The Aunt comes out of Akka’s room and asks, “Usha, are you going to stay at the neighbour’s place when the guests are here?” “No, chikkamma.” She is not happy. “Then stay in the room and don’t come out till they leave,” she warns and heads to the kitchen. I go to Akka. She has changed into a yellow saree. Her face is impassive. I sit beside her on the bed. The jasmine in her hair perfumes the air. We don’t say anything to each other. A car engine sputters to a stop outside. Akka’s face looks pale. I want to hug her tight and tell her, “Don’t let this get to you! Don’t let someone decide your worth.” *** A beige-coloured house on black velvet. With a coconut tree flanked path leading to it. A school project done by Akka. Framed and hung on the wall by Appa. Time stands still as I sit in the room staring at it. Akka has walked into the living room with a tray filled with chai . Amma has served the samosas and jalebis. The initial round of pleasantries has been exchanged. I sit behind the closed door. Dreading the talk outside. “What are your hobbies, Ma?” a gentle male voice inquires. “Music, reading, movies...” Akka’s voice trails off. “Ah! our Suresh also loves classical music… can you sing?” A pause. “She used to sing as a child… now she is busy going to the office and coming… where is the time?” interjects Amma in a singsong voice. “Oh! I see…can she cook? Nowadays, working girls think they don’t have to learn any housework.” Says a voice full of mother-of-a-son privilege. “Ma, please,” cuts in a polite male voice, probably the son. “Of course, she can cook. These samosas… she only has prepared,” Chikkamma chirps. Another pause. I hear a murmur and shuffling of feet. Footsteps approach and move away from the door. The toilet gurgles. The footsteps approach the door again and there is a sudden thud against the door. The door handle turns and the door bursts open. A heavy-set woman with her legs splayed on the floor regains her standing position with surprising agility. Her face is a mixture of pain and surprise. Amma and Chikkamma rush to her aid. I stand up awkwardly. The woman moves towards me. Uninvited. “So…you are the sister?” she smiles brightly. Amma and Chikkamma are flabbergasted and I have been turned into a hostage. “How old is she?” she enquires Amma, her eyes scanning my form. Amma gathers her kanjeevaram pallu, tucks it at her waist and mutters through her thin lips, “Old enough to be in school,” and turns to leave. Hoping the guest would take the cue. But the guest lingers. Till my sister comes and our eyes meet. Mine flushed with shame and hers with anger. At that moment, I see her heart turn. From a stone to a diamond. She says with a grace that makes my heart swell, “I think this meet and greet is over. I have made my decision.”


My sister was an optimist to the core, and everyone loved her. I was a shy, quiet girl, while Marisa stood out. I always wanted to know where I fit, but Marisa fit everywhere, with anyone. Her only flaw was that she could be a bit stuck up, and teased me for years. I still loved her with all my heart. To be absolutely honest, I was jealous of her. She was a perfect girl who fit in the right spot, and I was a circle trying to fit in the square hole. The one place I outshone her was my art. I painted masterpieces, and she was a social butterfly with a perfect everything. Every day I hoped for a miracle to tell me I was going to be like her, but it never came. Every year, Marisa grew more and more amazing at everything. She had shiny blond hair, tan skin, and baby blue eyes. Everything she owned fit her and looked hot, and she never bragged. To others. To me she rubbed it in my face 24-7, and I was sick of it. Her comparing her golden locks to my copper strands, her perfect skin to my freckled complexion, her amazing physique to my average build. I loved to make art though, and won prizes for it. She had a bazillion friends, and I had none. I still hoped for a sign I was better than her, but for years I waited in vain. When she left, I studied art, and still excelled at it. But I still prayed for the sign. Every day, she would call and talk to me. One day, she asked me to come to her new house. I went over, since it was only a few minutes away. She opened the door and let me into her amazing house. She asked me something I had never expected. She asked for some of my art. “Why?” She just said “Your art deserves it.”Was this my sign? I nodded and she handed me a wad of cash. Later that week, I gave her a few of my best pieces, and she was elated. Each week, I went to school and did pretty well. I met a cute guy in college, and eventually we got married and had a few kids for many years. I lived happily, but never heard a word from Marisa. I meant to call, but every time I got distracted and forgot. A year passed, and I finally called. She didn’t pick up. I tried the next day, and a voice asked who it was. I asked for Marisa, but they just yelled and hung up. I was scared. I rushed over to her house, and no one was there. Just then a homeless lady walked down the street. I walked over to her and asked what had happened to the lady who owned the house. She just glared and said in a snooty voice “Who’s asking?” I told her “I’m Alice, her sister.” Her eyes grew wide. “Alice? It’s me Marisa!” I looked past the homeless-esque, and sure enough it was. I wrapped her in a hug and asked what happened. Turns out, she had done things, left a lot of men, and one of her exs ran off with a lot of her money. She ruined the rest of it on bad things. She sold everything to pay for her habits, but lost it all. “The only thing I never sold was your art. I saved it, and asked a family next door to keep it for me.” I felt deep in my soul that I needed to help my sister, to forgive for each mean word and save her from the streets. So I brought her to my room and let her freshen up. While she was in the shower, I asked my husband if she could stay. He was okay with it, being so sweet and caring, so I fixed up the guest bedroom. My six year old Rex came in and asked “Who’s the lady in the bathroom you brought?” I explained how it was his aunt, and he ran off to inform his sister. A few minutes later, Marisa slipped in. She was wearing an old blue dress of mine, and she looked a bit better, cleaner than she was before. We caught up, and she finally sighed “I had always expected a life like yours. But I caught up on a few bad habits, and it ran away with me. Now you, my drab little sister, have a beautiful life and a beautiful family and I’m a mess.” She started to sob, and I wrapped my arms around her. Just then, my kids came in. Rex offered a hand to Marisa and said “Hi lady. My mommy says you're my aunt.” She took his hand and shook it. “I am. Though I haven’t met you all before.” I introduced my family. Percy my husband, Rex my six year old, and Molly my five year old. For a few days, she adjusted to her new home. She started to look more healthy, and filled out more. She never tried any more of her habits again. She started to work at a clothing store in the mall, near the food court. Eventually she left the house, and moved in the house down the street. She found a husband, and was expecting her first child in December. I realized my prayers had been answered. I could be better, and I had helped her be better too. What touched me most is that all my art was still with her, hanging above the mantle. I still make art and sell it, but I keep a few of my favorites. Some I hang, but others I send to her. In every room she has at least one of my drawings or paintings. We always keep in touch. No matter what happened we were always going to be sisters. And sisters help each other out. So that's what I did that day. Helped my sister.


I didn't mean to. I swear on my life. I swear on my pet rabbit's grave. I swear on my favorite pencil. I know that doesn't sound like a big deal, but I really, really loved my rabbit — and that pencil — so when I say I didn't mean to summon a demon into my kitchen, know that I mean it 100%. I am not the best cook in the world, but it being your birthday and all, I thought I would make something special. We've only known each other a few weeks, but I thought that a homemade dinner would be sweet, so I decided to consult my grandma's cookbook. Grandma was always a great cook, though, thinking about it now, I never remember her actually looking at this cookbook. My mom found it in the attic of grandma's house after she died. Mom knew I wasn't the strongest cook and hoped to help me "actually learn something useful." So there I was in the kitchen, following instructions exactly and not "making a mess of things" like Mom says, when I made a mess of things. A great, thick cloud of swirling red and black smoke burst from the pot until it swallowed the room. My eyes and nose stung. My lungs felt heavy and tight. "What the hell?" I heard, and then the sound of a single snap. The pot sucked the smoke back into the pot and revealed a demon in the middle of the kitchen. His skin looked like cooled lava. Two horns slicked toward the back of his head. He turned his burning-ember eyes to me. "Who are you?" "I'm-I'm-I'm —" "Well, I'm-I'm-Im, what do you want? I was in the middle of something," he spat. "I didn't mean, I didn't... I'm so sorry." He snarled, "Are you saying you didn't mean to summon me?" I nodded. He growled. A great wave of heat emanated from his body and pricked at my skin. The demon snapped his fingers. He blinked, confused. He snapped his fingers again. Then again. Then once more. "Oh ho ho, is this a trick? Lucifer, is that you?" The demon grabbed my face with his talon-tipped fingers and inspected it. "Francis," I mumbled, my cheeks squeezed in his pincer grip. "What?" "My name is Francis." His eyes narrowed. "Well, *Francis,"* he said, spitting out my name like a wad of congealed phlegm, "why don't you stop playing games and let me go home?" I felt myself shrink. I was the silly girl who couldn't do anything right. I was the one who messed everything up. I was the "mistake." Years of fury coiled around my heart and lashed out. I shoved the demon back. "I don't even want you here. You're meant to be pasta bolognese!" "Pasta...? Are you kidding me?" the demon said. "You were going to make pasta bolognese with tomatillos?" Years of fury recoiled and then extinguished into a sad ash pile of embarrassment. "I thought they were just special tomatoes..." "Oh Francis," the demon said. "Oh Francis, no." He rubbed his temples with his fingers. The tension dissipated from his shoulders as the kitchen's temperature dropped several degrees. "You're not a real witch, are you?" He looked me up and down. "Hmm. Of course you aren't." He snapped his fingers, and instead of a lava-skinned demon, he transformed into a normal-skin-skinned human. "Follow me." "What? No, it's my girlfriend's birthday, and I'm... well, we're not 'official,' but she seems really great and I —" "Look," the demon cut me off. "I want to go home, and for some reason, I can't. And you seem to have some untapped talent in witchcraft —" I perked up. "I have a talent?" "In *witchcraft.*" the demon repeated. "*Witchcraft* being the more interesting word in that sentence." "Right. Sorry." The demon walked up to me and looked me dead in the eye. "Francis, you're my best shot at going home. I need your help." I glanced at the opened box of pasta, the sliced onions, and the half-chopped pile of tomatillos, and then turned back to the demon. "Ok." "Good," the demon said, straightening and heading for the door, "because if you said 'no' I would have turned your hands into spiders." I tucked my hands into my pockets before realizing if I was going to go on some quest with a demon on your birthday that I should at least write you a note to explain why I couldn't show up. I've ordered you a pizza with roasted red peppers, mushrooms, and definitely no olives (since you said they remind you of "sliced eyeballs") that should show up to your doorstep any minute. I hope that makes up for this last minute cancellation. I would greatly like to celebrate your birthday when I return if you're open to that. Anyway, I better run. I'm going to become a witch.


It’s Monday morning. In times like this, I tend to understand where the stereotypical Monday-morning mood comes from. After having finished a box of chocolate cereal before school—which I have started regretting—my belly and my palms feel nice and warm inside the huge pocket of my oversized black sweatshirt. I am comfortably sitting at the back of the classroom, when the happy-go-lucky art teacher comes in. “Good morning, everyone!” she screams in that piercing tone that makes my poor ears tingle. “Let’s take our sketchbooks and have an outdoor lesson today. Spring is here, the birds are singing!” she sings like a wannabe soprano.  I can hear the class’s reluctant murmurs as the background sound while I’m still half-asleep with my head against the wall. I cannot even imagine myself trying to discover where my sketchbook is, which I doubt I have purchased since the beginning of the term. Even worse, the thought of having to go out in the chilly, humid air makes me want to die faster. “We can exercise on depicting the shades of the trees…” I hear her voice fading while the rest of the class follows her outside. At the same time, I can feel my bff, Penn, smiling from cheek to cheek next to me, without even looking at her. I’m sure she can’t miss anything out of an ordinary, dull class. She’s already piled a messy sketchbook and a quite huge collection of pencils on her lap when she ruffles my brown curls with her long, red-knuckled fingers. “C’mon lazy bones. Get up. Can’t you feel the inspiration running through your veins?” I attempt to shoot her a blank, cold look, as if I can’t stand her messing my hair; though she’d the only human being whom I let to touch me.  “No,” I grumble. She shoots me a half-smile and her left dimple comes to light. I see her carelessly tearing off a piece of paper and handing it to me together with a full set of art tools.  “You could at least try.”            A chilly breeze slams my face and I start hating my life a bit more. The rest of the nerds are already sitting around the greenery, supposedly interested in sketching the trees. The rest of the bastards are simply ignoring the poor lady. The even possibility of spoiling my black pants with soil is disgusting, but because everyone is down, I sit too. My eyes immediately search for Penn. I finally detected her from her beloved green hoodie. She’s perfectly engaged in her artwork while typically biting one side of her bottom lip. That means she’s completely tangled up in her imagination. I approach and stand behind her without saying a word. My eyes follow the tense lines and smooth curves that her left hand creates. The blank paper comes to life, I tell myself. Sometimes her fantasy flows out, to add her own elements in the drawing. I take a miserable look at my empty paper and notice it’s used at the back. The other side is full of destroyed or scribbled sketches. I kind of feel sorry for all those works of art that she finds rubbish. One of them looks lots like me, though it’s is certainly a much better version of my face.            “Why do you like drawing?” I ask after a long time. Penn’s familiar voice fills my thoughts, while she never takes her eyes off the drawing. “Just look at the beauty, Georgi. Take spring, for example.” I don’t quite understand, but I try to follow her thought, which is entirely abstract for my cynic logic. “All you need to do is look around. The sky, an endlessly bright thole, an ethereal and clear light blue, so pure that the eyes sometimes hurts if you stare at it for too long. And even the clouds, always changing in a way they can never be just clouds. They take shapes that tell magnificent stories.” I observe her almond-shaped eyes glowing out her passion. Those silken lashes curve joyfully at the corners when she smiles and the galaxy of freckles light up her face. I’m glad she can’t see my emotional side. “What about the sun? Its warming gold shines upon everything and everyone, giving life to all those spring blooms. Their colors, they just fill you up with admiration as they blend one next to the other. The shades, the texture of the trees, you feel an urge to touch them, to smell the soil. And all those different greens everywhere, they’re so magically combined, so varied that I could spend hours trying to capture every hue.” She puts her pencil down. That’s when her eyes, shining like melting honey, rest on me. “That’s why I love painting, ‘cause it’s a chance to depict all that beauty.”            I don’t say anything and I bet she thinks I can’t understand her. Because I’m not like that, I don’t think in colors. Life can be strictly black or white, I used to think. Yet, today I tried to see through her eyes and this crispy Monday morning truly looks a lot better. At least I got Penn, a friendly reminder that it’s not only a Monday morning; it’s the dawning of spring.

It’s 4.00 a.m. and this memory fills the hours. I lie on my bed, wide-eyed and unmoving, just like every sleepless night. It came to my mind, since it all happened a year ago. This spring, I’m starting to realize that I have gone back to my black-and-white theory about life. Penn isn’t here to show me the colors of the first blossoms. She’s in the US, making her dream come true after getting a scholarship for a year. And I’m still here, dully wearing my Air pods without paying attention to the lyrics of ‘Wish you were here’. Maybe they’re already out of battery.            My knees curl up as I sit against the head of the bed. I rest my head upon them so as to calm down; I’m having a panic attack. My chest is becoming heavier with every breath. After several moments covered in cold sweat, the numbness retreats, but I still feel the pain. I miss her, I’m realizing I miss the most important person in my life as I panic. She’s the only one who knows how I feel.            With the thought of Penn, I turn towards our friendship lamp. The next moment, I press blue, the color I use for sadness. Yet, I doubt she’ll see it or answer back now, she’s got a load of things to do there, rather than deal with another night crisis of mine. I keep staring at the lamp, till my numbness drags me into a dizzy, half-sleeping condition.            Next to me, the lamp begins to glow.


Most of Rina’s friends like thunderstorms. They liked the feeling of being inside, curled up in a blanket with a mug full of hot cocoa, hearing the noises from outside from the comfort of their home. Rina never understood them. They always curled up under something heavy, careful not to touch anything, and shut their eyes tight until the thunders stopped. It was not that Rina was afraid of the thunders themselves. They were simply afraid of what it might do to them. It wasn’t a particularly rational fear and they knew it, bugging themselves every winter to just get over it already and get out from under the table, but they just couldn’t help it. Seeing dark skies and the first of many lightnings sent shivers down their spine in a frightening, heartstopping way. Rina knew that inside the thunders couldn’t hurt them, that no lightning would be able to reach them through the closed windows and stone walls, but the thought itself was enough to shock them in fear. Rina simply did not want to be fried. When they were young, a kid at school offhandedly told Rina not to get close to any electricity while barefoot or wet, because they could be electrified. Rina, being only ten and generally a very careful child, did exactly that. Until that point there really wasn’t any problem; they continued on with their daily chores and avoided electricity unless they were wearing shoes. The problem started in one particular science class when Rina was 13, and the teacher explained about a strange natural phenomenon she found interesting. The teacher, a middle-aged woman with thick curls and curious eyes, told the class with excitement about thunderstorms. She explained how it worked, how lightning is just pure electricity, how unexpected they are, how in a different universe they could use that energy to power cities and avoid coals and fuel. Rina, though interested, couldn’t stop thinking about the electricity part. Does that mean that lightning is dangerous to be around? When they left class that day, Rina heard some girls talking excitedly about lightning and thunderstorms. They were chatting, mostly eighth grade nonsense, but one statement made Rina stop in their place and listen. One of the girls said, barely noticing her words, “I heard of a man who got hit by lightning and was completely fried. They never found his body because he looked like food to stray dogs.” The other girls laughed and dismissed the statement, claiming that “really, Leah, you love overreacting more than I thought” and “oooh, creepy, got any other campfire scary stories to tell?”, but Rina couldn’t get the mental image out of their mind. It wasn’t disgust that they felt, because they have dealt with disgust before. No, it was something else, more blinding, that made them feel like their bones were dipped in ice-cold water. Rina wasn’t used to being afraid - they were usually able to dodge scary experiences by simply not showing up to parties or reading a book at lunch break - so the knowledge that something could make them so terrified was even worse than they thought it might be. It’s been years since then, but Rina hadn’t forgotten. How could they? How could they get the mental image of a man being toasted by pure electricity, left for stray dogs to feast on out of their mind? How could they go on with their life knowing that though unlikely, this might happen? That made Rina more and more scared with every passing winter. They started with turning on the TV volume as high as they could without annoying the neighbours, hoping the loud sounds from inside could block the loud reminders of the possibly-real man they thought about all the time. When that stopped working, Rina tried to just go to sleep, but that only resulted in nightmares and a rush to put on some shoes. After that, Rina told themselves to just stop worrying about this. To just accept the fear, and that it’s irrational, and that they’re always going to be fine. Judging by the way they’re shaking under the dining room table every time a thunder roams outside of their window, that method doesn’t work either. It might take a while for them to figure out a new way to deal with (or ignore) their growing phobia, but Rina couldn’t think about this right now. All they could do is pray to survive tonight’s thunderstorm.


Brian fumbled with the pull-string on the bag he was carrying. He couldn't maintain his grasp on the silk cords as they kept falling from his trembling fingers. The problem only worsening as he stumbled blindly in the dark, the trees overhead blotting out any light from the stars above. The only illumination coming from the crescent moon overhead. It peaked sheepishly between branches, casting threatening shadows on the ground that appeared like webs for some sickening, oversized spider. Brian let out a sob that he tried to mask. "Don't get all teary-eyed now," called a voice behind him, "you had your chance back at that burger joint and you fucked up." The frigid air around them rippled in the silence that followed. Fall had definitely come and the chill in the air was harsh against the face, even though no wind was blowing. Brian felt the barrel of the man's rifle press into the small of his back. He gasped in shock, he didn't realize the man had closed the distance so quickly. Almost as if the gunman had glided over the rocks and roots that jutted out from the ground. Any progress he had made on opening the bag was undone as he clutched the bag to his chest. "I don't even see the point," he said, "it's all coming to an end, right? Why waste the time on you?" "Then why are you here?" Brian croaked. "Just let me go..?" His voice faltering on the last syllable, as they continued forward, the leaves crackling under their feet. The man laughed dryly, "After what you did to me back there?" Brian heard him touch his face, right where he took a broken piece of glass and slashed him, "I don't think so. I don't know why they came for you so late, but you're done now." Brian pried at the knot in the cord of the bag. The thing inside jostled back and forth, alive, with the feverish dream to get out. It pounded against Brians palm as he held it. "There really is no stopping it, is there?" The man asked, as if they had been making small talk for the last thirty minutes they had been walking, as if there wasn't a gun pointed into his captives back. "Can't put Pandora back in the box?" Brian didn't answer. "I used to be a teacher." The man continued. Brian looked up from the knot that was starting to come loose and tilted his head to the side. He could hear him grasp the rifle tighter. His hands moving back and forth, wringing it like it was a damp washcloth. "So was I." "Yeah and people like you fucked it up for everyone, didn't you? Any sense of normalcy, its all gone." Brian neglected to answer the accusation. The knot came undone and his heart skipped a beat. He pinched the top close between his fingers. Confidence in turning the situation in his favor was restored. The thing inside was now practically throwing itself in a panic, begging to be let out. "I'm glad actually," Brian responded, placing the bag in the opening of his coat, still clenching it shut, "so many lies across so many centuries. Heaven and Hell are fake. Its always been us, we set the price too high for our salvation. Everyones deaths weren't for-" The bullet from the rifle cut through Brians knee and he fell forward with a scream, landing face first against a trunk from a fallen tree. The bag pumping against his own heart, Brian unsure which was which. Before he could turn, the hot barrel of the rifle was placed against the back of his neck. "Go ahead. Justify why my wife and boys are dead." the man said, barely in a whisper. The seconds that followed felt like minutes while Brian whimpered on the ground, wishing to clutch his knee but unable to move. The rifle dug deeper, "TELL ME WHY!" The man shouted. "Fuck you!" Brian yelled back, dirt and leaves sticking to his face. "I hope they fucking died slowly and you had to watch their souls leave their body while the archangels tore the vessels apart!" The burning muzzle left his neck. Brian reached his hand back inside his coat and grabbed the bag as it bounced maniacally, the smell of the fresh blood exciting it no doubt. He grimaced as he turned over, holding the bag steady and out of sight. His already rapid breathing increasing as he looked at his mangled knee, covered in blood that oozed through his jeans. The dirt that clung to it made it look infected. Perhaps he already was. The man with the gun had reached his hand into his pocket and pulled out another bullet. It glinted in the light shining through the trees. He loaded it into the chamber and raised the stock to his shoulder, glaring down the iron sights. "Wait!" Brian yelled, and yanked his arm out of his coat, holding the squirming bag. "Its opened! Shoot me and I drop it. Shoot me and you're dead." The man lowered his rifle, fear replaced the rage that had stained his face before. The cut across his left cheek was smeared with dried blood. "No," the man said, "we just killed it. I saw it die." "Lower your weapon and go back the way you came and I won't release it." The man didn't hesitate, he immediately bent down and placed the gun on the leaf-strewn ground, raising his arms as he did so. "Good, now turn around and start walking," Brian commanded breathlessly. Wordless, the man turned on the spot and began darting through the trees, the way they just came back towards his pickup truck. Brian tried to pull himself up by one hand on the log, wincing as he came to lean on the roots sticking horizontally into the open air. One hand clutching the toppled tree, the other hand still holding the bag. He glanced down at his leg, hanging almost lifeless as the patch of blood spread down towards his shoe. That was enough of a head start, Brian thought. And with that he dropped the bag. The explosion of unearthly noises that ripped through the night air was such that the man tripped over a fallen tree branch. The leaves of the trees around him swayed as if moved by a sudden gust of wind. Not bothering to turn and see, he picked himself up and continued running. He knew he must have been a hundred feet away by that point but the screech echoed in his ear as if it was right behind him. He pelted towards his truck. His footsteps thundering on the earth below him. The straps of his leather jacket belted against his forearms almost in tune with his stride. "Derek." Between the fight at the restaurant earlier in the night, watching his partners be slaughtered before him, and the dreaded walk out in the wilderness, nothing had scared the man more than hearing his dead wife whisper his name in his ear. He collided with a tree, knocking the breath out of him. Derek lay on the forest floor grabbing at his chest as he tried to reclaim his oxygen. His breathing coming in gasps. This was it and he knew it. Any chance of outrunning the demon was laughable in the first place. He sat up. His wife, in all her beauty, stood twenty feet away. Her short, brown hair pinned up, just like the day he met her at the university they attended. She looked him up and down, in an almost flirtatious way and took a step forward. The right side of her body phased through a tree. "Derek, its time we were together again," she said in almost trance, sing-song voice. How he missed the sound of it. She continued moving forward, ethereal in her movement over the uneven ground. She stopped ten feet away when Derek spoke. "Just... just do it," he whispered. The world was ending, his family was gone, how much more can a person fight. Dereks wife straightened her stance, her eyes dimmed into blackness as the outline of her body shifted, almost like it was static. The living corpse dropped and the creature controlling it stood in its wake. As black as oil with no discernable features, the demon only stood out because it was far darker than the night around it. A second passed and suddenly it was on top of Derek who had no time to scream. The shock of the moment suspended as it reached into his head, drawing no blood and pulled out something that pulsed different colors, on every possible part of the spectrum. The demon devoured the soul it held. As it entered the blackness that held it, the lights flickered and shut off. For a moment, the ghost of Derek flashed across the area where the demons face once held his deceased wifes. Derek's shell lay on the ground, vacant and unknowing. As good as dead, the demon picked it up and slit his throat to drink from. Drained, it was tossed to the side where it fell out of sight over the nearby brush. A fly caught in the webs of a spider. Killed, emptied, and disposed of.


You've been studying time travel half your life You've discovered the key Messing about with some wires and FLASH You're 6 months in the future and you're sitting in the bath It smells like lavender essence and head and shoulders conditioner and you're warm But a noise is building outside. A buzzing, angry swarm And it's you they're after “Ya dirty bastard, she's just an old woman and she's screamin and greetin and it's aw your fault” “Get out here and show yerself” is the furious call But you just turn up Now 47 7 Days, Craig David, track number 11. Apparently you start enjoying Craig David in 6 months time. I suppose that's fine 7 days. 6 months. Oh aye that's right. I've leaped to the future. Jesus christ I need to get back But the noise is building from outside. The crowd are raging so you quickly get dried You pause Craig David just as he's taking her for a drink on Tuesday. Probably steak club, wetherspoons. That's on a Tuesday You open the window and hope this goes smoothly Here calm down yous! What have I done!? “Don't kid yourself arsehole, we all saw you run Look the state of her chin the poor auld dear We're all gonnae leather you noo c’mere” You've never seen this woman before in your life, but she's sitting there, crimson chinned, bawling for her life But what did I do to her? You plead your case The rabble reply “shoved a hoat pie in her face” And to be fair it does look like she's a had a hoat pie shoved in her face BANG You're back in the present Jesus Christ you just travelled through time! But why did you shove a hoat pie into that auld woman's face? What string of events caused this crime to take place? As hours turn to days and days turn to weeks You try recreating that first quantum leap But your key to time travel is gone. It's no longer working Fuck A fluke. A one off. You've lost the magic Your time travel experience was fleeting and tragic So you get on with life as it was before. Weeks turn to one month and then a few more And as time passes slowly you think 'im almost there, it must almost be six months’ And it is And you start to think 'oh god, it'll be happening soon I'll turn auld wummins chin into arse of baboon Through application of hot mince and thick pastry crust I'll scald her with juice, turn her chin in to mush Poor wee wummin Every day you start to worry about it And soon it's time You're on your lunch break and you're standing in line Part of you already knows you're going to buy a pie And just at that moment auld wummin walks by Is it that wummin? Maybe. Can't be sure But she's caught sight of yum yums and she's coming through the door This is it. Fucking hell. She looks so nice as well. Just a poor wee old lady about to face scotch pie hell Naw wait, this is mental, I cannae do this. I have the choice and I think I'll give it a miss But if I don't pie the granny then that surely means, that time travel didn't happen But it did. I know it did. Without even thinking I ask for the pie.


"I'm glad you're finally visiting me." Aria smiled, stroking Tenshi's wings. He nodded, looking at the horizon. The sun had already begun to rise, the sky turning orange and red. He hadn't been here in a long time, on the surface of the planet. The last time he'd been able to see Aria was when she was just a few years younger than what she is now. He remembered the time he'd spent with her, upset thinking that it won't go on for much longer. He was the apprentice of the grim reaper, and had seen the articles. Aria would be gone soon, but there was nothing he could do to change it. "Aria." He began. She sat up a bit, smiling. "Oh, I completely forgot. I've made lots of friends this summer, I feel like I'm starting to fit into the crowds around here." She beamed. Tenshi gazed at her happy smile and bright eyes, even the little dimple that formed on her right cheek at the corner of her mouth. He couldn't bring himself to tell her what he'd learned. "Aria, I want to stay with you today." Tenshi smiled, hiding his concern. "Really?" She asked, more excited than ever. She got up and looked at the time. "We have so much time to hang out. What do you want to do?" "You choose. You know more of this place than I do, so for now, you can be my guide. I will go along with anything you want today." He replied, standing up. He held his hands out to her in hopes of having his offer accepted. Aria smiled widely, beginning to walk. Her eyes glittered, and her hair black hair gleamed in the sun. Tenshi followed, praying to God that he doesn't have the reaper take the girl's life today, but, sadly, he knew what Aria's fate was. The end of the day would catch up to them both, and her body would empty, and her soul would leave him forever.

By ten o'clock, Tenshi and Aria had gone through their day, playing every game in the public arcade, eating sweets like butterscotch and ice cream, and talking about what they wanted to happen in the future. Aria had wished to grow up and become a teacher, and she wanted a husband and two kids of her own. Tenshi just wanted to see her happy for the rest of her life. "Wait, let's take a different path." Aria smiled, holding Tenshi's hand and leading him down a trail. Overhead, the blossom trees swayed in the soft wind as it caressed their branches, light pink petals falling down slowly. The path had already been filled with the petals, making the entire area feel and look

like nothing more than a dream. Soft lights from yellow lamps and fireflies shone through and all around, and for the first time in a lifetime, Tenshi felt the warmth of life, yet at the same time, he couldn’t help but dread the end of Aria’s day. As Aria and Tenshi got closer to the exit of the tunnel, the reaper became more visible, standing at the end with his cloak of midnight and tall scythe. This is it.... Tenshi thought, looking at Aria from the side. She looked so happy, but she had no idea what was going to happen. She had no idea that she was going to Heaven for her good deeds. She had no idea that her body would soon be dressed in soft colors and be laid on the soft bed in the ground. She had no idea that the angel she'd known from so long ago, had feelings for her. They reached the end of the path. Aria smiled at Tenshi and hugged him. "thank you for this wonderful day. Let's do it again sometime." Tenshi hugged her back, his eyes filling with tears as he buried his face into the shoulder of the girl who would soon be gone. He cupped her face in his hand and gently kissed her. They spent a few seconds like this. In this time-stopping relationship, with their eyes closed, shutting out the beauty of the world around them, just to focus on what they both had wished and hoped for their entire life. Just one kiss, just one moment, and just the slightest bit of hope that they could finally be together in the chaos that filled life. They pulled away from each other and Aria began to look dizzy, holding her head. She held onto Tenshi for support and closed her eyes, fainting-no... going limp. Her heart slowed to a stop, and her breathing continued no more. Tenshi stared at her, his heart shattering. Why Aria, and why this time? She was so young, and so fragile. Her pale skin grew cold in the shade of the trees and her black hair hung limply from her head. Her glittering eyes glittered nore sparkled, and Tenshi held the empty shell of a girl who was now gone forever. As Tenshi began to cry, for he knew that even in the afterlife, they could never be together like they were here in this time. Aria’s soul would lose the memories from life to spare her any guilt or sadness that life may have caused, and she would forget him along with it. He noticed a distant figure coming towards them. A grown woman who looked kind and respectful. Tenshi softly left a kiss on Aria’s cheek and laid her down in the soft petals, standing and walking away. When he’d finally stopped, Tenshi was at the edge of a lake, the water black with night. He sat down and stared out at the deep abyss, going over the sweet but short time he'd had with Aria. He looked at the reflection of the full moon in the water and began to smile to himself. Aria was in a better place now, where she would never be too cold or too hot, where she could be what she wanted to be, and do what she wanted to do. She was finally free, and Tenshi would continue to love her, even though she was no longer there with him, she would live in his heart forever. So as the angel stared at the moon’s image in the lake, he smiled and forgave God, the reaper, and himself.